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emjayewrites · 2 months ago

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fouled by fate • aurelien tchouameni (3/10)

SYNOPSIS: Aurélien Tchouaméni, one of football’s rising stars, is used to navigating the pressures of the pitch—but nothing could prepare him for an arranged marriage. With his family’s legacy and cultural traditions at stake, Aurélien reluctantly agrees to marry a woman he barely knows. But as they’re thrust into the public eye, sparks fly in unexpected ways. The two must navigate the complexities of love, duty, and fame, all while figuring out if they’re playing on the same team—or if their hearts are destined for different paths.

PAIRINGS: Aurélien Tchouaméni x Zuri Awanto Nchang (faceclaim Samira Ahmed @/iamsamiira)

WARNINGS: cursing, football b.s., dry humor/wit, slight arguing, friends to lovers, instant attraction, eventual smut (18+/minors dni)

TAGLIST: @trenterprise @f1-football-fiend @lettersofgold @hopefulromantic1 @deonn-jaelle @vile-harlot @perfecttrashface @queenshikongo3 @2serenity0 @essaysbyciara @saturnville @trentswrld @planetmimi @muglermami @shepgurl @sucredreamer @julescpu @tchouathon @greyishbach @shelovesfootie @certifiedlesbianbaddie

A/N: Please let me know if you like to be removed/added to the taglist. Also, a surprise mention in this chapter that links to another story!

Aurélien's fingers danced across the piano keys, the melody of Chopin's Nocturne in E-flat major filling the study. It was the night before their trip to Poland, and he found himself seeking solace in the familiar notes.

The past week had been… interesting, to say the least. He and Zuri had fallen into a sort of routine, sharing meals when his training schedule allowed, and watching movies and true crime documentaries in the evening. They'd even managed a few genuine conversations, tiptoeing around the elephant in the room that was their impending marriage.

But lately, Aurélien had noticed a change in Zuri. She'd become more withdrawn, her usual sass replaced by a melancholy he couldn't quite understand. He'd catch her staring off into space, her phone clutched tightly in her hand as if it were a lifeline to a world she'd left behind.

As he transitioned into a softer passage, a raised voice from the next room cut through the music. Aurélien's hands stilled on the keys, his brow furrowing as he listened.

"Papa, please…" Zuri's voice, muffled but clearly distressed.

The responding male voice was loud enough for Aurélien to hear clearly, even through the wall. "You need to take this seriously, Zuri! This isn't some game!"

Aurélien felt his jaw clench. He'd never heard Zuri's father before, but the man's tone made something protective stir in his chest.

"I am taking it seriously!" Zuri shot back, her voice cracking slightly. "You're the one who threw me into this situation!"

"We've been over this. It's for your own good. For the family's good."

Aurélien sat frozen at the piano, feeling like an intruder but unable to move. Was this why Zuri had been so down lately? How long had these arguments been going on?

He thought back to his loft bedroom, realizing with a start that he wouldn't have been able to hear these conversations from up there. Had Zuri been dealing with this pressure alone all this time?

The argument continued, Zuri's responses becoming shorter, more defeated. Aurélien's hands hovered over the keys, itching to drown out the harsh words with music, to offer some kind of shelter from the storm raging next door.

He exhaled slowly, his mind racing. Tomorrow, they'd be in Poland. Away from the pressure of family, of expectations. Maybe it would give them both a chance to breathe, to figure out what they really wanted from this arrangement.

"You're being stupid, Zuri! I need you to understand what this means for you as well. You lack discipline; how can you go to university for all those years and then be so reckless to throw it away?!"

Deeming he heard enough, Aurélien stood abruptly, his decision made before he could second-guess himself. He strode into Zuri's room, barely registering her shocked expression as he plucked the phone from her hand.

"Monsieur," he said smoothly into the phone, his French crisp and authoritative. "C'est Aurélien. Zuri va très bien, vous devez vous détendre. (Sir, this is Aurélien. Zuri is doing great.)"

Zuri's father sputtered on the other end, caught off guard by the unexpected interruption. Aurélien continued the conversation, his tone firm but respectful, reassuring the older man about their situation. After a few minutes, he ended the call with a polite "Au revoir" and placed the phone on Zuri's dresser.

He turned to face Zuri, who was staring at him with a mix of surprise and something that might have been gratitude. "How long has this been happening?" he asked, his voice softer now.

Zuri shrugged, trying for nonchalance but failing. "It's not a big deal. He's just… worried."

"Is he usually like this?" Aurélien pressed, feeling a surge of protectiveness.

"Sometimes," Zuri admitted, her eyes downcast.

Aurélien stepped closer, his jaw clenching. "I don't like him talking to you like that. If it happens again, I might have to punch him in the mouth."

Zuri's eyes widened at his words, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself.

"Come here," Aurélien said, opening his arms slightly. Zuri hesitated, her stubbornness kicking in. Aurélien's eyebrow raised. "Don't make me say it again."

With a sigh that was more for show than anything, Zuri stood and stepped into his embrace. The hug was awkward at first, but as Zuri relaxed into it, Aurélien found himself breathing in her scent. She smelled like coconut and something spicy - cinnamon, maybe?

As they pulled apart, Aurélien asked, "So, how are your brand deals going?"

Zuri bit her lip. "I… kind of took a break from influencing."

Aurélien frowned. "You don't have to do that. You can post, just keep our relationship under wraps for now. I'll talk to my PR team about how to handle it."

"Really?" Zuri's face lit up. "Can I post about Poland?"

Aurélien thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Yeah," he said. "Don't want your followers to think you're dead in a ditch or something."

Zuri laughed, the sound genuine and warm. Aurélien found himself smiling in response, the tension from earlier dissipating.

"Get some sleep," he said, heading towards the door. "We've got an early flight."

Aurélien was almost out the door when he heard Zuri's whispered "Thank you." He turned to see a lone tear sliding down her cheek.

"No problem, ma chérie," he replied softly, then froze. Sweetheart? Where the fuck did that come from? He closed the door quickly, his mind reeling. "Allez, Zeus," he called, desperate for a distraction. The dog padded after him as he headed upstairs.

In the bathroom, Aurélien cranked the shower to its hottest setting, letting the scalding water pound against his still-aching muscles. He needed to clear his head, to make sense of this slowly but surely growing attraction to Zuri.

And her father... Christ. The man's bullheadedness reminded Aurélien of his own father, minus the yelling. No wonder the two had been best mates in school. Both pushing relentlessly for their children's success, consequences be damned.

Aurélien had gotten the brunt of it as the eldest, but he could only imagine how Zuri had it. His father had mentioned once that she was the youngest and only girl. That couldn't have been easy.

Stepping out of the shower into the steam-filled bathroom, Aurélien wrapped a towel around his waist and padded to his bedroom. He flopped onto the bed, grabbing his phone and opening Instagram almost on autopilot.

Zuri's profile popped up in his suggestions. Without overthinking it, he hit the follow button.

His eyes drifted to the packed bags in the corner of the room. Tomorrow would bring... what? A new challenge? A chance to figure this mess out?

With a sigh, Aurélien shut off the lights. Zeus hopped up, curling against his side. As sleep began to claim him, Aurélien's last coherent thought was of Zuri's smile when he'd said she could post again.

I'm so fucked...

Zuri sat cross-legged on the hotel bed, her fingers flying across her phone screen. The familiar rush of crafting the perfect post filled her with a sense of normalcy she hadn't felt in weeks. She hit 'share' and watched as the likes and comments immediately started rolling in.

A smile tugged at her lips. God, she'd missed this. The break had been necessary, sure, but coming back felt like slipping into a favorite pair of jeans. Comfortable. Right.

Her DMs were already filling up with brand deal inquiries. The New York market had been good to her, but now... Now she had a whole new city to explore, new trends to set, new stories to tell. The possibilities made her head spin in the best way possible.

As she scrolled, her mind drifted to Aurélien. Their... arrangement (she still struggled to find the right word for it) was as unclear as ever. But the way he'd handled her father... Zuri felt a warmth bloom in her lower regions at the memory. No one had ever stood up to him like that before, not even her mother. Whatever Aurélien wanted, she'd happily give it to him on a silver platter for that alone.

She made a mental note to research Madrid's influencer scene when they got back. New city, new strategies. But for now, she was in Poland, and there was content to be made.

The knock on her door startled her out of her planning. She wasn't expecting anyone - Aurélien was at a team dinner, and she'd appreciated the space, even if a small part of her missed his presence.

Opening the door revealed a familiar face, though not the one she'd been half-expecting. Lila Hamilton stood there, all 5'3" of her radiating effortless cool. The famous fashion designer, model, and younger sister of the greatest motorsport driver alive was standing outside her door. Her light brown skin glowed under the hallway lights, and her normally curly hair was styled in intricate goddess braids.

Ho-ly shit! What the hell is my life?!

Pushing her inner fangirl aside, she gave Lila a smile. "H-Hey."

"Surprise!" Lila grinned, pushing past Zuri into the room. "Aurel thought you could use some company."

As they settled on the couch, chatting and laughing, Zuri felt some of the tension she'd been carrying melt away.

Lila's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "So, Jude told me about your situation with Aurélien. How are you holding up?"

Zuri sighed, running a hand through her hair. "It's... a lot. I mean, one minute I'm in New York, the next I'm in Madrid with a fiancé I barely know."

Lila nodded sympathetically. "I can't even imagine. But hey, at least Aurélien's a decent guy, right? Jude speaks so highly of him."

"He is," Zuri admitted, a small smile tugging at her lips. "He's been... surprisingly understanding about everything."

"That's good," Lila said, her tone softening. "You know, Jude mentioned that Aurélien seems different lately. In a good way. Maybe this arrangement isn't so bad after all?"

Before Zuri could respond, another knock interrupted their chat. This time, it was Aurélien.

"Hey, Aurélien," Lila said, standing to give him a quick hug.

"Hey, Li," he greeted with a small smile. "Jude's looking for you, by the way."

Lila rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Of course he is. You'd think he'd have better things to do than worry about where I am."

Aurélien smirked. "You'd think."

"Alright, I'm out. Z, see you tomorrow at the game," Lila said.

As the door closed behind Lila, leaving Aurélien and Zuri alone, the air seemed to shift. Aurélien gestured to the couch. "Mind if I...?"

Zuri shook her head, scooting over to make room. As he sat, she caught a whiff of his cologne - spicy and warm.

"So," Aurélien started, his voice low. "About next month, when our parents visit..."

Zuri felt her stomach clench. Right. Reality. She nodded slowly, her fingers absently playing with the hem of her shirt. "Right. Next month."

Aurélien leaned back, his arm draped casually over the back of the couch. "I was thinking," he started, his eyes meeting hers, "maybe we should come up with a game plan. You know, figure out how we want to handle things."

Zuri raised an eyebrow. "A game plan? For our arranged marriage?"

A small smile tugged at Aurélien's lips. "When you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous."

"That's because it is ridiculous," Zuri said, but there was no bite to her words.

Aurélien nodded, his expression turning more serious. "Look, I know this isn't ideal for either of us. But we're in this situation now, and I think... I think we could make it work. If we're on the same page."

Zuri studied him for a moment, taking in the sincerity in his eyes. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well," Aurélien said, shifting slightly to face her better, "for starters, I think we should be honest with each other. About our expectations, our boundaries, all of it."

Zuri felt something in her chest loosen at his words. "I'd like that," she admitted softly.

"And about your work," Aurélien continued, "I meant what I said. I don't want you to give up your career for this. We'll figure out how to make it work with the PR team."

Zuri blinked, surprised by his support. "Thank you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aurélien's hand found hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. "We're partners in this, Zuri. Whatever happens, we face it together. Okay?"

As Zuri looked at him, she felt a warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the room temperature. "Okay," she agreed, a small smile forming on her lips.

Aurélien cleared his throat, his eyes darting away for a moment before meeting hers again. "There's also the matter of... living arrangements."

Zuri felt her heart skip a beat. "Oh?"

"I mean, eventually, we'll need to share a room," he said, his voice low. "For appearances, if nothing else."

Zuri couldn't help the giggle that escaped her lips, feeling her cheeks warm. "Right. Appearances."

Aurélien's lips twitched, amusement dancing in his eyes. "And then there's the matter of... you know."

"Sex?" Zuri supplied, her voice higher than usual.

Aurélien nodded, his tongue darting out his mouth to lick his bottom lip. "Yeah, that."

They both burst into laughter, the tension breaking.

"And kids?" Zuri asked, once they'd calmed down.

Aurélien's expression softened. "I'd like at least one, eventually. You?"

Zuri bit her lip. "I hadn't really thought about it. I mean, I'm only 24. Having a baby now seems... crazy."

"Yeah, of course. There's no rush," Aurélien assured her quickly. "We've got time."

As if on cue, Zuri's stomach growled loudly. Aurélien grinned, reaching for the room service menu. "Hungry?"

They ordered room service - a juicy burger with truffle fries for Aurélien and a Caesar salad with grilled chicken for Zuri. As they settled in to watch an episode of a true crime documentary, Zuri couldn't help but marvel at how comfortable this felt. Just days ago, they were strangers thrust into an impossible situation. Now, here they were, sharing a meal and casual conversation like old friends.

As they ate, Aurélien mentioned tomorrow's game.

"You're going to learn about football whether you like it or not," he teased, popping a fry into his mouth.

Zuri smirked, spearing a piece of chicken with her fork. "Maybe I should just watch Ted Lasso instead."

Aurélien's eyes narrowed playfully. "Don't play with me, ZuZu."

The nickname sent a jolt through Zuri, her mind going into overdrive. ZuZu? When did that happen? And why did it make her heart flutter?

As they continued watching, Zuri found her thoughts drifting. Their conversation earlier about honesty, expectations, and boundaries echoed in her mind. It was surreal how quickly things were progressing, how easily they seemed to be falling into a rhythm. Part of her wanted to resist, to remind herself that this was still an arranged marriage, still not what she'd chosen for herself. But another part - a growing part - was starting to wonder if should just see where things could go with Aurélien.

After three episodes, Aurélien eventually stood to leave, stretching as he did. His shirt rode up, revealing a sliver of toned abs that made Zuri's mouth go dry. All thoughts of resistance fled her mind at the sight.

"See you tomorrow?" he asked, oblivious to the effect he was having on her.

"Y-yes," Zuri managed, her eyes still fixed on his midsection.

"Goodnight, ma chérie," Aurélien said softly, before heading out.

Once she was all by herself, Zuri flopped back onto the couch, one hand clutching at her chest dramatically. "That's a man, Savannah," she breathed, a dreamy smile spreading across her face.

The next morning, Zuri found herself in the stands of the PGE Narodowy Stadium in Warsaw, surrounded by a sea of white and royal blue. The UEFA Super Cup match between Real Madrid and Atalanta was about to begin, and the energy in the stadium was electric.

Zuri leaned towards Lila, having to raise her voice to be heard over the roar of the crowd. "Is it always this intense?"

Lila grinned, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Oh honey, this is just the warm-up. Wait till the match starts!"

As an American, Zuri was used to the spectacle of NFL games, but this... this was something else entirely. The chants, the flags, the sheer passion of the fans around her was unlike anything she'd experienced before.

"I've been to Giants games back home," Zuri shouted to Lila, "but this is on another level!"

Lila laughed, linking her arm through Zuri's. "Welcome to European football. It's not just a game, it's a religion."

As the teams took the field, the stadium erupted. Zuri's eyes immediately found Aurélien, his tall frame easy to spot even from their seats. She felt a flutter in her stomach that had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with how he looked in his kit.

"So," Lila said, a mischievous glint in her eye, "on a scale of one to 'climb him like a tree', how are you feeling about your arranged husband right now?"

Zuri felt her cheeks warm. "Lila!"

"What? I'm just saying, seeing Jude in his kit still does things to me." Lila's eyes found her boyfriend on the field, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Trust me, it never gets old."

Zuri shook her head, laughing despite herself. As the whistle blew to start the match, she found herself swept up in the excitement. She might not understand all the rules yet, but watching Aurélien move across the field with such grace and power, she was beginning to see the appeal of the beautiful game.

The crowd around them surged and swayed with every play, their emotions rising and falling like a tempestuous sea. Zuri found herself joining in, shouting and cheering along with everyone else, caught up in the infectious energy of it all.

As halftime approached, Zuri turned to Lila, her eyes wide with exhilaration. "Okay, I get it now. This is amazing!"

Lila smirked. "Just wait till you experience the rivalry match with FC Barcelona. This? This is nothing."

Zuri couldn't imagine anything more intense than this, but as she watched Aurélien jog off the field, catching his eye as he glanced up at the stands, she realized she was looking forward to finding out.

As the second half kicked off, the intensity in the stadium only seemed to increase. Zuri found herself on the edge of her seat, her heart racing with every near miss and spectacular save. She was surprised at how quickly she'd become invested in the game, cheering loudly whenever Aurélien or Jude had possession of the ball.

The match remained scoreless well into the second half, the tension mounting with each passing minute. Then, in the 59th minute, it happened. Federico Valverde put Real Madrid ahead from close range, converting a precise pass from Vinícius Junior.

The stadium exploded. Zuri found herself on her feet, screaming in jubilation along with thousands of other fans. Lila grabbed her in a tight hug, both of them jumping up and down in excitement.

"Did you see that?" Zuri yelled, her voice hoarse.

Lila grinned back at her. "I told you it was something else!"

Just nine minutes later, the crowd erupted again as Kylian Mbappé, making his debut for Real Madrid, fired the ball into the top corner from Jude Bellingham's pass.

"Oh my god, Jude assisted that!" Lila screamed, her pride evident.

The remaining minutes of the game were a blur of nervous energy and excited chatter. When the final whistle blew, confirming Real Madrid's 2-0 victory and their record sixth Super Cup crown, the celebration in the stands was deafening.

As the team did their victory lap around the pitch, Jude broke away from the group, jogging over to where Lila and Zuri were standing. In a move that had clearly been practiced, he leapt up, grabbing the edge of the barrier to pull himself up to Lila's level. Their kiss was brief but passionate, eliciting cheers from nearby fans.

Zuri watched, a mix of amusement and envy swirling in her chest. Then she saw Aurélien approaching. Her breath caught as he came to a stop in front of her, his face flushed with exertion and triumph.

"So," he said, his voice barely audible over the crowd, "what did you think of your first football match?"

Zuri found herself grinning widely. "It was... incredible. You were all incredible."

Aurélien's smile widened, his eyes locked on hers. For a moment, Zuri thought he might follow Jude's example and leap up to kiss her. Instead, he reached up, his hand finding hers and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," he said softly. "Maybe you'll want to come to more games?"

Zuri nodded, suddenly breathless. "Yeah," she managed. "I'd like that."

As Aurélien jogged back to join his teammates, Zuri turned to find Lila watching her with a knowing smirk.

"What?" Zuri asked, feeling her cheeks warm.

Lila just shook her head, laughing. "Oh honey, you've got it bad."

As they made their way to the locker room, the team's voices echoed through the tunnel:

"¡Hala Madrid! ¡Hala Madrid! ¡Hala Madrid y nada más!"

The chant reverberated off the walls, their jubilation palpable. Aurélien felt the rush of victory coursing through his veins, his grin wide and unrestrained.

In the showers, the celebration continued, steam rising around them as they rehashed the game's best moments.

"Mbappé!" Aurélien called out, his voice carrying over the spray of water. "Not bad for a debut, yeah?"

Kylian's laughter rang out. "Just getting started, bro. Just getting started."

After cleaning up, a smaller group decided on a quieter celebration. Aurélien, Kylian, Jude, Ferland, and Eduardo made their way to the designated family area, a secluded section just off the main corridor. It was a haven away from the prying eyes of the media, where partners and families could wait in relative privacy.

As they approached, Aurélien's eyes immediately found Zuri.

"Hey," he said softly, approaching her. "Tag along with Lila, okay? We'll meet you at the restaurant."

Zuri nodded, understanding the need for discretion. Aurélien could see the flash of cameras beyond the security barriers, hear the distant shouts of reporters hoping for a quote or a clear shot. He felt a protective urge rise within him, wanting to shield Zuri from the chaos that came with his world.

When they walked out, Aurélien couldn't help but steal glances at her, admiring how she fit in so naturally with the group. Lila had linked arms with Zuri, the two women chatting animatedly as they navigated the gauntlet of paparazzi. Aurélien made a mental note to thank Lila later for taking Zuri under her wing.

At the restaurant, they settled into a large, semi-circular booth tucked away in a corner. Without thinking, Aurélien's arm found its way to the back of the seat behind Zuri. He wasn't quite touching her, but he could feel the heat radiating off her body, acutely aware of every small movement she made.

He watched, amused, as Lila perched on Jude's lap, the couple sharing a quick kiss. The easy affection between them made something twist in Aurélien's chest - a feeling he wasn't quite ready to examine too closely.

"Careful there, Bellingham," Aurélien teased. "Don't lose her in your lap. Might need a search party to find her."

Laughter erupted around the table, Lila sticking her tongue out at Aurélien good-naturedly.

As the waiter approached, Aurélien leaned in closer to Zuri. "Trust me?" he murmured.

At her nod, he took charge, ordering for both of them with a confidence that surprised even himself. He'd paid more attention to her likes and dislikes than he'd realized.

"The grilled salmon with roasted vegetables for the lady," he said, his voice smooth. "And she'll start with the butternut squash soup."

Zuri's eyes widened slightly, impressed. She caught Lila's gaze across the table, the petite woman's smile widening into a Cheshire cat grin. Lila leaned in to whisper something to Jude, whose own smile grew to match his girlfriend's.

"Look at you, Tchouaméni," Camavinga teased, "already ordering for your wife like a proper gentleman."

Jude chuckled, his arm tightening around Lila's waist. "He's learning from the best, mate."

"Oh please," Lila rolled her eyes, but her fond smile betrayed her. "As if you knew what a vegetable was before you met me."

The table erupted in laughter, Jude feigning offense. Throughout the meal, Aurélien couldn't help but notice how Jude's eyes constantly drifted to Lila, how his hand always found its way back to her, even when reaching for his drink or gesturing during a story. It was like Lila was his anchor in a storm of excitement and celebration.

Later that night, as Aurélien and Zuri walked to a nearby ice cream shop, Zuri brought up the couple.

"I follow Lila on Instagram," she said, licking her vanilla cone. "Their photos are cute, but seeing them in person… they can barely keep their hands off each other."

Aurélien chuckled, his own chocolate ice cream forgotten for a moment. "Yeah, Jude's had it bad for her for a while now. Even before they started dating, he'd get this dopey look on his face whenever someone mentioned her name."

Zuri raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Jude had a crush on her for months before he worked up the courage to ask her out," Aurélien replied. "Nearly drove the rest of us mad with his pining."

They both laughed, the sound echoing in the quiet street.

As they entered the hotel, Aurélien felt a strange reluctance to end the evening. "Want to watch another episode of that crime documentary?" he found himself asking.

Zuri nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Sure, why not?"

In her room, they settled on the couch, noticeably closer than before. Aurélien couldn't help but appreciate how comfortable Zuri seemed around him now, her body slightly leaning into his as the episode played.

Halfway through, he noticed her breathing had evened out. Glancing down, he saw she had fallen asleep, her head dangerously close to resting on his shoulder. For a moment, he didn't want to move, content in this peaceful bubble they'd created.

Eventually, though, he knew he had to go. Gently, he shifted her to lie fully on the couch, draping a blanket over her sleeping form. He turned off the TV, the room plunging into a soft darkness broken only by the city lights filtering through the curtains.

Before he could overthink it, Aurélien leaned down and placed a soft kiss on Zuri's forehead. "See you tomorrow, ma chérie," he whispered, then quietly left the room.

Aurélien headed to his floor and he couldn't shake the realization that he was in deep. Every moment with Zuri revealed something new to like about her, and it was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Lost in thought, he almost bumped into a shirtless Jude at the ice machine.

Jude's eyebrows waggled suggestively. "Coming back from Zuri's room, eh?"

Aurélien rolled his eyes, but before he could retort, Jude pressed something into his hand - a condom.

"You're going to need this more than me now," Jude said with a wink.

Aurélien snorted. "Pretty sure you'll have better use for it, Mr. I-have-an-actual-girlfriend."

Jude shrugged, a smug grin spreading across his face. "Not anymore. Lila just told me she's on birth control now."

Aurélien made a face, tilting his head to the side. "T-M-fuckin'-I, Bellingham, but I don't think Lewis would be too happy if you knock up his baby sister. You're on thin ice as it is."

Jude scoffed, already heading back to his room. "No one's afraid of Lewis."

Aurélien chuckled, shaking his head as he continued to his own room. As he closed the door behind him, he couldn't help but wonder what the hell he was getting himself into, but as he fell into bed, his last thought before sleep claimed him was of Zuri's peaceful sleeping face, and he found he didn't mind the complication one bit.

TO BE CONTINUED....Read Chapter 4

#emjayewrites #aurelien tchouameni #aurelien tchouameni imagine #aurelien tchouameni fanfic #footballer x reader #real madrid fanfic #emjaywrites

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selyeji · 7 months ago

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for lovers

pedri gonzalez x reader

summary : inspired by “for lovers” album by lamp, the drift of two young lovers intertwined by the sea.

warnings : angst if you squint

for lovers…

as each season goes by, the scenery changes, the landscape melts away, yet you still only think of him. pedri, your childhood best friend, your lover. both of you went to the same school, thus leading to you meeting him. you two instantly clicked like two puzzle pieces, inseparable from each other. months since then, both of you were close to each others family. you often hung out in their house, tutoring pedri with schoolwork, helping around the restaurant, chatting with fer.

you were always aware of your feelings for him, suddenly you looked at him differently. simple words, touches, eye contact changed to metaphors and symbolism of longing for a deeper relationship. it wasn’t until you were both 16 when he confessed his feelings for you.

you have always supported him, his signing with las palmas, you always went to his matches. always there if he needed someone whether it was to talk to or a comfortable silent cuddle. your family’s supported your relationship with each other. seeing each other grow up knowing feelings with bloom in aswell.

as you stand on the shore alone, the waves were quiet but heard, sounds of birds chirping, rays of sun. you admired the view but can’t help think of pedri in this warmth, reminding you of your youthful love in summer. you smiled as you continue walking, the rocks and sand creating a sound as you took each step. pedri was still not taken off your mind.

spreading tears…

the rain trickles down, the water droplets on the window slowly fall off. the end of summer approaches, turning the blue sky into a darker shade. you always liked the rain and cold weathers, it reminded you of memories with pedri.

a memory when you were kids, the town was quiet, people stayed inside their houses. he waited outside yours, insisting on you playing with him in the rain. you were always scared of getting sick but he assured you it will be fine. “let’s go y/n! i promise it’s safe. if you ever get sick i’ll help take care of you!” he yelled. cheeks turned red, not wanting to leave him disappointed, you quickly grabbed your boots and coat and wore them. asking permission before going out, your mother approved and you ran to the door. opening it, pedri immediately smiled and ran. “hey wait for me!” you yelled at him, chasing him. playing around, getting wet in the rain, dirt spread as you played in the puddles. both your giggles could be heard by the entire town.

the moment is engraved in your memory. it was beautiful, filled with happiness despite the rain and gloomy clouds. you’ll miss these memories, with pedri’s new signing at barcelona, you were so happy for him. you knew communication would be hard until he mentions he wanted you to move to barcelona with him. immediately agreeing, your parents wouldn’t mind as long as you continued your studies in the city.

the small quiet town filled with emotions and memories, you were soon about to leave with your lover. although you were excited, you couldn’t help but feel melancholy for the small town you leave behind. the end of a season in the quiet village you grew up in.

last train at 25’ o’clock…

the final train for the night left, leaving the two of you in silence on the platform. under the starry night sky, you and pedri walked around the streets of barcelona. the winter coldness and temperatures made blood rise up to your cheeks. holding hands in one of your pockets, sharing your body warmth. a trail of white mist leaves your mouth as you sigh, relaxing your body.

the vast city lights stretched across the street. looking at the stars above, resting your head on pedri’s shoulder. enjoying the moment as youngsters before your partners fame rises, becoming their golden boy. you both run into the night, intertwining hands, despite it being silent, it was comfortable. feeling each others presence, accompanied by the clock showing 1:00 in the morning.

the gentle gust of wind hits your faces, slightly drying your lips as you both smile, two youngins enjoying the time of their life. hearts following the beat of music in the earphones you share.

out on a sunny day…

pedri always invited you to his games, you always went whenever you could. your schedule with uni and studying filled your calendar. his was too, matches, training, socializing with his club, it was too much. too much that both of you couldn’t even spend time with one another.

it was the 4th time in a row pedri came home late, hours after his training ended. the moonlight rays glow to your window, your silhouette still as you sat on the couch with the clock ticking waiting for pedri. door unlocking, keys shuffling echoed through the silence, you immediately glance to the entrance. he didn’t even bother to greet you, nor to look you in the eye. “where have you been” you spoke up.

“out.” he said coldly, not a single concern nor effort in his voice. “seriously pedri, i’ve been worried for these past days. i wait for you making sure the food is still warm once you arrive.” he snapped “its not that serious y/n. im just out here trying to live the best out of my young years, i want to go out and have fun, yet you’re here just limiting me from it! god when will you just leave me alone.” he yelled. you couldn’t even reply, standing there quietly as tears start gather.

the silence truly killed you softly, it felt like your throat was stuck. your thoughts started building up, anxiety rising. ‘have fun?’ perhaps he started going out to clubs, was he seeing other girls? no that couldn’t be. he wasn’t the pedri you knew, he wasn’t the pedro you fell in love with. you knew this was goodbye. “this isn’t working out anymore, this isn’t for the best. if we stay together it will only get worse amor. please just… leave by tomorrow morning pedro.” you said, couldn’t help calling him your love one last time.

days has passed, your apartment couldn’t have been more empty than before. it felt the duvet folds of your blanket have melted onto you, you were unable to leave your bed. you often forgot to eat, even drink water. only getting up to use the restroom. you only found comfort in your state of depression. you couldn’t cry, therefore you couldn’t sleep. you stared at the ceiling, wondering if you could even forget about him. aimless sundays without his presence is a routine you’ll have to adjust to. a step to moving forward.

tomorrow comes i will…

its this familiar scene you see once again, too familiar with it in fact. as people walked to not get wet by the shore, memories flooded in as you remain standing. the children’s giggles reminded you of the soft moments on this exact sand.

…

you were both 16, sat on the beach in the ashen sky. chattering going back and forth about your daily lives. until he asks a question, the conversation deepening, your heart races. “well… are you interested in someone?” you blankly stared forward. your choices whether to ruin your friendship completely or to never tell him your true feelings. you quietly turned your head sideways to face him with blush all over your cheeks.

the wind playfully messed your hair, slightly covering your face. pedri pulls his hand out, caressing the strand behind your ear. his dark brown eyes meeting yours as his hand moves from your ear to your cheek and jawline. caressing your face with his thumb, he slowly moves his face closer to yours.

your lips meets, grazing each other. your eyes close, the time felt slow, you felt like you were on cloud 9. you couldn’t care for anything else but his lips on yours. it felt the world around you just stopped, revolving around you, the flavor of your lipbalm could be tasted. you lips separate, eyes meeting each other before bursting into soft giggles. butterflies in your stomach. foreheads resting on each other, sharing warmth.

…

soft brushes of the wind grazes your cheek, replacing his hand. you remain in this nameless season, emptiness felt as you felt your own heartbeat and footsteps in the sand. you wanted to hear his voice that gave comfort in your heart, reassurance and love. all alone in the distant sea.

the wind will surely reach your city, barcelona.

rain tapestry…

the windowpane beside you starts to build up fog. the cold weather and grey sky throughout the city. yet you were warm, you found comfort and your body heats up, blushing because of a guy you recently met. he was your perfect match, similar interests, kind, respectful, any positive trait you could think of.

it felt like you were 17 again, with pedri when your love for him grew despite the obscure rain. during these days you would stay home, cuddle under the sheets as your bodies melt into each other. you were always a fan of literature, books stacked on the shelf, multiple annotations wrote.

pedri laid in your chest as you read the book on your hand, swiftly turning pages. occasionally taking a sip of your coffee. you notice snoring could be heard, checking on pedri if he fell asleep. his were eyes closed, his long lashes noticeable, his cheeks pink, hair messed up. you took your hand out, slowly scratching his scalp. he seemed to notice and moved closer to your upper chest. slowly he began relaxing, his arms hugging your sides. you blushed knowing he’s yours.

well, was. you sat on the table in a cafe, writing poetry and your thoughts. it helped you express yourself through hard times lately. your feelings were validated as you write down, despite wanting to move on from your previous relationship.

you hoped pedri knew each page of poetry was for him, love eternally living in those words.

words of love…

pedri looked out his balcony, the curtains softly swayed along the wind. the winter night was quiet, it wasn’t the same without you. he longed for a melancholic relationship with genuine feelings, those one-night stands never filled that void, girls only seemed to be interested in him because he was a footballer.

he always wondered what would happen now if he never left, if he wasn’t so stubborn, if only he didn’t keep his pride and ego so high. around this time of night you would’ve been in his room, whispering his words of love to you. slowly dancing with you, moving along the rhythm of the music, talking about the day that has passed by.

the adjustment of moving cities have went smoothly. pedri bonded well with the team while you were able to find a scholarship. life was perfect as your love for each other only seemed to bloom even more.

he often took you out for dinner, wanting to spend more time to talk to you, hear your voice and laughter. exchange words that burned each other heart. holding hands on the table, maintaining eye contact with one another as you spoke.

now sat at the balcony, leaning his head on the window as he pondered about this romance. closing his instagram filled with dms of models around the world. he couldn’t make himself reply to any of them. all of those messages filled with lust despite all he yearned was a romantic love. he lost the only person who could understand him, touch him with the intention of reassurance.

behind the moon shadow…

back in tenerife beach, the moon reflected on the waves of water. the bygone feelings of the past innocent and idealistic relationship. words of love now stored in a seashell, the memories now buried under the sandy beach. date when we sat under the moon, above the sand, sleeping on each others shoulder.

stardust scattered across the sky of barcelona, pedri wish he was stuck in the past. the waves would wet your arms as you two played in the beach. every happy memory plays as he sat outside, avoiding people from the party. he stares at the moon, the same moon you stare at. perhaps the moon will tell the tale of us once so smitten, drifting apart.

a/n : first fic made it out of boredom,,, live laugh love lamp

#pedri #pedri x reader #pedri x you #pedri x y/n #pedri gonzalez x reader #football x reader #football x you #footballer x reader #pedri imagine #football imagine #football x y/n

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girllfaillure · 1 year ago

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“you bewitched me..”

Wilbur Soot | Will Gold x reader (she/her pronouns used) ~ fluff <3

Sypnosis: Falling head over heels in a bookshop was the last thing Will expected on a November morning. Perhaps it was for the better?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~⋆｡˚୨୧˚｡⋆~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bookshop that morning reeked of pure nostalgia. It reminded Will of his childhood, or some kind of comfort he didn’t know he needed. He brushed the tiny snowflakes off his beige trench coat with a soft flick and gravitated towards the history section, American History to be exact. He observed the bookshop, taking in the soft lighting and interior - definitely a cosy place.

At that moment, he found his eyes landing on a girl behind the counter. She had been typing away by the computer at the desk - she seemed focused with a warm drink clutched in her hand. Will felt something flutter in the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t like any feeling he had known before. It was almost aching, but a good ache. A warm ache. He felt his gaze soften and his lips part. An almost foreign desperation clawed at him and it was like tiny sparks igniting and burning at his bones. He felt the profound urge to just embrace her then. He wanted to kiss her forehead and tell her sweet things. He wanted her. He wanted her like nothing he’s ever desired for before.

In that moment, feeling something practically scorch holes into her, she looked up too. And it was like time stopped moving around the two. Her eyes softened and she felt a little smile tug at her lips as she caught the eyes of the tall stranger in the room. She felt as if she had known him twenty years, rather than twenty seconds. Like they had been together in past lives or something like that.

Reality soon swept them back up and she immediately went back to typing on the computer, trying to purge this feeling but it wouldn’t die, it grew and it grew and she wanted to be swallowed by it. Will noticed her eyes turning away and was met with a sudden shyness. He could have talked to her if he wanted, he was Will Gold. He was the lead singer of a band on the rise to fame, a well-known content creator yet he felt so nervous to even step closer to the stranger. He exhaled a shaky breath he didn’t know he was holding in and continue to peruse through the books on the shelves.

Her eyes found him again, taking in his appearance. She studied his brown curly hair, his lanky frame, his long fingers - which were grazing the books in a precise fashion, like his touch could kill if he even pressed too hard. She wondered what it would be like to hold his hands in hers, or feel him trace every scar on her body. She wondered what his hair would feel like, what scent would it carry. She wondered how his frame would feel next to hers in a hug or a cuddle. She wanted to extinguish these thoughts and fantasies but they were so strong…ceaseless. He was bewitching.

Will tried grasping at any courage he had in his body. Too many times in his life had he let fear stop him from potential lovers but none of them even compared to her. She was so, so compelling. She was angelic. She was something you’d worship. And he wanted to, for the rest of his life. He took shaky deep breaths, trying to think of things to say. A comment about the weather? No, that’s boring. A forward compliment? He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable - besides he was internally battling a fear that she was already in a relationship. He wouldn’t be surprised if she was, she was utter, complete perfection. But he knew if he let her slip away, he’d never forgive himself.

In that moment, he felt a voice behind him.

“Excuse me?”

Will turned his head and there she was. Her soft eyes looking up at him, like an innocent baby animal. He felt blush paint his cheeks a rosy colour.

“Hi.” He smiled and she smiled too.

“Do you need help with anything?”

She was soft-spoken and sweet. A voice he knew he could never get tired of hearing.

“Yeah..actually. Do you have anything by Edgar Allan Poe in stock?” He asked, trying to look anywhere but her face. He knew if he looked at her, his knees would buckle and give up underneath him.

She thought for a second, trying to recall if they did have any books by Edgar Allan Poe. But she didn’t want to miss out on this opportunity to talk to him. “I can go to the poetry section and have a look?” He nodded and she led him to the poetry section. She stood on her tiptoes and flicked through the book spines until she found one by the writer he had requested.

During the search, Will found himself looking at every little thing she did and he thought she was the most adorable person he had ever encountered. Every single thing, he felt himself smile to himself. He was falling more and more inlove with her each second. After a while a blue covered book was passed his way. When he took the book, his hand brushed hers and he felt his heart skip a beat.

“Thank you.”

“It’s okay, I’m glad I was able to help you.”

She smiled up at him and Will noticed the little pin clipped to her shirt, with her name in a pretty font.

He found himself repeat her name in his head. Reciting it like a vow or prayer. A pretty word coming from pretty lips. It wasn’t long before Will approached the counter and she was there, smiling.

Will smiled too. It was contagious.

She scanned the book and looked up at him.

“That’s gonna be…£8.89. Is that gonna be cash or card?”

“Uhm…cash..” He placed a hand in his pocket and fiddled for the money from his wallet.

She accepted the money and placed the change on top of the book, along with the receipt tucked into the cover. She looked back up at him, “Have a good rest of your day. I hope to see you here again soon.”

She smiled up at him.

He blushed and nodded. “Yeah..I’ll definitely come again soon. It’s a nice shop and you seem like a lovely person.”

Will could of sworn he saw her cheeks turn red. She nodded and watched him leave the shop, a flurry of snowflakes replacing his presence.

He sighed and felt the winter breeze nip at him, he opened the book up and checked the receipt curiously. Of course, the details and such were typed on to the paper, but there was an extra little piece of text at the bottom.

‘ xxxx-xxxxxx <;3’

‘i thought you were pretty nice and was hoping i will see you more often, rather than in the shop. i think you’re pretty cute anyways. i hope i’ll see you around more.

- [name] <3’ Will felt his eyes widen, his heartbeat gradually quickening. She had given him her number...she wanted to see more of him. He smiled to himself, which accompanied the butterflies in his stomach. Them meeting was clearly fate - true love at first sight.

#wilbur soot #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur x you #wilbur soot fluff #lovejoy #mcyt x reader

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wanderingelvis · 2 years ago

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Reader has major wardrobe malfunction with her bikini bottoms in public. Reader whispers her problem to Elvis. His eyes go wide as he tries to figure out what to do about the problem. Maybe reader is trying to hold them to cover herself and elvis tries to fix them but he makes it worse and they just fall off. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t slightly enjoying the situation as he helps shield reader from others

I love this! I'm picturing Blue Hawaii Elvis for this! 🌺

🧚🏻 Masterlist 🧚🏻 word count: 1,838

pairing: elvis presley x f!reader

You and Elvis weren't dating but you both had unspoken feelings for each other. Right now, the official line was that you were just both good friends and co-workers. You were an up and coming actress, on the rise and getting more notoriety and bigger roles. You were pleased that all your hard work in the movie business had paid off but you were becoming increasingly reclusive, wary to trust a lot of people after pictures of you changing on set had leaked to gossip magazines as well as things you'd said in confidence to various people had spread like wildfire. It was the ugly side of fame, one that you hadn't really been very prepared for.

It was the ugly side that Elvis knew all too well. He too, struggled to trust many people other than his Mafia and a few other close and very personal friends. That's how you grew closer to him, anything you and Elvis spoke about was always kept between you two, even if it was just something as simple as what you were planning on having for lunch. Elvis' friendship and company was always very welcome and the chemistry between you two was palpable - even the studios and audiences had noticed it. Everyone loved you two together, the way you'd bounce off each other in a conversation, or quietly giggle together between sets or the on-screen interactions that would have audiences desperate for more. You and Elvis had been contracted by Paramount Pictures for a three-movie deal, where both of you would be the main protagonists, falling in and out of love, three times over. You didn't mind, Elvis was the biggest star on the planet and to be chosen to be his leading lady was an incredible honour. Your latest project was set in Hawaii, on tropical beaches where you and Elvis currently found yourselves, in between takes. You were dressed in a cute bikini number, bright yellow which complimented the glowing tan you had. The only difficulty of the whole get-up was the strings that kept coming undone, no matter how many times you tied them, tighter and tighter. It was about the seventh time that you fumbled about with the bikini bottoms strings, undoing them and pulling at them again. This time didn't quite work in your favour however, as the elasticine snapped back on your fingers, tearing the threads and breaking the fabric, causing the string to completely fall apart and snap.

"...Fuck." You whispered, your cheeks beginning to burn up as you tried to wrangle as much of the string as you possibly could, but the bikini bottom was snapped and there was no way you'd be able to keep it tied.

You began to chew your lip cutely, looking up and around for the only person you really trusted to help you in such a vulnerable position.

You shuffled as subtly as you could towards Elvis who was stood near the back of the beach, studying his script. You felt embarrassed and humiliated, but desperate, knowing you needed his help. You lightly tapped his arm, not wanting to draw anyone else's attention your way. Elvis turned, raising an eyebrow and looking at you coyly as his eyes raked up and down your bikini-clad body. You gestured for him to lean down, which he did, allowing you to step on your little tippy-toes and lean up to whisper into his ear, shyly. "My bikini, um, my bikini bottom is broken I think." You said with a wobbly, soft voice. Elvis drew back from you, seeing your hands, balled up as little fists, trying to keep the material together and in one-piece so that you wouldn't end up flashing anyone. A smirk appeared on Elvis' face, that shit-eating grin that would make you roll your eyes. Elvis took his large hand, brushing his fingers across your bare thigh to move your hands ever so slightly, so that he could inspect what was wrong. Tingles travelled through you as his hand grazed your hot skin, you swallowed as you looked down at your feet, trying to keep your composure. Elvis leaned back down to you, pushing your hair gently over your shoulder, tucking it behind the shell of your ear which sent shivers down your spine. "Baby, if you want me to take off your clothes, all ya needed t'do was ask." He whispered, cooly. You jolted back, giving him a light smack on his upper arm. "Elvis, no, I need your help!" You lightly scolded, making Elvis chuckle fondly down to you.

"M'nervous it's gonna snap, I can't shoot the next scene like this." You said quietly and Elvis instantly felt bad for messing with you, sensing how worried you were. "I'm sorry doll, I'm only teasin' ya. Now, let's see what's wrong, hey?" He said as you nodded eagerly. Elvis knelt down slightly, his eye line perfectly aligned with the side of your hip, dangerously close to your crotch. Reluctantly, you let go of your bikini bottom straps, allowing Elvis' large hands to take them from you.

He tried to you tie them back up again, but after snapping, there just wasn't enough string, causing the string to pull and pinch your soft skin, making you yelp and wince a little in pain.

"Shit, sorry honey." Elvis hushed, gently kissing the spot on your hip, smiling up at you. You couldn't help but blush and smile back. Elvis really had a number on you. He was gentle, protective and caring but he was also powerful, dominant and brash, and you were completely obsessed. You found that he was the person you'd always turn to whenever you were at work with him. You wouldn't confide in your assistant, any of the costume team that you used to be very close to, no, it was only Elvis. You'd actually spoken to him about it a bit. You'd shared your anxieties and fear of this growing fame, and only he could really relate and understand where you were coming from, and he helped. He'd promised you that he would keep all your secrets, even if he teased you about them. "Hm.." Elvis mused quietly, glancing at your bikini bottom, where a small, wet patch of arousal had formed. The intense mix of excitement and nerves must've gotten to you as Elvis noticed the slick coating the elastane material.

"What?" You asked, not yet catching onto what Elvis had spotted. "Been into the sea for a dip recently, sweet thing?" Elvis asked.

"Um, no, not since the first scene." You shook your head, a little confused. "Why?"

Elvis smirked. "Nothin' darlin', just that these lil' panties you got on would suggest otherwise." Elvis said. You're cheeks turned a deep shade of pink, realising what Elvis had meant. Your mind had just drifted as Elvis touched you innocently, you couldn't help it but by God, you were embarrassed now. "I, um, I-" You stammered, feeling like your whole body was on fire. You held your cheeks in your hands, trying to gather your composure.

Elvis rubbed your thigh soothingly in an attempt to reassure you. He wasn't stupid, he knew the effect that he had on you and he loved it. He wouldn't humiliate you though, he just loved to make you squirm and get all flustered and hot, he just wished he could do it in the privacy of his bedroom.

"S'okay honey," Elvis cooed. "Y'know, this happens to a lot of the ladies I talk to," Elvis teased you, knowing he was being an ass. "Shut up, Elvis." You giggled as he winked up at you, making you feel better.

Elvis kept fiddling with the straps, muttering profanities as the elastic would snap his fingers every now and then until he cursed a little louder and a sudden breeze could be felt across your lower area. You froze, knowing exactly what had happened. Elvis' eyes widened as he was staring straight at you, bare and exposed. Panicked, you crouched down to Elvis' level, cowering over with your legs tightly shut. Your heart was pounding as you looked around, praying that no one from set would turn around, fortunately, Elvis was shielding you as he was crouched in front of you, but if he moved, you'd be done for. "Fuck, baby, I don't know what happened, they just snapped and dropped." Elvis said.

Elvis sighed, cooing at you as he noticed the pool of tears forming in your eyes. "Oh baby, it's okay." Elvis said, trying to comfort you.

"No one can see me, Elvis, I swear, I can't risk anyone seeing me like this, please." You said, your voice cracking. Suddenly, a usually confident, composed and bubbly girl was vulnerable, nervous and desperate for Elvis' help. "Here," Elvis said, unbuttoning his shirt. Your eyes widened at his bare chest before you averted your eyes, quickly wiping the tears from your eyes.

He held the shirt open in his arms for you to crawl into, wrapping it around you lovingly, as if it were a towel and you'd just had a bath. He adjusted it ever so slightly to fit your frame and completely cover your most intimate areas. He tied a knot into the side of it, making sure that it wouldn't drop from your frame as soon as you got up.

Elvis uttered little whispers of reassurance to you as he fixed his shirt around you, trying to soothe your racing mind, praising you for staying so calm and letting him help you. His words helped, they comforted you and helped you concentrate and level your breathing. "Now, I'm goin' to pick you up and take you to my trailer, okay little lady?" Elvis said, waiting for you to nod, letting him know you were listening. "And if anyone says anythin', we're goin' to tell 'em that you twisted that little ankle of yours, okay?" "Okay." You nodded, liking the idea. "Good girl, c'mon now." Elvis said, scooping you up in his arms, bridal style with his shirt covering your modesty. "I could get used to holdin' you like this, y'know?" Elvis said, making you giggle furiously and instantly feeling better. "There's that smile I've been missin'." Elvis said fondly, starting to head towards his trailer. "EP! We're nearly ready for you!" The director yelled. "Just takin' Y/N to the nurses station, she gotta nasty twist in her ankle." Elvis called back, making you giggle again, thankful that you had Elvis. It wasn't long before the pair of you arrived back at the trailer with Elvis placing you down gently on the couch. "Thank you, Elvis." You said softly, breathing a sigh of relief, trying not to let the embarrassment of the whole event get to you too much. "Are you gonna tell anyone about this?" You asked quietly, nervous that you'd become a funny anecdote at a Memphis Mafia dinner. "Our secret, little one." Elvis said, holding out his pinky finger for you to take. "Our secret." You agreed, the both of you staring at each other, knowing that things had changed between you both now. But really, neither of you minded. Not one bit.

#elvis smut #elvis x y/n #elvis imagine #elvis #elvis presley #elvis fluff #elvis x reader #yandere elvis #50s elvis #60s elvis #70s elvis #elvis x you #elvis x oc

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ewanmitchelll · 11 months ago

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Imagine Taylor Swift’s songs (IV): Say Don’t Go.

Imagine you are a peasant who rescues Aemond after he fought his uncle Daemon Targaryen—but in this universe he didn’t die drowned, but suffered a wound that you, with your simple knowledge of medicine, actually manage to heal you. What shall happen then?

Warnings: fluff, violence, drama, angst.

***

• A Dance With Dragons

In between fire and ashes, blood has never been thicker. The one-eyed prince, on behalf of his infamous brother, is ready to take leave. Unbeknownst to him, as he mounts Vhagar, destiny sets a worse fate than the assumption of victory for all parties.

Here he goes, a path of blood behind this man—who tasted frustration and rejection all his life, lusting for what was never his by any right, tied in a very suffocating loyalty to his family.

Here he goes, moved by agony and pain, he who is hated by his enemies and despised by those who support the charismatic Aegon.

Here he goes… mounted in an ancient beast, prompted to finally write his name in the pages of history. Aemond, the kinslayer, the embodiment of fire and blood, flies in roaring skies.

And not too long after he meets his mirror, the one he wanted to be in life—a better version, certainly—, the kin who inspired him despicable sentiments—if perhaps in another occasion he would be this man’s favourite nephew.

This is not the moment for words to be spoken out. Warriors like them feel no need to exchange offenses. War is coming in thunderous storms. Higher than men, above divine heavens, uncommon relatives fight one another.

“DRACARYS, VHAGAR!”

His scream dies unheard, as the wind blows away the anger in his throat. Believing to possess such an ancient dragon, warlord like him, he doesn’t foresee that years and size are not by his side.

Daemon Targaryen and his Caraxes are faster and better equipped for this battle. Experience is also an advantaged tool played by the aforementioned prince towards his rascal nephew.

The skies shake and many are misled to think this is a thunder. But this is hardly a thunderstorm. Later the chroniclers would report it as a dance of the dragons, where this deadly combat between two great warlords and their gigantic beasts collided in such a way that as frightening as it was to watch, it seemed so as the involved were…dancing.

But Vhagar’s flesh and blood provide difficulty to Caraxes. Bites here and there, sounds that roared through the air, producing sparks of electrons and fire all the whilst their riders try to dismount the other.

The heights pose an inevitably invitation for prompt death. It’s only a matter of time until one of them falls, if not both of them do.

Skies grow darker and rain eventually drops. Caraxes, fighting better under this environment, twists the scene to his favor, surprising Vhagar. What happpens next is too fast to describe. Later, peasants would recall how a great beast like Vhagar fell upon the sea… without Lord Aemond on her back.

A question would haunt Aegon’s twilight reign: where has Lord Aemond Targaryen gone to?

To worse Aegon III’s rise to the throne, a shadow is casted. No body was found. Therefore… should it be presumed the rogue prince died? If so, not in his former mistress’s arms.

Where is Aemond Targaryen? What happened to the one-eyed lord, famed for his kinslayer epithet?

• Blue skies, fields painted green•

I’ve known it from the very start. We’re a shot in the darkest dark. Oh, no. I’m unarmed…

By the time you rescue him, you think he’s been dead and gone. But for a long while you, a simple curious being who, however, learned to study thanks to your older brother’s connection with literate beings, suspected not all was like appearances led to.

You managed to carry this strange man, aware he was in his worst conditions, to your household. It’s a very simple, typical peasant house. And this was a man you’ve never seen in these surroundings… especially because of his fancy robes, a positive indicator of his nobility.

Unaware of the details of this civil war, you took care of him. Ignoring his handsomeness, you dedicated day and night until he eventually opens his eyes.

And when he does… it’s a scandal. Most of all because he is still hurting in his chest and to breathe requires some energy. Then comes the revolt upon seeing he’s nowhere he’s familiar with.

Before he starts to rage out his frustration, the prince is prevented from doing so at the sight of you. A peasant, certainly a damsel despite being closer to him in age, shows up.

“L-L-Lord, please”, you know you’ve been bold in keeping him with you, in weaving illusions to escape your life, all of which makes you blush and sink into his feet. “I only tried to help you.”

Something about your smooth voice eases him. When looking better at you, Aemond’s chest hurts for being reminded of his sweet sister Helaena. He knows he could never do any harm to you.

“Rise, creature who saved my life”, and when you do, the silver haired man looks enchanted at your y/c soft skin, the mystery behind your y/c eyes… “I demand to know your name.”

“Y/N Y/LN, lord”, you whisper, still avoiding his gaze.

But it’s for no effort you do so as he looks for yours, holding your chin as he lifts it up. You see danger right before you, posing threat as he stands in front of you. Nevertheless, he is so alluring that to resist is just… pointless.

“Don’t call me lord. I’m Aemond”, he softens to you, his hand slipping to your throat gently before letting go of you, leaving behind a sensation of void and cold where there had been warmth. “It appears that if I fell here, my uncle took the best of me.”

You nod your head partly.

“You need to be careful, lo… Aemond. Your wounds are still fresh”, you bring him to outside for the very first time since you rescued him.

The prince, shirtless and dressing an old pair of pants, follows you, reluctant somewhat as what to find. He is, however, surprised when seeing there is nothing but a careful mix of colors. Deep blue that paints these cloudless skies and a shade of green that colors the hills and the grasses nearby.

The air is clean and the prince finds peace. However, when spotting, from that distance, the sea, this peace is replaced by angst.

“Vhagar”, he remembers painfully. “Where is she?”

When seeing a puzzled look on your face, Aemond has to remember himself you are a peasant, who probably judged dragons as mythical creatures. But he underestimates you.

“Ser, I may be poor and obscure, but I am not illiterate”, you speak impatiently. “I know who Vhagar is. I must say, though, that you were already dismounted by the time I found you. If you fell from such a height, this only means you are lucky that you are still alive.”

Aemond’s good eye transmits such a depth of sadness that you feel remorse for speaking like that to him. The prince doesn’t notice it, though, so he decides to walk outdoors and there sit amidst the high grass as a way to cope with his loss.

At first, all you do is watch him. This tall, paled prince with long silver hair, involved in a bandage around his waist with a skin painted in deep scars, is now the embodiment of melancholy.

Your reason tells you to leave him there, the moon is too high to grasp it, but your feet don’t obey your sense. It doesn’t take too long before you sit next to him.

“I’m sorry for your loss”, you break the silence hesitantly. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

He doesn’t respond you ar first, and you wonder whether he heard you or are ignoring you. But he turns his face at you eventually, still plagued by that shade of sadness few can be gladly dissociated from.

“You’ve done all you could, mistress Y/N. Thank you. You shall be rewarded.”

“My reward is your well being, lor… Aemond”, you offer him an understanding small smile.

These words prove to be the balsam he needs.

“I appreciate it, truly. In due time…” Aemond sighs, not willing to admit how lost he feels. “Do you have any news of what’s going on?”

By the looks of your face, the prince understands that what might come from you are not what he wants to hear. Even so, he must hear it. In this silent communication, though, there is little need to further comprehension.

Therefore you tell him about Lord Daemon’s victory. A short victory, however, as the common folk said that due to the gravity of his wounds eventually culminated in the said prince’s death.

What happened next was confused. You didn’t understand politics very well and you were too busy minding your own business to do so. Nevertheless, it’s common knowledge that the Seven Kingdoms have a new king.

“A new king?”, Aemond exclaims frustrated. “But Jaehaerys is just a boy!”

The embarrassment in your face only worsens his disappointment.

What, in seven hells, has happened in this short time I was unconscious?

“This is not his name, Ser. Our king is Aegon, Third of His Name.”

Aemond pales and for a moment you step back, fearful of his fury. But all the silver prince does is clench his jaw and turn his back on you for a moment. And you let him be all the time he needs.

***

• Healing…

I'm standin' on a tightrope alone. I hold my breath a little bit longer. Halfway out the door, but it won't close. I'm holdin' out hope for you…

A strange process it is to watch events unfold from the support ground. Witnessing from darkness the arrival of the Starks and then all the gathering leading to Aegon III’s ascension next to Rhaenyra, who, apparently, had transmitted her claim to the Iron Throne to her eldest son and heir, was too much for him to bear… especially now aware of the passing of every one he’d known and fought for.

But in due time, his silence and mourning become too much a burden for him to carry alone.

“I’m surprised you are still out here”, you tell him in one of these evenings you come home and find the prince there.

“Where else I’d go?”, Aemond shrugs his shoulders.

His eyes are glued in you, finding new expressions in your introspective features. You are different, a thought occurs him. What had happened outside to bring you more serious today? A question he does not dare to pose.

“To your mistress, perhaps”, a response that, albeit reluctant, transmits some grumpiness on your part.

For the first time in many moons, Aemond Targaryen smiles.

“Mistress?”, he repeats and you miss the amusement out of his voice.

“Mistress Rivers. Perhaps this is a name very familiar to you”, you don’t know why rolling the name of his former paramour sounds poisonous to your ears, inspiring a hearty agony and an inner despair.

As Aemond studies you, every piece comes to make sense when glued together. At first he says nothing, finding adorable how a creature so introspective like you, kept innocent and wild at the same time from mundane’s ill intentions, discovers new sentiments, obscured as jealousy and attachment might sound.

He could take the opportunity to write a new story, but even now… Aemond struggles to disassociate from the past.

“She was once attributed to many meanings, some of which had linkings to my personal affections”, Aemond admits, taking the opportunity to sip his ale. “But once we parted ways, I do not believe we are meant to mend it back.”

You cast him a long distrustful look, opting for the silence, even though there is so much being said in your body language. Aemond rises up and moves to where you stand, gently but firmly taking grip of your arm.

“Y/N, look at me”, he demands you gently. “Why have you brought her name out of the blue?”

You hesitate and Aemond can only be led to think there’s some bad news ahead. You take some breath and then look at him, as if struggling for courage.

“I cannot keep you here any longer, lord. I’ve been selfish, I see that now. But looking after my lord has given me purpose. All of this to say that people have been looking for you.”

“Looking for me”, he repeats. “Do not believe in what people say, my darling. My enemies are in power, the best we can do is hide for the moment. This means I must shave my head to keep the identity in secrecy.”

He surprises you, and even himself, with this new sense of resignation. But this is a wise move, considering no one had found his body, therefore the mystery must remain for his sake.

Nonetheless, he likes this life with you. Aemond smiles before holding you against him.

“I got used to you, dear one. Looks like I’m staying longer this time.”

That being said, he admires how wide you smile. No one had ever made him feel this sentiment before. He realizes now that what you two have is too sacred to let it be profaned.

• Pain & Blood

Why'd you have to lead me on? Why'd you have to twist the knife? Walk away and leave me bleedin', bleedin'? Why'd you whisper in the dark? Just to leave me in the night? Now your silence has me screamin', screamin'…

When he kisses you under moonlight in between the shadowy green fields, your mind goes blank and your heart races loud. When his tongue moves the way to your neck, your legs automatically spread to welcome his strong body; his arms now moving upper your back, caressing you slowly, aching in slow burn as you call out his name in sweet whispers.

“Mine lady”, his lips pursuit yours once more.

It’s past twilight. Silenced by the night, nature welcomes you in this wilderness out of the fancy troubles and the troublesome webs woven by the Black party.

You provide him home and security, the sweet taste of genuine love he’s been looking for. With him, likewise.

It’s free, intense and healing.

“We should better head inside”, he grumbles under his breath, struggling not to give free path for his desires.

You giggle softly, giving him a long look. As you straighten yourself, you hear him say:

“My lady, you bring the best of a beast like me.”

You spin around him, looking like a fairy with your simple white gown and y/c hair loose in your back.

“Is this you accusing me of witchcraft, lord? For I shall not tolerate such an accusation”, you put your hands around his neck.

“Nay. You are too pure for it”, and Aemond knows this must not be the result of bewitching, since the purity of your care and love inspires the same of a man like him.

Beneath the mask of a bad prince, there lies a wounded man who’s known neglect all his life. The concept of love Alys brought to him was more lustful, fleshy attachment than sentimental one.

But when the shadow of those three words comes behind your eyes, mirroring his own, Aemond fears to hear them. Kissing your lips once more, he prays to forget what he saw… for a recent, deep wound has come to open in surface.

As you lead him into your household again, precisely to what you call being your quarters—the result of the inheritance of your father—you give in your heart at every touch, every embrace this man provides you.

When you begin to picture the two of you actually living this life together, when you start to think possible that you could marry and be content in being a simple peasant… every dream dies when a knock on the door is heard urgently.

“Who on earth…”, you sigh impatiently, making him chuckle.

Aemond snakes his arms behind your waist, resting his chin over your shoulder.

“We should better see who’d be this unwanted visitor”, he laughs quietly, admiring the blush painting your cheeks.

As you reluctantly part of his arms, you move to open the door. Aemond leans against the wall, partly hidden under the shadows, waiting to see who’s the one behind the bloody door.

But when you open and see a dark-haired lady with a skin smooth as milk, your heart stops.

“Oh. So here’s the witch who captured my Aemond”, she speaks in a soft accusing voice, though in the lady’s eyes there is nothing but arrogance.

Aemond reluctantly comes to the scene.

“Alys?”

“My prince”, her voice and smile are as sweet as poison, inspiring in you nothing but disgust. “Your son and I have been waiting for you, believing to be dead and gone. But you have been kept a prisoner by this…”, and here comes the despise poorly masked.”…woman.”

You turn your head quickly to stare at Aemond. He sees pain in your y/c eyes, and the sound of heartbreaking reaches his ears when you say:

“You have a child with her, Aemond?”

“It’s Lord Aemond to you”, she corrects you, but is promptly ignored by all parts.

“She was… pregnant when I went to war”, Aemond admits, embarrassed. “I… Considering the recent events, I thought them to be gone like the rest of my family.”

“No. Your son waits for you. I’ve been looking for you”, insists Alys, much to your consternation. “Let me break this spell she’s casted on you, my prince. You shall be free and live with us as it’s your right.”

Part of you waits for his denial, hopes for it even. Despite the evident struggle in having yourself composed before such accusations, you expect he’d take your side.

You hope…

And I'm yours, but you're not mine. Oh no, oh no, you're not there. I'm standin' on the sidewalk alone. I wait for you to drive by. I'm tryna see the cards that you won't show. I'm about to fold unless you…

But Aemond knows not where his strength lies. This cannot be judged simply following his heart desires. When remembering everything his mother sacrificed for… and then he has a child.

A child of his own that should be on the throne. The mere idea awakes the flames of old vengeance.

Much to her annoyance, on the other hand, Alys watches as the events unfold in an impasse. She presses again the matter of their child, aware this is how she’ll take him away from your claws—or so she judges.

“Aemond?”, your voice comes out suffocated.

He sees those words in your eyes, but they fade out of his grasp like a star losing the shine, swallowed in a black hole.

Night comes and steals your bright, much to his atonement. Aemond wishes he could say something more, but no speech is enough to bring you back to life.

Your innocence is now agony and all he can say is:

“I must go. For my child.”

“I understand”, you speak cooly, surprising him for your reasonable behavior. “I pray you forgive me for any mistakes. I am but a peasant who knows nothing of life.”

That being said you curtsy and leave the way open. You watch as Alys smirks deviously at you, like a winner who takes it all. Aemond hesitates, but you don’t look at him.

Why'd you have to (why'd you have to) make me want you (make me want you)? Why'd you have to (why'd you have to) give me nothin' back? Why'd you have to (why'd you have to) make me love you (make me love you)? I said, "I love you" (I said, "I love you"). You say nothin' back.

And there your heart lies in open bleeding…

***

You occupy yourself delivering the rest of planting to the lord you owe fealty after spending months in working with the land. It’s easier to forget about the past when one occupies one’s mind with daily tasks.

This doesn’t mean the nights are easier, though. You are haunted by his face, by scenes where he laughs joyfully with Lady Rivers. She tells you that, as a lowborn woman, you could never be with a highborn man as Lord Aemond.

A truth sharp as knife that wakes you up in the breaking dawn, bleeding you again and again… It hurts and though you swallow salt in your mouth, no other sign is there that you have been in suffering.

In the meantime you carry on with your life, or try to, Aemond is rediscovering his life amongst nobility. The boy his former mistress claimed to be his son is not, by all means, a Targaryen. He could tell she painted his hair and by calculating his age, he was far more likely being a Strong boy than else his. Specially because by the time he took Alys Rivers as his mistress, she was already a Strong’s concubine.

With this disappointment ahead and collecting the testimonies of her witchcraft, Aemond is no fool to realize he’s been stuck in a trap and that he could be sent to the new government’s hand anytime.

I shall not have a death by treason.

The only reasonable solution is escaping. He is no coward, in fact the prince was once too prideful to embrace defeat. However, Aemond��s mind recollects your innocence, your simple ways of living and how you taught him so many good things.

The teachings that promised to make him a rightful man despite his wrongs. Is he too late to be redeemed, though?

Why'd you whisper in the dark just to leave me in the night? Now your silence has me screamin', screamin'…

I should have not let you go, Y/N.

In silence, like always, the prince leaves all that has profaned his soul to search after the only sacred path someone put him in.

And this someone is you.

• ‘I would stay forever if you say don’t go…’

You have cleaned your body in the river and now choose to sit right there over a towel, partly fearful of being seen in your nude state, partly pleased to be able to feel some degree of liberty.

Sun is ready to set and it’s last rays are set on your y/c skin, drying the last drops of the cold water you dived in. As you stand, you are ready to dress yourself when a noise scares you.

Quickly you put your white gown with black strips, unable to tie your long y/c hair when you spot him.

Head shaved still, pained eyes, dressed not like a nobleman but like a random, common peasant lad. So would he look like had he not been blessed with such deep purple eyes that are staring into your y/c ones.

“A-Aemond”, you gasp. Your body begins to tremble and you wish you could run away, but you are frozen.

“Y/Nickname”, he comes after you, hesitantly at first, confidently then. “Apologies are not enough for what I did to you, to us. I humble before my lady and come to ask you not to go.”

He is on his knees before you. He, the prideful prince.

“You are the one who left”, your voice betrays you.

“I had to”, Aemond dares to raise his chin as his hands grip tight your thighs. “I had to. I was misled to think the boy she had was my child.”

“And if he was”, you mutter, the echo of pain rolling out through your words, much like a sharpened blade. “Would you be embarrassed of my station to keep me in ignorance?”

“Fuck, Y/N, no!” He realizes no words are enough to make up for his poor doings. Nevertheless, he tries. Aemond is no quitter. “I am not embarrassed of my lady. I learned to love you out of my heart and soul, despising mundane affairs in order to pursuit the divine one. I was raised from the seven hells to taste the sweet flavor of your divine lips. I want you. Only you can redeem me.”

It’s the way his fingers dig into the cloth of the skirt of your gown that makes you feel fragile. The way he breaks before you, how his words are whispered in despair. Remorse is sincere, pain is evident in the two of you.

Why delaying it?

But then you hear a sound so strange to you. To both of you. When your hearts cry out, you slip, losing your strength.

“You are my weakness”, he says, exposing himself to you.

No sapphire. No embellishment. No pride. The prince the way he is, with his scars. And you expose yours.

Darkness rises by the time you are engulfed in his embrace.

“I’m sorry”, Aemond whispers, fearful of losing you. “I won’t leave you ever again. This I vow over my dead family.”

You are still sobbing when he vows this to you. And when his lips are colliding against yours, every angst dies at long last. And what is cold now is warm, and suddenly the weight of the clothes begins to be unbearable.

With only the moon as witness, vows are exchanged, consumed in one kind of fire that burns each part, prompted to spread in a strange kind of fever so unknown to you.

As tongue dances, bodies intertwine and pain is at long last overcome. The consequence of this redemption is to fruit nine moons later.

In the end, in between wars and peacemakings, two different lives found in each other what they needed. The destiny of Aemond Targaryen became a great “what if” in the history, a name so powerful to haunt crowned men but humbled before the kindest lady of the Seven Kingdoms.

Turned into a love song many years later, bards would give Aemond another name, calling you Jenny of the Oldstones.

Perhaps a truth hints behind it, is it not? But only your descendants would know it and smile often at such beautiful song.

#ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #house targaryen #taylor swift #say don’t go #1989 (taylor's version)

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guav · 2 years ago

Text

ᥫ᭡ for sanzu haruchiyo,

⠀⠀⠀⠀DISCIPLINE

what is sanzu to do when his waging rampage is met with a boot to the face? answer's simple: wag his tail.

⠀⠀⚠︎⠀⠀bordering on dark! graphic descriptions of blood, violence, suggestive themes, like one sex scene if u squint, y'know how it goes. ooc sanzu because idfk either. like 4.8k words.

“i’m not your superior, haruchiyo,” tensions rise with a simple roll of the tongue. the waters have been tested, they seem to be riddled with piranhas. “yet, i can’t say im loving this death stare of yours.”

if you’re not careful, he might just eat you alive. sanzu is not above murder, if your forerunner is anything to go by. his stare is cold, calculating, mapping out your body of weak points.

“manjiro tasked me with you, but i’m not a babysitter.” that got half his attention, the mention of mikey piquing his interest. “my job is to make sure you’re useful to him.”

like food thrown to a starving animal, his full focus now preys on you.

sanzu has beautiful eyes, you notice. they widen at your words in utter disbelief. perhaps he’s a sleeper agent, ‘sano manjiro’ being the only whisper necessary to kick him into overdrive.

sanzu is an exquisite asset, isn’t he?

ever the shrewd character, you’re quick to notice his change of nature isn’t desperate. sanzu haruchiyo is not some helpless schoolgirl chasing after manjiro. there’s layers, a bond that transcends time itself.

he is loyal, just not valuable enough; and that breeds desperation.

“useful—” sanzu clears his throat, “useful how?”

he can’t remember the next minute very well.

the first two seconds he wastes time blinking, the fourth is spent in a panic—you’re no longer within his field of vision. mark the fifteenth second, you reappear. one moment you were staring him down, sitting on piled up boxes, the next you’re beside him.

at the twentieth, his instincts go into overdrive. there’s no escaping the inevitable now.

sanzu is agile. sufficiently lithe to brace for impact before you slam him into the wall. his ears ring, and there’s warm liquid seeping out of his ear. he’s agile enough to survive a hit from you, perhaps that’s better than most.

the alleway starts to spin, and the remainder of the minute is spent trying to stay afloat. it’s useless though, soon enough his legs give out and he kisses the ground hello.

there’s a sizeable dent in the concrete where you absolutely smashed him into. it reeks of danger—thrill.

“am i gonna have to teach you manners, too?” you click your tongue. “you live up to the fame, aren’t you the cutest rabid mutt?”

sanzu feels your fingers on his chin. he can’t fight back against the grip, not when he can’t tell if there’s really two of you or if that’s the work of a concussion. “rule number one, haruchiyo. you only speak when it’s something worth wasting breath on.”

he’s going limp. “is that clear?”

in all the two minutes he’s known you for, sanzu’s learned better than to go against your word. or words, he’s starting to hear double.

“yes.”

you make a mental note of his impeccable survival instinct. “good.”

RULE NO. 2: do as you’re told.

“you’ve already ditched the mask once, i don’t know why you backtracked on it.”

sanzu remains motionless. your voice may as well have been a specter the way it goes ignored. and yet, his actions (or lack thereof) are not countered with another pummel on the drywall.

your line of work dictates a healthy dose of studying enigmas. speech, actions—none speak louder than the subconscious fidgets that compose body language. sanzu’s straightened back, clasped hands behind, and distant, firm gaze communicate enough.

he’s awaiting approval to voice his thoughts.

and that earns him another mouthful of dirt.

“i’m not your superior, haruchiyo. did i really need to repeat myself?” he looks helpless on the ground, breathing a string of curses into existence at the strain of his muscles.

his hands curl into the ground below, nearly pulling out the grass within his grip in frustration.“no, there was no need.”

sanzu does try to get up, overworking the already-sore body left from your strenuous training. (why you were expecting him in his kitchen first thing in the morning, only to drag him out to do fucking burpees, he’ll never know).

however, once again, his efforts are fruitless. muscles fail to respond, and sanzu is left to lay on the ground. pathetic. the sudden pressure on the back of his head doesn’t allow for much struggle either. it’s heavy, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that’s your boot on him.

“it appears you’re misunderstanding our relationship.”

there’s not much left for sanzu than to succumb to your weight. it’s not pleasant, not in the slightest. nothing about impotence is.

“i’m going to make you into the best right-hand man. you’ll follow some rules, but you’re free to act however you wish. i’m not-”

“my superior.”

that seems to please you.

sanzu breathes a sigh of relief when your footing no longer uses him as floor. he dares peek at the sky, but your figure blocks the sun from blinding his eyes. so why does he squint, still? your sole presence burns just as fiery.

“this is the second rule. if you plan to become useful,” suddenly he’s listening closely, attentive. “then you best honor commands, right now they’ll come from me, soon they’ll be your precious king’s own.”

sanzu bites back a scoff, draws blood from his cheek to cut any rash thoughts short. he could do this all by himself. obedience runs deep within his veins, preaches every demand as a devoted knight would to a throne; no different than a sunflower in pursuit of sustenance light years away.

he doesn’t need you.

“i understand.” so why does he follow you, no second questions asked?

a smile blesses him from the depths of hell, though your eyes don’t squint in the slightest. scary. you raise a finger to your cheek, tapping the skin twice.

sanzu proceeds to discard the black face mask without a single word of protest. it makes your lips stretch farther up.

the same boot crushing his head mere minutes ago nudges his body, sanzu now lies on his back. there’s no escape from your words, stare ever so omnipotent. “the difference between mucho and i is simple.”

is it? you’re both equally sliceable, nothing more than cartilage and bone. maybe next time you make an appearance he’ll cut you into pieces.

regardless, you’re slippery (maybe the polarity lies in that, sanzu muses). you stood proud one second, the next make of his abdomen a seat, cold hands cupping his face like he’s fine china and you, an avid collector.

“i love my hounds as they come,” you get closer, dangerously so. “snarly, scarred—they’re all the same to me.”

turquoise eyes are left to watch his destiny play before him. snap his neck, take a bite out his neck and tear the skin apart, anything could go with you.

“let’s change the second rule, haruchiyo.”

sanzu‘s breathing rags, your hands increase the pressure, and you might go for the alternative of crushing his head like a can. effortlessly.

“rule number two, you do as you’re told, but my word comes above everyone else's.”

your fingers travel north past his cheekbones, resting just below his eyes. he’s alert. you wonder what kind of canine would quiver the same way he does right now.

“is that understood?”

woof. “yes.”

RULE NO. 17: if you’re not useful, you’re out.

“don’t you get fuckin’ tired?” sanzu all but groans, drop of sweat joining the hundreds more pooling down his shirt. “surely sittin’ around while i do all the damn work wears you out.”

his words are poison, the katana in his hands is deadly, and yet, you giggle. “nah, keep doing your thing.”

there’s a fleeting thought to ditch this fight and have your head instead. although admittedly, he’d rather learn some spanish before fleeing to nicaragua with your body in five different plastic bags.

another nameless thug lunges, and it makes for another squirming body on the ground. “when you said we’d be taking care of business i thought you meant toman business.”

you know, mikey business?

sanzu bites his tongue after the sentence rolls out his mouth. as much as you’d grown accustomed to his character, he’d be sure to join the rest of motionless, bleeding goons if he disrespects you.

“toman’s dead, lost cause.”

that makes him stop the slashing. “fuck’s that mean?”

you’re satisfied with the fight for the evening, glock in hand shooting the last of targets. one bullet per head, not a single wasted. “we’re here on business to make sure there’s a place for you in the close future. bills are also due this week, two birds, one stone, yeah?”

“elaborate, “ sanzu actually growls.

“haruchiyo.”

the calling of his name makes sanzu’s shoulders roll back, back straightening out. it’s reflex now, really.

“tokyo manji is child’s play, you can’t possibly think i’m training you for them, right?”

“no, of course not,” what are you hiding? what do you really know?

your boot steps on too many limbs to reach his position, fresh blood joins the old on your sole. “correct! you’re so smart!”

sanzu misses his face mask. with it, you would be oblivious to his sneer when your hand comes up to ruffle his hair. it’s demeaning, probably intentional on your end. makes him seriously reconsider whether you’d look best with a sword through your chest.

“if you complete your training well-enough you could rule tokyo.” your eyes bore holes into his own. “wouldn’t you say all of kantou is more appealing?”

“sure?”

you turn away from him. sanzu can finally stop holding his breath.

“you don’t sound too convinced, haruchiyo.” only a fool would fall for your fake distress and pouty face. you’ve lost your stoic facade—deep down you’re but a childish merc with enough brute force to rival an elephant.

two fingers are raised over your shoulder, follow.

“i’m only interested in-”

“manjiro, i know.” you’d heard this story a thousand times. mikey, mikey, mikey. “and what’s gonna happen when he starts going for bigger fish? delinquency is a slippery slope into the world of crime—a rich one, too.”

sanzu can hardly picture mikey, in all his glory, waving a gun around. “you don’t know anything about him.”

you stop in your tracks.

he stops too, a good meter from you.

“this isn’t about tokyo manji, it’s about sano manjiro.”

“they’re one in the same,” sanzu bites back. you’re not his superior, he can do as he wishes.

“haruchiyo,” your gaze is cold. “sit.”

he kneels, swallows his pride for the hundredth time.

the abandoned warehouse breathes death and rot. there’s barely moonlight dropping from the ceiling to light his path of carnage. whatever job this was had nothing to do with mikey. it makes sanzu boil over with rage. you’re wasting his time.

“what good are you to toman if there’s no mikey?” you step closer, sanzu leans forward to meet your hands. they’re cold, caressing the diamonds carved by the latter. “how are you going to serve if you’re useless?”

he avoids your stare. “i am useful.”

one of your hands moves from his cheek to stroke his hair, gently freeing the locks from his ponytail. “you are, look around.”

sanzu can distinguish around four men crawling for their life, the rest a mess of broken bones and mangled slashes. “if mikey needs to take a life, you’ll be more than prepared to strike.”

he thinks back on mucho. the thrill that kill brought him made it hard to function the rest of the day. now it’s second nature; sanzu bites and rips apart with no hesitation, takes life as if it was never there to begin with.

“listen, haruchiyo,” your hands are clean from all ichor, and he hates how good they feel on his scalp. “think of it like a mechanism.”

eyelashes flutter prior to closing, isolating his sense of sight to fully indulge in the rest. the smell of blood, sound of your analogy, a gentle caress on his face making him wish he didn’t enjoy it as much. sanzu wishes you were dead.

“a machine with bolts, springs and wheels, synced together, with purpose.”

he pictures a shrine, lost in the midst of a sea of faceless pawns. fifth farthest from commander, or founder. he pictures kids playing; a toy plane; the first command he’s ever received—he knows things are meant to be.

“those who can't be a cog in our wheels are just scraps.”

as with any commandment you dictate, sanzu engraves the saying in his mind. carves each letter, memorizes every syllable, savors all implications.

“are you scrap, haruchiyo?”

“never.”

“good,” you coo, leaning down to graze his forehead with a kiss. the devil’s touch. “good.”

RULE NO. 99: know your place.

sanzu has come to the conclusion you’re a fucking parasite.

autumn witnessed development from cowering at our very presence, winter tied a ribbon to the unlikely friendship, and spring arrived with you at his doorstep every other day.

you’ve become the first thing he sees in the mornings (somehow you’re always dressed by the time his eyes flutter open, janking his blankets to drag him to train: “let’s go for a walk, haruchiyo!”)

every single evening would be devoid of any personal space. whether it’s his couch being invaded, to his kitchen becoming an absolute mess with whatever recipe you’re trying to put together. no, it’s not the thought that counts, even if the heart-shaped burnt cookies were for him anyway.

the nights were probably the worst.

sanzu had long-forgotten his closet being only halfway full, nor does he know when you had practically moved your entire wardrobe into his. there’s not enough space for the two of you, and he absolutely despises how everything smells like you now.

“haruchiyo, bathtub’s ready.”

you’ve somehow achieved the impossible by making bubble baths the worst thing he can come to think of. hates the thought of getting dragged to it, absolutely detests how he tosses and turns in bed whenever he doesn't have one with you.

there's a nice scented candle on the counter serving as the lone light source within his bathroom. an obscene amount of foam clings to your hand as you test the temperature. save for the swoosh of the water, it seems sanzu might be granted the miracle of having a relaxing moment of silence in his bubble bath.

you stand, "turn around, 'm taking these off."

never fucking mind.

begrudgingly, sanzu complies. he starts to discard of his own clothes, too. his hands barely make it to the hem of his shirt before a piece of fabric lands perfectly on his head. god, you're gonna make him pop a vein.

"i'd love for you to not throw your underwear at me," sanzu has half the mind not to throw them back at you, opting for hooking a finger in the undergarment and throwing it as far away as possible.

"my bad," you're not in the least sorry. the water is too perfect to dwell on past mistakes. "c'mon, chop chop."

soon his body enters the water too, bubbles parting way as his skin kisses the still water. sanzu leans back on your body, not minding in the slightest the feel of your naked skin against his own; your body warmth rivaling the water's own.

(okay, maybe he minds a little)

"isn't this nice?"

"no," sanzu doesn't miss a beat. "have i ever told you how much i hate you?"

a good amount of shampoo is combed through his scalp by your fingers, gently massaging the area. "a couple times, yes."

let's make it thrice then: "well, i really fuckin' hate you."

what's most thrilling about sanzu haruchiyo is the double-edged blade his persona holds. failure comes with crystal clear dangers of getting diced alive, success offers a never ending supply of amusement.

you push his head further into the water to rinse the shampoo off. there's no struggle from sanzu, you could very well drown him right now and there'd probably be no fight coming from him.

"you're seriously useless, i don't need you tellin' me what to do to appease mikey."

"close your eyes for me."

he follows your demand without missing a beat, basking in the water you pour on his face to rid the last bits of foam. "i want you dead."

early are the mornings your movement would be restricted by a pair of arms, late are the nights you'd walk home from a hit only to see his room's lights go off as soon as you enter the building.

"you gonna leave me to shrivel like i’m raisins? get on with it."

you reach for the soap, "aren't you needy, haruchiyo?"

sanzu groans, this would seem like the perfect moment for a meteor to strike his building. rather than feeding into your delusion he keeps quiet. it’s better than talking to the wall you are. teasing, threading the rope that is his patience for you.

hands travel across his skin, tending to it with soap that’s gonna leave sanzu reeking of your strawberry soap. “you’re funny, haruchiyo.”

it’s a shame there’s no sharp objects within his reach. “can’t wait for the day you slip and die.”

his half-empty threat procures a giggle from you. “see!”

“or the long fuckin’ awaited night you get stabbed and dumped in an alleyway.”

your laughter reverberates and bounces off the walls, and yet sanzu can’t tell if it’s sincere or genuine.

banter ends at that, and soon he is clean. though there’s no change in position to allow for sanzu to even attempt to wash you, too. strange as it is, the peace and quiet are both rare enough, perhaps the universe has been kind enough to grant him this one moment of silence.

“but really, you are funny — i get the impression you’re all bite no bark,” enough instances of carnage and gargling on metal could easily refute this observation. you don’t care. “you whine, cry, complain, and yet you never ask for anything.”

just this morning he asked you to do the dishes (which you never did: “can’t make me”). perhaps dementia was knocking on your door a good thirty years too early. however, it’s implied you're not referring to such superficial instances.

“haruchiyo,” your body draws him impossibly closer, “what is it you wish most for?”

he tilts his head back, leaning on your shoulder. the new position allows for a better view of your face. momentarily, perchance a slip of character, his eyes wander. glance at your lips, the bubbles hugging your body from his view, squint to see what the water hides. “hell if i know.”

a hum is enough reassurance that you won’t contest his blatant lie. “okay.”

a splish, splash, and overflowing water hitting the tile, sanzu is now the one kneading at your hair, soap lathering and cleaning. intimacy at its finest. delectable sweetness as you lean back, and take a nibble of his jugular. it earns you a pinch on your hip.

“say, you in the mood for a new addition to the rulebook?”

“not in the slightest.”

his honesty is met with a splash of water to his face, “too bad, take note.”

sanzu rolls his eyes, cost of opportunity heavy with regret since, of course, he forgot to carry a toaster into the bathroom to finally take you out.

“know your part wherever you are—learn when to be the hanged, and when to be executioner.”

it’s random. it’s ironic. “if we’re playin’ like that, then your authority’s worth jack shit to me.”

“is that so?”

once again, the question is left unanswered. hung and forgotten.

“i think your act and place should always be by my side” you muse. it’s custom you add a rule to the list and immediately reform it.

a phantom feeling tugs at his throat, like a collar being yanked. hands that operate under your every order move to rest on your thighs. underwater, there’s no hierarchy; nudity knows no ruler from subject. “and if i say no?”

“you won’t.”

a horrifying realization dawns on sanzu haruchiyo that night. as his fingers inch dangerously higher, and higher, as the water turns cold, carelessly splashing outside the bathtub. as his teeth sink everywhere and two become one, sanzu haruchiyo comes to a gut wrenching conclusion.

‘you won’t.’

it’s true. maybe words can’t ever describe what he wishes for, but it’s easy to cross out what he doesn’t want.

sanzu knows he doesn’t want to stop. doesn’t wish for your hand to ever release his bicep from that deathly grip, or for you to stop making those noises, nor does he want anything but your warmth once it’s all said and done.

sanzu knows he doesn’t wish for you to ever leave, and maybe that’s enough.

RULE NO. 275: forget everything i've taught you.

"..what?" sanzu is beyond confused.

"yeah, you're good to go, no need to follow anything i've said anymore."

the room was empty. manjiro had long since left, the eldest haitani had grown bored of your mongrel staring him down with every flirt he shot your way, and the rest of kantou manji had simply shown themselves out for their own various reasons that no one truly cares for.

the gears are still turning on his head, cerebrum working overtime to decipher the new mandate, or lack thereof? schrodinger's rulebook, perhaps?

“you look good in white, you know.” as if you hadn’t just nuked everything he’s ever known, you lean forward to adjust his collar. your favorite pretty boy, dearest psychopath. “let me tie your hair for you.”

“what the fuck do you mean?”

he hates the feigned confusion you present him with. hates the tilt of your head so much he actually unsheathes his katana, blade steady and barely a few inches from your neck. it further irritates him your obvious lack of response, not even a flinch.

any other day you’d play the clueless game, but there’s really no one paying you the hour anymore. “it was fun while it lasted, wasn’t it?”

“why are you acting like you’re,” sanzu bares his teeth, disgusted at just the thought of the word, “like you’re ditching?”

interesting phrasing. not ‘leaving,’ that would imply abandonment, a cry of weakness. ‘ditching’ pins blame from the moment it is vocalized, like whatever you’re doing, actions sanzu is still trying to decode, is irrevocably your fault.

steel kisses your neck, close enough to feel the cold, and the lack of wavering. you’re proud of haruchiyo, really. “gonna miss me?”

“you don’t leave a gang.” there’s the helpless child in disguise.

“manjiro took you in as vice,” you don’t bother with swatting the katana away, instead moving close enough to feel his hitched breath on your lips. arms thrown over his shoulders, fingers combing and threading to jail his locks into a ponytail. “i’d say my work is done.”

triads of protest die in his throat. shackles finally dissipate into thin air, long were the solstices he prayed for this day to come. yet sanzu feels himself floating away at the lack of grounding. he’s gonna be sick.

for once the silence is suffocating. overwhelming. unwelcome. the katana slowly scurries back into hiding, desperately like an animal rolling over to flaunt it’s belly; a last ditch effort of submission.

“aren’t you excited?”

he can finally kill you. he can finally roll over in bed and not find you there. he can finally return to being alone, and the strongest, and-

sanzu doesn’t do as he’s told.

“you finally have what you want.”

sanzu isn’t useful.

“you’ve been acknowledged.”

sanzu doesn’t know his place.

“you’re finally free.”

sanzu shoves you with enough force to stumble back onto the wide table in the meeting room, it’s surprising how it doesn’t shatter. there’s not enough time in a second to allow a reaction, not when he overpowers you for the second time, back slamming against the wood, sanzu’s body nestling between your legs. you can let him have this.

sanzu is stiff. he’s not used to being the one to leap first when it comes down to your dynamics. it feels unnatural to cage you like this, for your legs to wrap and pull him closer, like you’re mocking him. “you’re not my superior.”

one of your hands trail up his arm. “that’s correct.”

“then you’re my enemy.”

you tug him down, lips finding themselves naturally drawn right under his jaw. there’s no verbal answer to his introspection.

“then i’ve beat you — i’m stronger than you.”

sanzu most certainly did not miss the floating sensation your attacks give him. by all means, physically, he should be stronger. so, physically too, it’s odd when your hand pushes his weight effortlessly, and your leg locks on to successfully beat his ass and pin him down. it sucks feeling a concussion in the brewing.

he’s always looked prettier under you. “now that you’re on your own, haruchiyo, prepare to make mistakes.” his hands instinctively fly to your waist, “learn from them.”

sanzu groans, he himself doesn’t know if it’s the pain speaking or the built up frustration, “‘s that a new rule?”

the juxtaposition of slamming sanzu on the table and the gentle hands that come to tilt his head is a little funny. his skin smells of strawberries as you ghost your lips across it. “they’re parting words.”

it’s by no means a new position he’s found himself in. and yet he feels stumped. helplessly watching as the fire crackles its last sparks, as the last train starts to close its doors. even your body starts to feel like a distant whisper.

"haruchiyo, i want you to remember me." you're positive even the idea is far-fetched. the way his muscles tense and eyes narrow at your every call is automatic now. "memorize how my fingers feel on your jaw."

sanzu nearly purrs at the contact, and it's pathetic. he could never forget the grip, your hand looks best when it's on his face.

"memorize my voice, you must."

it goes without saying he already has. plenty were the nights he woke up in cold sweat, hallucinating you in every shadow and crevice; many more he’s coped by turning in bed and found the warmest embrace in your arms.

he can't live without you.

"haruchiyo, what else can i do for you to remember me, forever and always?"

'what is it you wish most for?'

he remembers the seventeenth rule, remembers the day you promised him a reward far beyond being an asset to mikey. sanzu had reflected on it far too long. what could he possibly ask from you?

power is all he ever wants. being of importance, too. both are things he could never have from you.

you have it all. you best him in every way possible.

maybe, in just one thing, he can overthrow you. "a kiss."

sanzu has come to the conclusion there's no healthy middle when it comes to you. his mind splits between wanting your head on a stick and fighting urges to leap and bite at your lip until blood is drawn.

perhaps an impulse to prove himself useful so you stay. a test of courage, his mouth wherever you need it most, whatever it is that will make you forever forget the thought of leaving him to fend for himself like a mutt.

"a kiss?" you've never looked more inviting than now, leaning back to stare him down, slowly blinking, a stray lock of hair falling out of place.

you’re making him feel real stupid. a small fraction cringing at his request, as if he had been reading the mood wrong and just completely ruined the moment (as if you straddling and leaving a mark or two on his neck could mean anything else).

eyes never once stray from his stare. sanzu really is funny.

you lean back down, unamused with the shit-eating grin that’s stretching across his face. first comes the corner of his lips, a fleeting brush of your lips, a ghost to acknowledge his diamonds. sanzu’s fingers dig onto your hips as, painfully slowly, you align with his lips.

sanzu haruchiyo, akaashi haruchiyo, your pride and joy. only way to commemorate would be by taking a bite out of him, how could you not?

your teeth sink mercilessly on his bottom lip. sanzu fights a choked cry, it hurts, and you don’t pull away until he’s left bleeding, panting, and so very dissatisfied. unfulfilled. bested again.

“find me again,” as a treat, you kiss the half of his lips, stealing the red drops for yourself.

“money,” you kiss his cheek. “power,” he seeks your lips again, struggling for his wish. “influence,” you pull back.

sanzu grumbles a protest or two, flailing in a last ditch effort to claim what was his. your hand on his neck kills any hope of that.

a finger swipes his bottom lip, teasing the lack of prize right in his face. “become someone with all three under his sleeve and you’ll find me again.”

the frustration is building back up. murderous desires. the need to fight you for control.

“is that understood?”

nevertheless, you’ve disciplined him well. “yes.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀navi.⠀＆⠀m.list.⠀＆⠀send me an ask!

⠀⠀also hbd to my least favorite person @k9wa

#take a shot every time i compare sanzu to a dog #kiiisss meee u aaanimaaal #sanzu x reader #sanzu haruchiyo x reader #haruchiyo x reader #tr x reader #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #sanzu #sanzu haruchiyo #ROGUEL1KE

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dr-albertwesker · 4 months ago

Text

[WESKER'S REPORT II / ALEXIA-I]

ALEXIA-1

1981.7.27 (Mon)

(Three years after previous record)

On this day, a 10-year-old girl was assigned as chief researcher to the Umbrella Antarctic Laboratory. Her name was "Alexia Ashford." At the time, I was 21-years-old and Birkin was 19. Even in our Arklay Laboratory, the only thing the researchers chattered about was that damned rumor of "Alexia in Antarctica." For the old men who had been with Umbrella for many years, it was due to the legendary status of the "Ashford family" name.

For a long time, whenever research came to a deadlock, those incompetent old men would routinely say this: "If only Dr. Edward were still alive."

To be sure, Edward Ashford was one of the discoverers of the Progenitor Virus and possibly a great scientist who laid the foundation for the t-Virus Project. But he died shortly after Umbrella was founded. Thirteen years had already passed since his death. What could we possibly expect from the Ashford family now?

In truth, in the thirteen years since Edward's death, the "Antarctic Laboratory" set up by his son had achieved zero results. His granddaughter Alexia's intellect was nothing special either! Nevertheless, after this day, those doddering old scum we had for subordinates had begun to let things slip. "If only Lady Alexia was here."

I worried over the future with fools like these under my command, capable only of judging a person by blood or famed family. That's why even at an age with one foot in the grave they were still lackeys who couldn't so much as twitch without someone else's directive!

...But I was still sensible.

If I, a chief, were to get angry, then t-Virus development in the Arklay Laboratory would be delayed even more. There was no possible success if I couldn't judge any situation calmly. Then I thought as follows. I could only achieve research results if I treated the notables of the old days well. Their old bodies could perish at any moment, appropriate for dangerous experiments.

How could you rise above people if you could not rationally utilize all human resources?

But the problem was Birkin. His reaction to the Alexia rumor was disastrous. Although he never said it out loud, for Birkin, initially being the youngest chief at 16-years-old must've been a source of pride for him. His pride was shattered to pieces by a 10-year-old girl. As a genius I think this would've been his first taste of the feeling of defeat. He was unable to accept it was a younger girl from a prestigious family. At the mercy of human issues, no research results had been achieved yet. He was still a child in the end. Mentally immature as he may have been though, I needed Birkin to recover one way or another.

In the past three years, our research entered the second stage.

Originally, the merit of a biological weapon was that it could be developed cheaply.

However, the Bio Organic Weapons we were studying had started to become extremely expensive. If making money had been Spencer's sole desire, he wouldn't have chosen this path. They would've been adequately profitable if used in conjunction with conventional weapon systems. But it wasn't profitable to continue studying some "standalone extermination weapon."

At this point in time, the t-Virus had been stabilized for the production of a Bio Organic Weapon nicknamed "Zombie." However, the genetic effects of a virus cannot be 100% certain. It was because there exists subtle differences in a person's genes according to the individual, and there's what's referred to as compatibility.

Approximately 10% of humans would escape the onset of symptoms even if infected by a Zombie. Even with sustained genetic research, there's nothing we can do to address this. If we made nine out of ten humans exhibit symptoms, it should've been sufficient for a weapon, but Spencer seemed to think differently. Our boss expected an independent weapon capable of exterminating 100% of humans, "that's it."

But for what exactly?

Why continue this research even if it's unprofitable, I wonder? I could understand the aim in "monopolizing the entire military industry" by shifting the very concept of war, but...

I still do not understand Spencer's true intentions.

Independent from Spencer's true goal, at this time Birkin was devising a Bio Organic Weapon emphasizing combat capabilities. He intended to create "them" by incorporating not only the t-Virus' genetic manipulation, but also the genetic information of other creatures.

A "combat-ready Bio Organic Weapon", later to become the "Hunter", that could eliminate even people who escape the onset of infection or possess anti-viral weapons and equipment.

However, we needed to suspend the experiments for a while. It was to protect the test subjects from Birkin. With his senseless impatience, Birkin began acting erratically in reaction to Alexia.

He stayed at the lab 24 hours a day repeating experiments on unplanned, ill-conceived ideas. I extracted as many organic samples as possible before the test subjects died, even using the other researchers to assist, but we couldn't keep up with his speed. The director would replenish the supply of test subjects as if nothing happened and they perished in no time.

That was Hell.

But only one survived in that hell, the female test subject. She was already 28-years-old. She had spent another fourteen years at this lab. She shouldn't have had any ability to think like a human due to the Progenitor Virus injection fourteen years ago, but if her mind remained, "death" was probably the end she desired.

But she clung to life.

Why could only she continue living like this? The experiment data from the other test subjects was no different at all.

I still needed a lot of time before I could solve this mystery.

(The record continues two years later)

#wesker's report #albert wesker #resident evil #[White Queen Archives]

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uyuforu · 1 year ago

Note

Oh i almost forgot. If you have many theories about Jk's chart of fs you should also consider opening your own blog about it :) Don't take it personally, but it would be a shame that all of your theories only gets credits on my blog rather than yours :/ Think about it ^

I would've done that but i like to be anonymous and I dont have any problem with your blog getting credits because I'm here just to learn and have fun.This isn't my main focus in life but I'm free for some months because of maternity leave(I'm 7 months in yayyyyy!!)I'm probably the oldest person on this blog too ig because i dont think anyone on this blogs a 92liner.

I came up with something more and this is something i'd REALLY like for you to give your more than two cents on.

So I started this study like a year ago and its about the possible placements your fs can have.i kept doing it for a while and then i thought about how juno,bride,groom,dsc PC's would be much better to guess the fs chart.

By studying his bpc and his NC I have a few guesses about his fs' possible placements/dominants.

1.she IS definitely having strong cancer placements.(no explanation needed)

2.it can also be that she may have strong 4h placements OR can be moon dominant.(if not the 1st guess then this)

3.mars in 10h or cap mars or mars in a cap degree.(guaranteed success)

4.leo placements or degrees or prominent 5h placements.(creativity,childlike,fame,etc)

5.sun in 10h or sun at leo/cap degree.(same as 3 and 4 guess)

6.pluto-venus aspects,Venus/lilith/pluto in 8h/1h.(magnetism,envy,jealousy,obsession,inference,rich spouse)

7.virgo rising or its degrees on asc.(she's blunt and a bit sharp)

8.gemini Venus or venus in Gemini degrees.(this venus sign is compatible with libra venus and he has geminivenusin bpc too also talking about her having venus-pluto aspects this sign kinda suits it)

9.Sun/moon/saturn aspects.(daddy issues)

10.jupiter in 2h,4h or 11h.(rich family background,big communities, finances and luxuries)

11.this one is random but i see her with a leo mc or an Aries mc OR mc in those degrees.the possible risings with these mc's could be cancer,leo,Libra,scorpio.

12.the above 4 rising signs make the most sense to me.when it comes to his fs I imagine someone soft but sharp.she MAY have these rising signs with virgo degrees.

I have more guesses but they're random.

Talking about the age gap thing,my husband has two stelliums of scorpio and virgo with Libra Moon and I'm 7 years younger than him so ig we wont have to worry too much about Jk's age gap choice because i dont think he'll go for someone MORE younger than 5-7 years of age gap.

Uyu your more than two cents juseyo.

Oh by the way i just wanted to tell you that you don't have to post everyday or keep researching on it daily because it takes up alot of time and energy,it is very draining too so take care of yourself and I hope you and your bf's fight has been resolved yet or will be soon.

✌️anon.

Congrats on your pregnancy! I hope it's going very well for you! Yeah Im a 99liner lol! You're not alone, Seokjin's in your team lol!

-> Cancer placement is big to me as it's literally his DSC and the Sun in the BPC! So the spouse will def have cancer placement in her big 6! Otherwise it can't be her lol! And it has to be something that Is very significant in her chart, something you can see on her easily. Like "you give me cancer vibes" stuff like that lol

-> She def has placements in her own chart about success and fame, she literally is destined for that

-> Leo placements are crazy lmao, that's why I always sensed some Leo vibes from JK, now I know why lmao

-> Yep, Leo sun, or sun being in the 10H I agree, it's one of the first factor when it comes to fame or success without using asteroids. North node in Leo can be a thing too, it's also part of it.

-> For the virgo, def on her big six, idk about ascendant because she gives me the vibe of being so beautiful, and I'm not saying virgo asc aren't pretty but asc Virgos have that cold and stoic beauty. They look pretty distant. To me she maybe has that mysterious beauty like scorpio rising, or charming beauty like libra rising. Could also be cancer or pisces rising! Virgo rising can be a thing but it wouldn't be my first guess. but don't mark my words on it, I wasn't very successful at guessing people's asc lmao

-> For the Venus, it would either be an air one (libra, gemini, Aquarius) or it would be something that aspect his sun (either conjunct so virgo Venus, or another one that aspects his sun). Or also libra Venus for the conjunction or another that aspect. JK will def have that sense that she is the one for him, so anything aspecting his Venus or sun will work out. (a good aspect too so conjunct, sextile or trine)

-> For the age gap, I don"t wanna assume things but it doesn't seem like jk will marry that late and I saw some readers say they'll have 10 years of difference of something but in I absolutely don't see it?? On his chart, I saw placements that indicates 1-2 to 5 years of difference max? She is not that young compared to him. She LOOKS very young, but she isn't, this is what I see! The cancer placements are always very tricky lmao! And if people keep saying they'll be together in 2027 (JK's Saturn return, he will be 29) so 19 if ten years of difference???? idk that seems odd to me, I don't sense it. I feel like she'll be working and be in her successful time at the time!

Thank you for your analysis! And sorry for taking so long to reply, it takes me time to concentrate and give proper answers :)

- uyu

#uyuans

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isfjmel-phleg · 7 months ago

Text

The Blackberry Bushes Book 3 Chapter One [REVISED]: a preview

This is not a complete chapter, but since it's Tamett's birthday, I wanted to share the only complete scene I have so far in this, to give you an idea of the new direction I am taking it. It's short, but it's meant to be our intro to Tamett, as well to Josiah.

How does it work for you? What can I do better?

Even when His Royal Highness not only informed him that he was a disgrace but also elaborated on that assertion in painstaking detail, Tamett Låsrygg said nothing. He had said nothing for most of the afternoon. Not at the luncheon with all the court officials. Not afterward when the dining hall was astir with whispers that no one would explain to him. Not now that he and His Royal Highness the Crown Prince Josia, the Hope of Lienne, sat waiting outside the king's study.

Tamett was used to saying nothing. As HRH's companion, that was much of what he was paid to do. But today he found himself wondering, not for the first time, if his silence was really worth one hundred myunzen per mensem.

He would rate it at one hundred twenty-five at least. Perhaps he ought to ask for a rise sometime. Goodness knew his family could use the additional income. Something told him, though, that whatever the king wished to speak to him about, it probably had nothing to do with increasing his salary.

That something was HRH himself, continuing his hissing from the other end of the bench.

"You've really done it this time, Tamett. I cannot imagine what you could possibly have done that would be so disgraceful that the king my father actually wants to speak to you about it. My father never reprimands the staff. That would be beneath him. And besides, he hasn't time to bother with the likes of you. I hope you're happy that you're wasting your sovereign's afternoon."

If it was such a hardship for the king to speak to Tamett, Tamett would gladly have spared him the trouble and bypassed the impending interview. But the king was clearly intent on following through with it, and he had even been thoughtful enough to supply Tamett in the meantime with HRH's company and all the moral support that came with it.

Such kind people, this royal family. The only comfort they had denied him was to specify exactly what crime Tamett had committed.

Because Tamett himself had no idea. He had racked his brain to its very cellar and turned up not a single thing that could warrant His Majesty King Odren, Emperor of Lienne and All Her Territories, Sovereign of Ordenna, the Father of the Fatherland himself, wanting to personally take to task a twelve-year-old nobody from Noriber.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have left the luncheon so soon. But a newly received letter from his sister Emenor, stashed in his jacket pocket, had burned to be opened. He had welcomed having an excuse to leave the dining hall—the result of a few too many refills of his water glass—and on his way back had stopped in an alcove of a corridor to devour the news from home. Emenor’s breezy correspondence was infinitely more interesting than anything any of the gentlemen of the court at that luncheon could have aspired to say, and Tamett drank in every word, multiple times.

“You’re wasting my afternoon too,” added HRH, sticking out his lip. “I have lessons to return to. You’re making me miss my piano practice. If I slip up at the next recital, I’m going to tell the king my father that it’s because you wouldn’t let me take the time I needed to perfect the piece. I’ve never made a mistake at a recital, and if I do, it will be your fault.”

Emenor too had told Tamett about music lessons, although her remarks were rather less accusatory than HRH’s. She was hoping to be taken on by a distinguished violin master whose instruction would better prepare her for education at the Conservatory, which would give her a greater likelihood to become a virtuosa and win the Låsryggs fame and fortune. Which would be much needed, since their father’s efforts to run for court delegate of their district of Noriber were flagging, and the dining room was no longer presentable for the important guests that accompanied campaigning, and the younger sisters were growing out of clothes and shoes at a remarkable rate, and governesses were not cheap, and they were still paying the doctor bills from when Cille and Zella had had measles after Christmas. How grateful, Emenor had said, she was that Tamett’s salary was coming to the family’s rescue—to her rescue—yet again.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” said HRH, “if the king my father only wants to speak to you because he’s going to dismiss you. You’re an embarrassment, Tamett. I am ashamed to have you for a companion.”

Tamett watched his knuckles turn white as he clenched his fingers around the edge of the bench. Yes, he definitely shouldn’t have taken so long to read Emenor’s letter. She was—they all were—counting on him, and now he might not have any salary at all to send home. Just himself, shuffling into the entryway, hat in hand, having to explain to his parents why their son had become a burden.

“Did you hear me, Tamett?” said HRH. “I said you’re an embarrassment. Are you deaf and an idiot? The least you could do is apologize to me.”

Tamett had said nothing for so long, and he was tempted now to keep it up, but when HRH demanded something, his companion gave it to him.

Tamett could do this. One long, slow breath. Another. Blow away all the things he shouldn’t say. He did this all day, every day. Why was it so difficult now?

“I’m—sorry,” he mumbled. “Your Royal Highness.”

HRH made a derisive noise. “Are you?”

Before Tamett could decide whether that was a rhetorical question or not, the sound of a bell from within the king’s study sliced through the thick silence. Its shrill, imperative tones conveyed only one meaning: the king was ready to see Tamett now. No more chance of his changing his mind or forgetting or perhaps some kindly natural disaster intervening. As with HRH, Tamett, a dutiful member of the royal household, had no choice but to do as he was told.

HRH side-eyed Tamett contemptuously. “You had better be politer to the king my father than you are to me. He’s not as gracious and patient as I am.”

Tamett stood up. He took another long breath. He squared his shoulders, and he walked up to the door through which perhaps no other commoner had ever stepped. He glanced over at HRH, still enthroned on the bench, nose in the air, not even bothering to meet his companion’s gaze.

Tamett said nothing. And he opened the door.

#The Blackberry Bushes #The Blackberry Bushes Book 3 #my writing #Tamett Lockridge #Josiah Callon

16 notes · View notes

galexystern · 1 year ago

Text

call me

pairing; eddie munson/fem!reader

rating; t

warnings; dialogue-fic, swearing, pining, fluff, angst, dialogue-heavy fic, no use of y/n

word count; 8.5k

desc; you meet eddie just before he goes on tour. can you two survive the long-distance and his rising fame?

a/n; this is based on an idea i wanted to happen to me a couple days ago

read on ao3 / masterlist

Everything is going to (your very rushed, reorganized many times) plan when you get waylaid by merch.

It catches just the corner of your eye, and then it’s all you can think about. Of course you want a t-shirt from the tour, how could you forget that? You’d saved money especially for it.

So you divert your path and go to stand in front of the table. It’s not very busy, but there seem to be a lot of people manning it, six when you count. But only two are in the venue’s uniform, and the other four are in plain, rocker attire. You check your watch again—you’ve done it so many times today you almost don’t even register the numbers anymore—and realize it’s probably the opening act. They’ve almost certainly already played, since the main act must be coming on any minute. Your gaze darts over them—they’re cute, a little nerdy, but they look nice—before your anxiety reminds you how late it is and hones your stare in on the merch.

You’re taking up precious time debating when someone from behind the table calls out, “Hey! You need some help?”

You look down to meet the gaze of a boy about your age, with long, wavy black hair and eyes that look like your favorite kind of milk chocolate. He’s smiling, expectant, and you jerk when you realize you haven’t said anything back.

“Oh,” you rush to reply, “I’m just trying to decide between two shirts.”

“Which ones? Maybe we can help.” There’s a daring, mischievous look in his eye that makes you step forward and take up the challenge, despite never having done so before with anyone else.

“A and C.” You point to them.

All six people turn around to study them. A is a simple silver-on-black style of the band’s logo and the tour dates and cities on the back. C is a picture of the band from an album cover, also with the dates and cities on the back.

“Tough choice,” the metalhead—because he clearly is one, with his leather jacket, Dio denim vest, black skinny jeans, and chain belts—muses.

You hum and nod. “Hence the indecision.”

“I think I’ve seen more people buy the second one,” another boy from the opening band says, with red hair and an interesting distressed plaid shirt with the sleeves cut off.

“Maisie, crunch the numbers, please,” a third member requests, with a cropped afro and his own worn leather jacket.

A venue employee takes a look at her clipboard, and you all wait anxiously as she tallies the sales. “A has sold the most,” she finally says.

The last boy from the band, with curly hair and an Iron Maiden shirt you like, rubs the shoulder of the second boy, who seems oddly sad by his prediction being wrong. The first boy, the metalhead, turns back to you. “Well, there you go,” he says with a flourish.

“I guess A it is then,” you reply.

“Wait,” he interrupts, making everyone pause. “You don’t sound very happy about that.”

“What? It was one of the options I picked out.”

“Sure, but when it came down to it, you knew which one you wanted and that’s not it. Am I right?” He gazes at you, both cocky and nervous, if that’s possible.

You look back, wondering how he could tell, before answering, “You’re right.”

He claps his hands in triumph. “Knew it! Andy, will you please bag up shirt C for this lovely lady?”

You blush a little as the other venue employee glances at you. “Size?”

“Large, please.”

He nods and grabs the shirt, folding it nicely before putting it in a bag. “That it?” He’s set your shirt on the table by the register.

You nod but then the metalhead says, “Sure I can’t tempt you into buying one of our shirts?”

You look at the limited options for their band, apparently named Corroded Coffin. The style is cute and you like their logo, but like every other piece of merchandise at the table, it’s too expensive.

“Maybe if it was twenty dollars cheaper,” you joke as you give your hard-earned and specially saved cash to Andy. “Besides, I haven’t even heard y’all play. Can’t buy a shirt for a band I can’t sing along to.”

The metalhead’s brows furrow. “You didn’t hear us? We were pretty loud.”

You laugh. “I just got here. Today has been a shitshow.” Andy hands you your change and the bag.

“What happened?” This boy is asking like there’s not five other people around you and you’re not at a concert merch table, and you kinda like it.

“Work just kept going and going, every time I thought I’d get outta there at a decent time they kept adding things for me to do. And then the El stalled at one station for fifteen minutes, I was dying in the heat and humidity down there. Not to mention all the stairs I had to run up and down.” You’re rambling, but he’s nodding like he’s enraptured.

“Wow, that sucks. I’m sorry that happened.” His lip quirks up. “Though I’m more sorry you didn’t get to hear us play.”

You smile. “Do y’all have a record out? Maybe I can get it after my next paycheck.”

“Gareth,” he orders, and the plaid-vested boy hands him a record. The metalhead presents it to you. “Here. On the house.”

Your jaw drops a little. “What? I can’t take that.”

He laughs. “I think we’d all rather have more people hear our stuff than make money right now. Right, boys?” Gareth and the leather jacket boy nod, while Iron Maiden looks doubtful, until his band mates slap his shoulder and he nods too.

“Oh, well, thank you. That’s really nice of you.” You take the record from him and tuck it between your arms, cradling it like it’s precious.

“I’m Eddie, by the way,” he replies. “That’s Gareth, Grant, and Jeff.” They all wave and you smile. You’re not sure which is Grant and which is Jeff but you can learn. You give them your name as well. “Fitting,” Eddie says.

You cock your head in confusion.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl.” He grins when your cheeks get redder.

“Thanks.” Your voice is barely there.

Then there’s a bunch of loud screaming and the starting of a rock song. You gasp. “I gotta go!”

You’re about to rush away when Eddie shouts, “Wait!” You stop and look back at him, face surely revealing your anxiety about getting inside. “Come with us,” he continues. You give him a suspicious expression, so he adds, “Backstage. You can watch from the best seat in the house. And you might be able to meet them.”

You gape at them for the second time in five minutes. “Are you serious?”

“Totally.” Eddie looks at his band, who all nod in agreement. “Come on.” They step out from the table and move towards a back door. You look at Andy and Maisie, clearly asking them if this is legit and you’re not about to be murdered, and they both smile and nod. Reassured, you run after the boys in a daze, entering a dark labyrinth of hallways.

“Which is it?” Eddie hisses.

“Third door,” someone answers, sounding annoyed, like they’ve had to do this many times today.

Eddie locates the right door and opens it, letting light spill into the corridor. You follow the boys through it and into the backstage area, which is much more normal and dirty than you’d expected. They lead you all the way to the wings of the stage, music getting louder with every step, until you’re looking right at the lead singer, bouncing around onstage. You stare in amazed shock, closer to your idols than you ever have been before.

“Pretty good, right?” Eddie murmurs from his spot beside you. You nod in disbelief.

It takes you until the end of the opening number to settle down, and then you’re engrossed in the music. You sing all the lyrics and dance to the beat, not a care in the world. This is better than your wildest dreams of how you thought tonight would pan out. Eddie stays next to you throughout the show, and you two sing and dance along together, having more fun than you thought possible. He’s adorable when he lets go, just enjoying himself, and your desire to kiss him grows as the night goes on.

You’re suddenly nervous when the band finishes before their encore, wondering if they’ll come to your side, but thankfully they go to the other one, and you don’t have to introduce yourself in the approximately two minutes before they go back on. But when the set’s really over, encore done, the band does head your way offstage. You stumble into Eddie, who grabs your upper arms so you don’t fall as the band members walk past you. You try not to stare like a crazy fan, but it’s a losing battle. At least none of them look at you.

When they’ve gone, you breathe deep. “Oh my god,” you whisper.

Eddie laughs in your ear, voice low and spine-tingling, and you realize you’re still in his space. You step forward, missing the warmth of his hands, and turn to him. He’s smiling like you’re the cutest thing he’s ever seen. “Have fun?”

“Oh my god,” you repeat at a normal tone, and he laughs again.

“Let’s go meet them!”

“Oh my god!" You say for a third time and Eddie snorts.

“You might want to remember some more words by the time we get in there,” he suggests. You nod and he takes you out of the wings and to the green room. He turns around before opening the door. “Lemme just make sure they’re cool with it. Can’t have them yelling at you, sweetheart, when it’d be my fault.”

You blush while you nod, too much happening to wrap your head around. He disappears inside and you try to calm down, get your composure back before meeting your favorite band.

Then the door is opening, and it’s like slow-motion as Monochrome is revealed.

It’s a little anti-climatic, to be honest, as the members are sitting around in a small, ordinary room that’s not even green. But they are all looking at you in interest. You glance at Eddie, who nods encouragingly, and step inside gingerly. “Hi,” you squeak out, immediately clearing your throat before giving your name. “I’m a big fan.”

“Well, thank you for being a fan,” Connor, the lead singer and guitarist, says.

“And thanks for coming to the show,” Dan, the drummer, adds.

“I was really excited for it,” you reply.

Leon, the bassist, asks, “Did we play your favorite song? I love asking that question.”

You nod. “‘Rush’ is my favorite. I wasn’t sure you guys were gonna do it.”

Dan looks thoughtful. “It’s not one of our more popular tunes but we like it.” You smile at his smile.

“Obviously, me too,” you joke, and Dan laughs a little.

“You know, I wasn’t sure, so thanks for clearing that up,” he replies sarcastically, making you giggle.

The door closes loudly, startling everyone. You all look at Eddie, who seems sheepish enough. “Sorry,” he mutters, but there’s an edge to his tone that makes you think he doesn’t fully mean it.

“You want something to drink?” Dan asks.

“Oh, I don’t need anything.”

“Seriously, we’ve got plenty of stuff.” He stands and goes over to a mini-fridge tucked into a corner. He opens it and you see rows upon rows of cans, beer and seltzer and whatever else.

“Um, okay, maybe a beer?”

“PBR or Coors?”

You wrinkle your nose at the options, making everyone laugh. You redden as you answer, “PBR, I guess.”

“Lesser of two evils?” Leon teases. You nod while Dan grabs the can and opens it before handing it to you. You thank him and he winks.

“So how did you guys feel about the show?” Eddie asks, causing Dan to smoothly step away. You look at the metalhead and take a sip, noting his clenched jaw and balled fists. He seems to realize you’ve noticed and shoves his hands into his pockets.

You hide a smile against the lip of your can. Dan’s cute, and being a member of your favorite band gets him plenty of points, but he was never the one you had a crush on (that honor went to Leon) and he’s a bit too old for your liking. Eddie’s jealousy is flattering and entertaining, but ultimately unnecessary. He had you back when he read you like an open book about the shirt choices.

Connor smiles in response to Eddie’s question. “It was good. I think the crowd had a great time.”

“Shouldn’t we be asking our number one fan over here?” Dan says, turning to you with a playful smirk.

“It was amazing!” You gush, and the band chuckles. “You guys are so good live. You should do a live record.”

“Top secret,” Connor leans close and you look at him eagerly, “there’s one in the works.”

You squeal a little, beaming. “I can’t wait.”

“You’re cute, honey,” Dan says easily, with a grin that could make any other girl’s knees weak.

“Thanks!” You reply, trying to sound innocent and like there’s nothing to read into, because you definitely don’t want to read into it. You glance at Eddie, and thankfully he can still read your mind, because he walks over to you after seeing your slightly panicked expression.

“We should let them rest. I’ll escort you out.”

You’re nodding halfway through, and walking ahead of him to the door. He opens it for you and you turn around to say goodbye to the band, complimenting them again and setting your mostly full beer on a random surface. Dan has a lightly disgruntled face, but waves with the rest of the band. You let out a breath when the door closes behind you and Eddie.

He places a hand on your shoulder gently. “You okay?”

You look at him, nodding. “Thank you. I know it’s probably not normal behavior but…”

“No need to explain. I can see when a girl’s creeped out by a guy. Happened to me plenty of times.”

You hope he’s joking but it seems like he’s not. You frown. “That can’t be true.”

He walks you down the hallway. “Believe me, sweetheart, it’s true.”

“But you’re so cute and nice and thoughtful,” you exclaim, face heating at your words.

But Eddie just smiles kindly, his own cheeks dusted with pink. “Thanks. Things were just different in high school.”

You hum in understanding. “High school sucks and girls are bitches. I’d know, I was one.”

Eddie looks at you with skepticism. “You? A bitchy girl in high school? Doubt it.”

“I may not have been a mean girl cheerleader but I hurt my share of feelings.”

“Who hasn’t? It’s a wonder we made it out alive with all those raging hormones.”

You laugh. “We were in the trenches, for sure.”

There’s a comfortable silence as you two head back into the darkened maze of back corridors. “What are you doing now?” He asks.

“I’m in school. I go to U of I Chicago.”

He whistles lowly. “Impressive.”

“Whatever.” But you’re blushing again, and hoping the low light is hiding it. “What about you? Did you go to school?”

He snorts. “Nice of you to think that. It took me three tries to graduate high school. The guys and I tore outta there and came here to pursue what we loved.”

“That’s admirable. It’s also sweet that you've known each other so long. And it paid off.”

“Yeah.” He says it like he still can’t believe it, which is adorable. “This is our first tour. We can’t wait to get on the road.”

Disappointment settles in when you realize this is the first date of the tour, and the rest are around the country. All you can do is nod in response, not even caring if he can’t see it. He rushes ahead to open the last door, and you walk out to where it all began: the merch table, which is now empty.

“Well,” you say heavily, “thank you so much for all this. It was so nice of you to do that for a stranger.”

“You’re not a stranger. I know your name and what school you go to. We’re friends now.”

You giggle. “You make it sound so ominous, like you’re gonna kill me later.”

“I’m not gonna kill you.” He looks horrified at the way it sounds like he absolutely is, making you laugh more. “Promise! I won’t!”

“I believe you, Eddie.”

He sighs in relief. Then you’re staring at each other awkwardly.

“I guess this is goodbye.” Your mouth twists, not wanting to leave him yet.

“Yeah.” He sounds just as sad as you feel. “You think I could maybe get your number? Call you sometime?”

You brighten. “Yes! I’d love that.”

“Great! Here.” He pulls out a tiny notebook from his pocket, as well as a pen. He flips to a blank page and then gives it to you, and you write down your name, phone number, and a smiley face before handing it back. He glances down and grins at it. “It was really nice to meet you.”

“You too.” You give him an abrupt hug—you two fit together just right—and then walk away backwards. When you’re at the top of the stairs, you make a “call me” gesture and smile when he nods eagerly. You watch him until he disappears from view.

You sigh happily. You can worry about the sadness of never hearing from him tomorrow. Tonight, you’re going to replay the entire encounter and go to bed smiling.

;

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's Eddie. From Corroded Coffin?"

"Oh my god, hi."

"You sound surprised."

"Well, I never thought you'd actually call me. You know, you're busy on tour and probably never get any time off. Plus, plenty of other fans to meet and woo."

"You're right, we are pretty busy and don't have much time off. But we're not being held hostage. Besides, all the fans weirdly just want to meet Monochrome. No idea why."

"That's bizarre. I always wanted to meet the opener and not the main act."

"Exactly, it's just not normal."

"But it's good otherwise?"

"Yeah! All our sets have been amazing. Speaking of which, have you listened to our record yet?"

"Yup, a couple times. I really like it."

"I knew you would. And we have another one coming out this Friday."

"No way! I'll have to go buy it after work that day."

"No need. If you'll tell me your address, I'll send you a free copy."

"You sure you don't want it just to murder me?"

"Scout's honor. Not sure how meaningful that is seeing as how I was not a boy scout, but all the same."

Laughing, you give him your dorm address.

"Thanks, sweetheart. We'll send it out ASAP."

"No rush, honestly. You're already being so kind by sending it for free."

"We'll charge the postage. Nah, we've got it covered. You only have to worry your pretty little self with listening to it."

"Promise I will. Thanks."

"No problem, princess."

"So where are y'all tonight?"

"Des Moines, Iowa."

"No wonder you called me. You were that bored."

"Honey, I've been wanting to call you since we met. Just had to work up the nerve. Wasn't sure if you'd remember me."

"Of course I remembered you. Haven't really stopped thinking about it, you know. You, I mean."

"That's really sweet, angel. Honestly, this tour would be a lot better if you were here. Living with six other boys is not a fun time, let me tell you. I thought I was messy, but I've got nothing on these guys."

"Maybe you can steal some stuff and sell it as payback."

"That's not a bad idea. Anyways, what are you doing?"

"Studying."

"Gross. I'm sorry."

"Ha ha. It's not too bad. Authors just put too much meaning into their books. I can't remember all of it."

"You've got this, sweetheart. If you can remember all of Monochrome's lyrics, you can remember this."

"But I like the lyrics a lot more than this."

"Lemme just go ask if they can write a song about whatever you need to memorize. That way it'll be both. I'm sure Dan would be on board."

"Are you jealous, Eddie...I just realized I don't know your last name."

"It's Munson. And no, I'm not jealous."

"Good. You don't need to be."

"That's good to know."

"I'm sure it is."

"Well, I gotta go, pretty girl. Can I call again sometime?"

"Yeah, you can call anytime."

"Okay, great, I will. Not at all hours of the night, but a normal time. And we can talk if you're free."

"That sounds good."

"Okay. I guess...good night then."

"G'night, Eddie."

;

"Hello?"

"Hey, angel."

"Hi, Eddie!"

"How are you?"

"I'm good. I got your package! Thank you for both the record and the shirt, I wasn't expecting it."

"No problem, sweetheart. How'd you like it?"

"It's so good. Been listening to it nonstop."

"Aw, thanks. We're proud of that one."

"You should be! Are you selling it with the other merch?"

"Yeah, we just got the copies yesterday and started selling them tonight. They didn't sell out but we sold some."

"That's good. Maybe you can tell them I think it's really good."

"'Hey, everyone, this girl I really like loves our new single so you should buy it too'?"

"Yeah, exactly. And I'll tell all my friends, 'Hey, a band with this boy I really like came out with a great single, listen to it'."

"Perfect, we'll make up a sign and everything."

"As you should. What city are you in now?"

"Phoenix, Arizona. It's hot as shit down here."

"I don't think I fully understand the tour map. What's next?"

"I think Las Vegas."

"Maybe y'all can detour and see the Grand Canyon on the way there."

"That'd be fun. I've never been out west before this trip."

"Me either. Send me some postcards."

"Maybe on our next tour you can come with and see them for yourself."

"Already planning the second tour, are we?"

"Nowhere to go but up, sweetheart."

"If you headline the next tour, who would you choose as opener?"

"I don't know, that's a good question. There's a couple bands we've played with in Chicago that would be options. I think we'd like it to be a local group."

"That'd be really sweet. Though maybe it could be not all guys this time?"

"Ugh, yes! I didn't know this was possible, but it's gotten worse here. Our bus smells like dirty socks and no one seems to mind or notice."

"Gross. I'm kinda glad I'm not on this tour with you."

"We'll have candles and air freshener ready for the next one."

"Think the candles might be a fire hazard, but it's a nice idea."

"Someone needs to have it."

"You having fun otherwise?"

"Yeah, we've been writing a lot while on the road. Come up with a couple new songs, stuff for our first album. We'll probably polish and record it when the tour's over."

"That's so exciting. Can't wait to hear it."

"Of course, you'll hear it before it comes out, so it'll be a little rough."

"Doesn't matter to me, just wanna hear it."

"You will, pretty girl. First one outside the band."

"What about your friends?"

"You think I'm gonna let those twerps hear the unfinished stuff so they can make fun of it? Nah, they'll get the finished product."

"That'd be mean of them."

"It's be good-natured but all the same. I don't wanna hear it. I only trust your critiques."

"What about like, producers and such?"

"Yeah, I guess I'll listen to them too."

"Probably a good idea."

"If you say so."

"I do."

"Alright. What have you been up to?"

"Just school and work. It's definitely getting colder up here. All the leaves are changing and you can crunch them when you walk. And I'm excited to watch Halloween movies."

"Oh, man, I love scary movies. What's your favorite?"

"Probably The Shining. Jack Nicholson and Shelley Duvall are so good in it."

"A+ choice, honey. Mine's Poltergeist."

"Ooh, that freaked me out when I saw it. Haven't rewatched it since."

"Aw. Maybe we can watch it together. That way you can cower behind me if you want."

"I'd love that, as long as you don't laugh at me."

"I'd never laugh at you, angel."

"Good. You're not allowed."

"Oh, is that a new law?"

"Yes, they just passed it. The 'Can't Laugh at the Girl You Like' Act."

"Fitting name. Could be shorter."

"Well, I could've used my name but then it wouldn't apply to everyone and it really should."

"I'll be sure to let everyone know about the new amendment."

"Please do. We need to get the word out."

"Gotta go, princess. The boys wanna talk about a new song. Jeff says he has this amazing idea."

"Okay, let me know if it's any good. Call me later, handsome."

"I will, pretty girl."

;

"Eddie?"

"Hi, angel. Sorry I didn't call yesterday. We were up all night designing the cover for our album and we were dead on our feet all day. I crashed right after the show, didn't even watch Monochrome's set."

"No worries. Guess what?"

"What?"

"I got A's on all my finals!"

"Wow, congrats, honey! Knew you would."

"You always say that, but you can't see the future, Eds."

"Maybe not, but I know you're good at what you do."

"Just like you. I hear the new single is selling out everywhere."

"Yeah! Ever since they played 'Think About You' on the radio, they're going like hotcakes. And audiences seem to know the lyrics to it, they sing along when we play it."

"That's awesome. It has to sound so good onstage."

"It does. Is this what famous bands hear all the time? Because I get why they'd be into it."

"Don't forget us little people when you skyrocket to the top of the charts."

"I couldn't forget you, sweetheart."

"Good, because there was another law passed about it. The 'Don't Forget Where You Came From' bill."

"Is that right? It's a good thing I have a good memory."

"Very, otherwise you'd be arrested in no time."

"What are you doing, angel?"

"Finally just relaxing. I'm going to be chill all break, I swore that to myself."

"You deserve it. You've worked so hard all semester."

"Thank you. Though I wish I could see you."

"Me too. This tour feels like it's going on forever. Don't get me wrong, it's amazing and I love it, but it's kind of a lot. I wish I could just be there and take you to the movies or something."

"That'd be nice. Would that be our first date?"

"Nah, our first date was the concert. This would be our second."

"I see. Where are you, anyways?"

"Dallas."

"Wow, y'all really went north and then immediately back down south?"

"I guess so."

"I'm not sure whoever put this schedule together knew what they were doing. Like how—"

"Hey, angel, I'm sorry but I gotta go. The boys are demanding we go out to celebrate and refusing to leave without me."

"Oh, okay. Well, have a drink on me, I'm proud of y'all."

"Thanks, sweetheart. Talk to you soon."

"Bye, Eds."

;

"Hello?"

"Hey, princess."

"Eddie? Are you okay? I haven't heard from you in a couple of weeks."

"Yeah, I know, we're fine. Everything's just been crazy since our single blew up. Now paparazzi are following us too and fans keep mobbing us at the merch table. We're thinking about just not doing that anymore."

"Wow, that's...cool. As long as y'all are safe."

"We are. Monochrome got more security for us now. I think they're a little upset we're getting so popular."

"Well, it is their tour, after all."

"Right, but we can't help it, you know? People like our stuff."

"Mhm."

"What are you doing?"

"Break ends in a week so I'm just getting everything ready for the spring semester. Also planning my birthday."

"Your birthday? When is it?"

"February 14th."

"Aw, you're a Valentine's baby?"

"Yeah, and I've never had a crush during it so I'm excited for this year."

"I'll be sure to call you, honey."

"Good. Um, are you gonna be calling less now? So I know."

"Possibly, not sure yet. It's a whirlwind over here."

"I bet. I'd just like to know so I don't plan for the calls anymore."

"I'll let you know ASAP, sweetheart."

"Thanks. So where are y'all?"

"Philly. We play New York tomorrow!"

"That's exciting."

"We've been waiting for it all trip. The set is gonna be electric."

"I hope so. Uh, Eddie?"

"One second, babe."

"Okay."

"Sorry about that. What's up?"

"Do you know what date you'll be back in Chicago?"

"I don't exactly know. Lemme get back to you on that too."

"Alright."

"Sorry to cut this short, doll, but I gotta run. Call you later."

"Bye—“

;

"Hello?"

"Hey, baby."

"Oh, hi, Eddie."

"How you doing?"

"Fine. How's the tour?"

"Amazing. Everyone loves us. We get mobbed just going to our hotel now. It's wild."

"Wow, that's crazy."

"I know."

"Where are you?"

"Boston."

"That's fun. I love Boston."

"Yeah, it's cool. Don't have much time for sightseeing."

"Ah."

"What are you up to?"

"School's been crazy, we just went in running apparently."

"Damn."

"Still planning my birthday. I'm gonna host a party, I think."

"That sucks."

"What?"

"Sorry, honey. That was directed at Grant. Birthday party, sounds fun."

"Yeah, you're still gonna call, right? Talk to my friends? They think I'm crazy and like, lying whenever I talk about you."

"Sure, sweetheart. I'll do that."

"Okay. You sure?"

"Yeah, don't worry."

"Alright."

"Gotta go, babe. See you."

"Okay—“

;

"Hello."

"Angel!"

"Eddie."

"Yeah, it's me!"

"Are you drunk?"

"Maybe a little. But how are you?"

"What?"

"I asked how you were!"

"You wanna know how I am, Eddie?"

"Uh, yeah, that's why I asked."

"Okay, here's how I am: You missed my birthday."

"No, I didn't! I'm calling you now!"

"It's 3am on February 15th, Eddie. My birthday is over."

"It's close enough!"

"You had a full twenty-four hours in which you could call me and you couldn't manage it. So no, it's not close enough."

"Wait, are you upset?"

"No, I'm just peachy."

"Good—"

"Of course I'm upset, Eddie!"

"Oh."

"Oh? That's all you have to say?"

"Uh..."

"Look, I know we're not dating or anything, and you don't owe me anything. But I was so excited for you to call. I told all my friends they'd be able to talk to you and then you stood me up. You know how embarrassing that is? On both your birthday and Valentine's Day and in front of all your friends who don't believe you? They gave me pitying looks all night. I couldn't bear it."

"I'm sorry—“

"Yeah, right. I really liked you, too."

"I like you too—“

"Oh, give it up, Eddie. I know Corroded Coffin is huge now because of your big single. All the magazines can talk about is when you're coming out with your debut album. You're bigger than little old me now, and I get it. I just feel like a fool for thinking this could be different."

"It is! It is different!"

"Is it? Tell me how."

"..."

"This is how I see it. You liked me when we were on the same level. You called me every other day because you thought you couldn't do better. And now, with your song at the top of the charts and people mobbing you all the time, you've realized you can do way better than me. Pretty, skinny blondies are throwing themselves at your feet now, right? Girls with perfect teeth and perfect skin and perfect bodies and perfectly plastic personalities, and you have your pick of the litter. So you stop calling me so you can hang out with them instead."

"No! Well, kinda—"

"That's what I thought. I'm hanging up now."

"Wait!"

"What?"

"I...I miss you."

"Eddie, do me a favor."

"Yeah?"

"Don't call me again."

;