#does he manage to live after that? we don’t get to know

[icallhimjoey]

eddie?! 👀 did you say EDDIE?!?! 👀👀👀👀

i DID say eddie! i had a tiny idea that fit the version of eddie ive written before (and the only version of eddie ive written before) and so... here we are. i am: so sorry. Wordcount: 6.6K

---

Let’s Go Home

(find all other parts of this story here)

“Let’s go get him.”

You sound very determined for someone completely unsure of how to handle the situation. It’s difficult to watch someone so deeply unhappy struggle with parts of their past they can’t seem to get a grip on.

“I… what?” two wet, red-rimmed eyes stare back at you. Confused. A little annoyed.

“Yea. Come on. Let’s go. We’re packing our bags and we’re going to go pick him up and bring him back here.”

Eddie doesn’t get it. Frowns, entirely unsure of who you’re talking about.

“Steve’s already here… and Wayne is coming here for Christmas, we don’t need to–…” he looks so tired.

“I know we don’t need to.”

It always happened when the days got a little shorter. When the nights got colder and Christmas loomed. When happy, wholesome family moments would be advertised all over the world, and it all became glaringly obvious – once again – how that was something Eddie never got to be a part of when he was little. Not until Wayne took him in and tried his best to make the holidays special in his own way.

No matter how hard Wayne tried, though, the bitter aftertaste of abandonment and loneliness was impossible to get rid of.

Eddie would never admit this to Wayne, but celebrating Christmas just the two of them felt just as pathetic and lonely as it had done when he lived with his parents still.

Different.

Definitely not as traumatizing, which was good.

But still dreary, and sad, with a lot of playing pretend that he was okay and happy and fine.

He was never okay and happy and fine.

Still isn’t okay and happy and fine.

That’s not Wayne’s fault, Eddie knows, and he feels like a shitty person because Wayne always tried his best. Did what he could. It just never quite worked.

Christmas would roll around, and Eddie would get depressed.

That’s just what happened.

Eddie would slip into sadness, scary thoughts intruding happy places they weren’t allowed to settle into, but he’d not yet learnt how to tell them to fuck off. To leave him alone. Didn’t know how to get the uninvited guests out of his house, and felt powerless as he watched them settle into his living room. Nothing he could do about it.

Somber, pensive moments would slowly stretch until they covered most of the day. Mornings were the happiest, still. He’d wake up after falling asleep eventually, never managing to slip into dreams before 3 AM, and for a moment, he’d forget. The short amount of sleep would have him tired enough to not remember the reality of his life for a second, and in those moments, it would just be you in bed with him and that would be the only thing in existence.

It’s awful to feel reality set into someone’s body mid-hug.

You wish you knew how to keep it out.

Over the years Eddie had learnt he had to vocalize his feelings. His thoughts. Knew that a burden shared was a burden halved, but knowing things in theory didn’t make them easier in practice.

“What can I do? Let me help.” You’d whisper, and Eddie was lucky you’d known each other for so long. There were no worried questions of are you okay, or a concerned soft hey what’s wrong.

You know he’s not okay, and you know what’s wrong.

“You, here. That’s all you need to do.” Eddie would murmur and he’d pull you in to hold you for a short while. And sometimes, that would temporarily fix him.

There is part of Eddie that honestly thinks if he doesn’t think about it, that it’ll be okay.

If he ignores it for long enough, it might go away by itself.

He’s lucky that sometimes, it does.

He pretends that the foundation of shit that he’d been given for his life hasn’t got all the cracks in. The house he has tried to build on top might shake a bit in the wind, but he can convince himself that the strong support beams that have been put in place will make sure the whole thing doesn’t collapse.

But it’s getting closer and closer to Christmas, and he’s sinking deeper and deeper into everything that’s dark, and cold, and uncomfortable, and painful, and scary.

Everything is designed to make people feel happy around this time of year, and he’s in LA where the sun shines all year long and it doesn’t even really get cold at all. Not like it gets cold in Hawkins. The days don’t really get that much shorter, and he can go outside in a T-shirt and be fine. But maybe that’s precisely the problem right now; there’s no quick get inside the house, and no let me warm your hands up for you.

The comfort of a frozen nose that get nuzzled back to life is unattainable in LA.

“Can you go to another meeting? Would that help, do you think?” you silently ask him one evening, hidden under the covers and too tired to stay awake for much longer, even though you know Eddie’s wide awake next to you. He’ll toss and turn for a couple more hours after you’ve drifted off.

“Yea, of course. I should.” Eddie is quick to reply, but you know he doesn’t want to.

Talking about his addiction with strangers when he’s trying his best to pretend it’s not there will just make things worse, he thinks. Logically, he knows it probably won’t, but there’s always that fear.

“Can I join you?”

You feel how Eddie shifts in bed, probably to take a look at you, but your eyes are closed and you’re about to fall asleep. This isn’t the time to fall into a conversation in which he asks you why on earth you would want to hear a lot of people you don’t know talk about a lot of drastic measures you don’t need to know people let themselves be pushed to sometimes.

So instead, you feel a kiss press to your temple, and he whispers, “Sure you can.”

At first, Eddie doesn’t say much in the meeting you join him for. You mostly listen to issues other people bring forward, and try to think of things you’d do if Eddie was the person speaking. If he was the one with all of those problems. How would you help?

How would you fix it?

When a kind, soft-spoken voice asks if there’s anyone new who wants to share, a lot of eyes fall on you, and you shift in your seat. Sit up a little. Feel Eddie squeeze your hand in his which could have meant, it’s okay, you can tell people why you’re here, but instead it means, I got this.

Eddie talks.

Tells everyone about how he feels like he’s deep in a depression and that he doesn’t really know how to get out of the dark pit he’s fallen into.

How it feels like he’s five years old and stuck in a small dark room, and he’s feeling all over the walls but can’t locate the light switch, and the longer he’s looking, the more he starts feeling claustrophobic in there.

You make the mistake of asking him if he can call out for help.

“Have you tried asking? Maybe someone else can turn the light on for you…”

Eddie breaks down, elbows on his knees, face hidden from the group as he looks at the wooden floor boards through his tears.

It’s not your fault.

Eddie doesn’t expect you to understand the feeling of being so utterly helpless and alone that he knows there’s no use in even trying to call for help.

No one would’ve answered.

You scoot your seat closer to his, and lean into his side as you wrap an arm around his back, fingers curling around his shoulder. It’s nice. He needs it. He also knows there’s thirteen pairs of eyes on him and he doesn’t know how to tell you that no matter how hard you’ll try, you won’t be able to actually fix anything.

“Let me turn the light on. Let Steve, or let Wayne– Robin… we can all help turn the light on. We’ll fly Wayne out, Robin too, and anyone else that you want. They can all move in, we have the space for it. Just… please, let us turn the light on, Eddie…”

It’s the fucking sweetest thing he’s ever heard, but he can reach for the light himself now. He can find it in the dark, and he can turn it on. The problem is that it doesn’t make a fucking difference.

Turning a light on now doesn’t change anything about his past.

Eddie gets asked if he has anything more to share. He sniffs and wipes his face with both his hands before he sits up and leans back and says, “Thank you, but um, no. I don’t. It’s this time of year, I guess. I know it’ll pass.”

You hold hands, fingers intertwined, as you listen to everyone else share more of their own personal issues, and when you leave Eddie puts his arm around you and pulls you close to kiss the side of your face. He tells you that he loves you, that he’s glad that he came, and he thanks you for coming with him.

You can see in his eyes that none of it helped.

Eddie lets himself sink deeper and all you can really do is be there for him. Be there when he wakes up and be there when he goes to sleep. You give him the gift of routine. Of healthy meals. Of pleasant walks outside. Long showers after.

It helps.

But it doesn’t fix anything.

You try your best at damage control. Talk to Steve. Call Wayne a lot.

And it helps.

But about two weeks later, Eddie starts isolating.

He had never isolated before.

Not like this.

He’s in his home studio, hyperfocussing on four seconds of a song he’s working on, and when you interrupt to tell him you’re going to go to bed, he says he’ll come up in a minute. He just needs to figure this bit out. “I’m so close, I can taste it.” Eddie smiles a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and for a moment you think Eddie’s going to let you listen to his work in progress. He always asks for your opinion, but this time he doesn’t. He just looks at you with a smile that’s just there for reassurance until you leave him alone.

At 5 AM you get woken up by Steve, who softly says, “You need to come downstairs…” and leads the way for you.

“I got up to pee, and the bathroom is right above the studio…”

You find Eddie in the exact same spot, going over the exact same four seconds of music.

He looks like he’s being tortured, barely able to keep his eyes open. When you gently pry the guitar from his hands, his breathing changes, and you think if he would have had the energy to sob, he would have cried like a child.

“Let’s go to bed, Eddie.”

Eddie lets you take him upstairs, but then locks himself in the bathroom and when you ask if he can let you in, all you can hear are soft sniffles whilst the shower runs.

It’s then that you decide.

Something is different this time around.

Something deeper has bubbled up, and you know whatever you are doing here, in LA, to help him simply will not be enough.

You establish a plan and pull out two suitcases that you place onto your bed. You’re going to pack your bags and you’re going to go get him.

It’s clearly necessary.

Eddie is no longer letting you comfort him and you’re scared that the next step is going to be a relapse.

“What are you doing?”

“Let’s go get him.”

“I–… what?”

Eddie hasn’t slept, and his unwashed hair is wet from the shower he’s sat in for a while, and you’re very calmly and methodically folding clothes into a suitcase. You might as well be speaking in a different language right now.

“Yea. Come on. Let’s go. We’re packing our bags and we’re going to go pick him up and bring him back here.”

Eddie slowly moves to sit down on the bed, and he looks at what you’re doing for a moment before he sighs and softly says, “Steve’s already here… and Wayne is coming here for Christmas, we don’t need to–…”

He stops speaking when he sees your slight smile.

“I know we don’t need to.” You say and Eddie doesn’t like how you look at him with so much care in your eyes. He doesn’t think he deserves it.

Doesn’t deserve you.

“Do you want to bring both of your black hoodies?” you then ask, not giving him a chance to question what’s happening, and so he just goes, “Yea… yea, sure.” before he lets himself fall backwards onto the mattress where he shuts his eyes.

You let Eddie sleep for as long as sleep will hold him. Pack up both suitcases and let Steve help you book travel back home.

“Do you want to come?” you ask when Steve is on the phone to a travel agent. He is listening to the woman who’s reading him back information he’s just given her, so he can’t answer you, but he reaches out and holds your hand whilst you listen to him book two tickets to Indiana.

When he gets off the phone he reaches for your other hand as well and says, “I’ll watch the house.”

You give him a slight frown. “You know he’d love you to come with us… Wayne says Hawkins is covered in snow. We could watch Christmas films in the trailer… get Robin and run across Lover’s Lake again… or, call Dustin and, I don’t know, Eddie could challenge him to a snow ball fight and they could play–”

“Dustin’s 26 years old.”

“Yea...” you frown at Steve. “So?” you sound desperate.

Steve huffs a laugh as he rubs his thumbs over your hands. He grimaces a little before he says, “No offense, but… he doesn’t need us out there. Of course you’ve got to go with him, but every other person is going to be one too many.”

And Steve’s right.

The next day, Steve joins you outside as you’re about to leave. He hugs Eddie for a long time by the trunk of the car, and you know they’re softly talking to each other. You can only see Eddie’s back, and Steve’s face is hidden by all of Eddie’s curls, but suddenly you can hear Eddie laugh before he pokes Steve in the side.

You get hugged next.

Eddie doesn’t sleep on the flight. Just stares out the window and gets lost in thought. You know he’s not entirely sure of why you’re taking him back to Hawkins, but he’s also not asked about it again.

When your rental car stops in front of Wayne’s trailer, you turn the engine off and sit in silence for a moment as you both just… look at it. It’s four in the afternoon, but it’s getting dark outside already.

Forest Hills.

A surprisingly large lot of land that holds about twenty-four sporadically placed trailers; some of them neatly lined up, others facing whichever way. Wayne’s trailer was one of those ones, placed diagonally to the road, surrounded by dry grass for most of the year which was now hidden by a thick layer of snow.

Momentarily, everything about the image that you’re looking at looks like it’s 1987. Maybe 1988. You can easily envision a younger version of yourself running up to that same front door, it swinging open before you could even get up the steps, Eddie bursting through just to throw you over his shoulder and haul you inside.

“We’re here...” you break the silence, stating the obvious, and find Eddie’s hand to squeeze.

It’s a little silly, but it looks like he’s scared.

“Did you tell him we were coming?”

“Wayne?”

Eddie turns to look at you, slightly confused because, yea who the fuck else?

“Yea. I called Wayne.”

You watch how Eddie takes a breath. Watch that information settle within him.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

And Eddie does. Doesn’t want to do anything without you, ever.

But he takes a shaky breath and says, “I’ll come get you in a second.” before he opens the door and gets out of the car.

Footsteps crunch in the snow, and you watch Eddie, hands in pockets, rush up the steps to what used to be the trailer that he lived in with his uncle. The trailer that he found home in when he was about seven years old and Wayne had decided that his bedroom could actually be Eddie’s bedroom instead for a while.

A while turned into fifteen years in the blink of an eye.

You watch Eddie hug Wayne through the window. It’s another long embrace, but this one doesn’t part with boyish grins and jabbing fingers. Instead, you can see how Eddie goes limp in Wayne’s arms a little, and when he goes to pull back, Wayne just… holds on.

Just a little longer.

It feels a little wrong to be watching them like this, chin perched on the steering wheel, fingers hidden in your sleeves. It feels especially invasive when you see how when they eventually part, the first thing both men do is bring their sleeves to their faces to dry what has become wet.

Then, Eddie steps away. Slowly walks towards the room that used to be his bedroom, and he goes alone.

Good, you think.

That’s good.

Wayne didn’t understand at first, when you told him over the phone. That you were coming over for a strange, but important visit. But this was good.

It takes a while.

Your fingers start to lose their feeling a little as you wait in the car, but it’s fine. You are not the priority right now.

When Eddie eventually emerges from the trailer, you get out of the car, and wait for him to call for you. A, come on. Come inside. It’s fucking freezing out here.

Instead, you get silence. Eddie doesn’t stop walking to wave you over.

He makes his way all the way over to where you’re stood next to the car, and then, he hesitates for a moment.

Eddie can’t look you in the eye.

“Everything okay?”

You know it’s not.

“He um…” Eddie starts, voice trembling. “He’s not here.”

“What?”

Eddie moves closer to place a kiss to your temple, eyes looking away, over the top of the car, across the trailer park. “He’s not here. I didn’t find him.”

Eddie steps around you and gets into the passenger seat, and for a moment, you stand with both shoes in slush whilst you try to think of what to do next. When you look back at the trailer, you catch Wayne through he window. Gives you a smile and a wave.

For a moment you contemplate running over, up those same steps, to ask what happened inside. Maybe Wayne has answers to questions you keep asking yourself.

Before you can, Eddie roars the engine back to life.

You give Wayne a wave back from where you’re stood and round the car to get into the passenger’s seat. You can talk to Wayne later.

Back inside the car, you put your seatbelt on and look at Eddie for a moment. He’s got one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the gearshift, and he’s biting his lip as he stares into space.

“If he’s not here…” you start pensively.

“It’s quite the drive.” Eddie answers, unmoving.

“We have the time.”

“I don’t think we’d make it back here before midnight.”

“Hey,”

Eddie turns his head to look at you.

“We have time.” You repeat yourself and place your hand on the back of his head where you softly scratch your fingers into his hair. “You good to drive?”

You don’t get an answer. Instead, Eddie puts the car in reverse and starts backing out. Just before he’s about to fully leave Forest Hills Trailer Park, he stops the car, even though there’s no traffic to wait for.

“I can drive if you want me to–”

“N-no, that’s not it. I can drive, but I…”

Eddie stares. Looks at his hands and just sits in silence, going through it. Then suddenly, he takes his seatbelt off, opens his door and quickly says, “I’ll be right back.” and he runs.

Left in a car with a running engine and a wide open door, you turn in your seat to watch Eddie’s breath leave him in white clouds as he runs back to the trailer, back up the steps, back inside. You’re too far away to see in the windows now.

It only takes a minute.

When he comes back, jogs down those steps in the snow, he looks a little lighter somehow. Like running back towards the car is a little easier.

Eddie gets back in the car, and he’s all loud inhales and rough exhales, hands rubbing together because it’s cold and he just ran through the snow, but then he looks at you as he puts on his seatbelt and he smiles.

There’s tears in his eyes, but he’s smiling.

“Had to tell him it’s okay. That I’m okay.”

Somehow, Eddie is beaming and solemn at the same time, but you’re happy that something has changed a little. That he seems to get it. You sink into your seat a bit more when Eddie pulls onto the road and starts heading south.

Eddie told you once, years ago, that he used to live in a motel before he came to Hawkins. How that’s all his parents could afford, and even then, they were always fighting with the front desk about money. Always late on payments.

It was just one big room, and even though it was just him, his mother and sometimes his dad, there were always people in their room. Strangers. Friends, his mother would tell him. Sometimes she’d even tell him, this is your Uncle Frank, and Eddie would be forced to shake the hand of a man he had never seen before and would never see again.

Eddie spent a lot of his early childhood confused.

He spent a lot of his childhood hiding.

Afraid.

Alone.

He wouldn’t ever trust anyone. People told him one thing and then they would laugh together and they would do something else.

Adults were evil, and yet the world was made so that adults were the ones that had to look after him. That made the decisions. That told him, go play outside, even if rain was coming down hard, and Eddie would have no other choice but to listen. To do as he was told.

He was only a little kid.

When Eddie was seven years old, he got kicked out of the room at eight in the morning and got told to not come back until they were ‘ready for him’.

Like he knew what that meant.

No one had told him how to tell time.

Eddie didn’t go to school.

But he knew that being sent outside meant that he had to go find his own entertainment for a while, and so he did.

Eddie was seven years old when he came back around lunch time with skinned knees and grass stains in his shorts, and there was commotion.

Lots of people.

People in uniforms.

A cop car.

A kind woman who asked him if he had lost his way. If she could help him get home. Eddie had just smiled and said, no thanks, and had tried to hide in the spot where he always hid. Adults were not to be trusted, Eddie knew. No matter how kind they looked.

Eddie was seven years old when he got pulled from his safe space, his little hiding spot, kicking and screaming, and got brought over to Wayne’s trailer. He’d never been back to that motel room again. Had never even gotten close.

The sun has fully set by the time you pull up outside of an old, run down motel that looks like it should’ve been torn down ages ago. Most windows are boarded up, paint on the walls is chipping and what used to be a light-up sign has been torn down.

It’s a dump.

Just trying to imagine someone growing up here has you choking up.

Little four-year-old Eddie running around these grounds? In dirty clothes too big for his body because nobody was feeding him right? Being exposed to things no child should ever be exposed to, simply because his bedroom was also the only room they had?

Before you can let it make you cry, you hear a faint chuckle beside you.

It’s small and weak, but it’s a chuckle none the less.

“I remember this place much bigger,” he says, like it’s funny. “There’s only like… seven rooms.” Eddie counts.

You’re momentarily unsure if coming here was a good idea. If facing this reality of his past is going to be doing him any good. If it won’t just break him down even more. But then Eddie turns to look at you and says, “Come, let me show you.”

Eddie visiting the place where he spent the first few years of his life turns into him giving you a surprisingly pleasant tour of the grounds. He recounts the other people that lived there, the rooms he wasn’t allowed into. How there used to be a soda machine here, and how sometimes the older kids would ask him to get them some cans for free, because his arms were small and skinny enough to just sneak them out the bottom.

It’s easy to skim the surface of this place like this.

To make it about showing you around instead of sinking down past the layers of self-protection that would have him walking around here with wobbly legs.

Yea.

This is easier. Better.

All of the doors are locked, but it doesn’t take much more than a good shove of a shoulder for the locks to give way. For the wood of the doorframes to splinter.

“Entering the Forest Hills way.” Eddie grins, and you suppress a smile. It’s a lie. Forest Hills is full of all honest, all hard-working people. But, it’s still a trailer park, and thus, the joke is funny.

Without much care, Eddie easily manages to open every door he comes across. It’s dark everywhere you go, none of the lights work, but the streetlights out front provide you with plenty of it, and your eyes quickly adjust.

Eddie shows you the laundry. Breaks into a little back office. A supply closet. Some other motel rooms - some that had semi-permanent guests staying there too, just like he used to be one. And some that would have overnight guests that didn’t know about the draft that would make the door slam so hard, you’d lose your fingers if they got caught in between.

It’s almost joyful, how Eddie talks about his memories. He hasn’t got many, he was so young, but every time he comes across something he remembers, he seems pleasantly surprised at his brain’s ability to bring it all back to him.

But then, when you eventually stop outside room number five, he pauses.

Stops.

Stares at the doorknob.

You can feel how his entire demeanor changes, and even though it’s painful to witness, you know that this is why you came here. This is the whole reason you drove all the way out here.

Eddie takes a good, deep breath but doesn’t move otherwise. Just keeps his eyes locked on a rusty old doorknob to a locked door of a room that probably looks exactly like all the other ones Eddie had already shown you.

“Is this where you lived?” you ask, doing your best to make your voice sound as neutral as possible. You don’t want to scare him off. Don’t want to trigger something.

Eddie nods, a barely-there up and down movement of his head, and then he goes for the doorhandle, rattles it weakly.

Keeps staring at it.

“Door’s locked.” He croaks, like that had been a problem for any of the other doors.

But it does make sense.

You understand that the person who opened up all those other doors was Eddie in his thirties, showing you around.

The person staring at the doorknob now, was Eddie as a child.

Afraid to go inside, unsure of what he was going to find there.

Not strong enough.

Maybe only just tall enough to even reach.

But, you were strong.

You had witnessed how a little force had gone a long way with these locks, and after giving Eddie a second to maybe ask for help, because God, you really wanted him to realize he could just ask for help, he doesn’t ask for shit, and you decide to take matters into your own hands.

Before Eddie even registers you taking a few steps back to get a running start, the wood of the door has already split from the blow of your shoulder.

“Oh my G–” Eddie jumps, both arms reaching out to grab at you and to pull you close. He makes sure he holds you where you ran into the door, large palm cupping over the curve of your shoulder, and he rubs the skin there. Which helps, because, you’re not really hiding the fact that Jesus fuck that fucking hurt very well.  

Despite the sting, there’s a moment where you both see the humor in what just happened, and looking at each other, you both let huffs of laughter escape you.

“Are you crazy? What you do that for, huh?” Eddie pretend scolds.

You shrug, “Forest Hills way.”  

The comedic relief is so welcome, but it’s short-lived. You see from up close how Eddie’s expression drops. He goes from looking at his insane girlfriend with all the love he’s got for her spilling from his eyes, to looking over your head into the dark room where he used to live, and it all slips away.

You wait by the door.

Want Eddie to do this alone because you think it’ll be better that way.

You also truly don’t know what to do, so it feels a little safer to just… wait outside. You wouldn’t know how to help anyway.

Just like when you were outside of Wayne’s trailer, it feels a little invasive to look at Eddie as he silently takes slow steps inside and looks around. At the same time, you can’t really look away. If he’s going to break down and fall to his knees, you want to be there within a second to pick him back up.

Eddie trails slow fingers along a dresser.

Takes careful steps towards a nightstand of which he opens and then closes the drawer.

“Huh…” he comments. Looks around the full room again, sees it in different light as he stands in another corner, the lights from outside showing him different parts of the room.

He disappears into the bathroom for a moment before he steps back out, and he looks… confused.

Surprised, maybe. A little dumbfounded.

He gives the room another glance, and then turns to find you watching him in silence.

“This is really weird,” Eddie comments, both eyebrows raised.

“Yea? How so?”

“I don’t know… it’s different. It’s not like I remember. I think… I don’t know, I think my mind made this room the most terrible place ever in the world, but it’s just… it’s just a room. There’s nothing…” Eddie twirls on the spot, “Yea, it’s just a room. Nothing’s… nothing is scary.”

You swallow audibly, and hesitate before you speak.

“It’s not scary.” Eddie concludes again before you can say anything, and he raises both shoulders at you in a long shrug, like he’s trying to convince you that it’s all right.

You’re not the one who needs convincing though.

“Is, um…” you start, and you clear your throat, entirely unsure of how Eddie is going to react to your question.

After visiting Wayne, you think he gets it now.

He gets why you took him back to Indiana.

Eddie has let his eyes fall on a weird piece of wall art he doesn’t remember, something that maybe they added to the room after his parents had been kicked out, and he’d been taken away to go live somewhere safer.

“Is he here?”

“Huh?”

“Is he in here, somewhere?”

It takes a moment of Eddie looking at you before he fully registers what you’re talking about.

His gaze drifts towards the closet next to the bathroom door.

It’s shut. Both bifold doors closed.

Eddie stalls for a moment, and then he raises an arm to open one of the doors before he drops it by his side again.

The closet’s empty.

It seemingly comes from nowhere, the way your lips suddenly quiver. How your eyes well up with tears so quickly. You have to cover your mouth with your hand to remain silent; this isn’t about you.

Eddie is slowly taking it all in, looks around the inside of the closet. The stains in the carpet. The peeling wallpaper. The mismatched hangers, a couple plastic ones amongst a couple more wire ones. And then he looks up and finds the the little yellowed piece of string that hangs down from way up high.

He reaches up and pulls it.

An audible click is heard.

Nothing changes though.

No light springs on.

Eddie pulls it again. Softly smiles. Pulls it a couple more times.

Click, click.

Click, click.

Nothing happens.

You’re about to burst with a violent sob when you see how Eddie, entirely in his own thoughts, inside of his own memories, slowly steps into the closet and closes the door behind him.

You hear the clicking of the light a couple more times, and need to step away.  

It’s too much.

The visuals of a tiny little malnourished Eddie hiding in a closet unable to reach the string of the light in there is going to make you hyperventilate if you’re not careful, so you have to take a walk.

It’s fucking freezing but hot tears trail down your cheeks as you hurry back to your rental car.

It doesn’t take much longer for Eddie to step outside, leaving the place where he spent the first few years of his life. His long legs carry him over to you quickly.

You can tell that he’s holding back sobs until he’s close enough to crash himself into you.

Arms wrap so tightly, they almost hurt. Bodies wrack with silent sobs until deep breaths calm the both of you down.

It takes a good while.

Eddie is first to pull back, and whilst cupping your face, both his thumbs wiping underneath your eyes in a bid to rid you of your tears, he manages to squeak, “Found him.”

“Yea?” you ask wetly. Hopeful.

This is why you came out here.

To find the small version of Eddie who, even as a toddler, knew that calling out for help was a waste of time because the calls would go unanswered.

To take him home.

“Turned on the–” Eddie throat closes up before he can even say it.

“Turned on the light for him?” you finish for him, and he just nods as he presses his lips together to keep them from wobbling.

Eddie goes in for another hug, hides his face in the side of your neck and grounds himself there.

You can feel how he’s actively trying to steady his own breathing.

It works, eventually.

“Did you…” you start, still holding him, but falter for a moment.

“Did I what?” Eddie asks, sniffing loudly, pulling back after you nudge your nose into his hair.

“Did you take him with you?”

It’s such a silly question. Eddie can’t help the smile that carefully plays at the corner of his mouth, and his eyebrows scrunch up as he looks down at you. He can dissect the question that pops up in the back of his brain for the fourth time today another time. How can he even begin to figure out why he deserves someone like you in his life?

“I did.” He confirms, and you let the breath you were holding escape you in a shudder.

He doesn’t think he deserves you.

“Good.” you smile, and maybe things are starting to look up, a little. Maybe the universe is slowly starting to make amends with Eddie. Is starting to apologize for all the shit it put little Eddie through in this godforsaken place no one should spend more than a single night at.

“Let’s take him home then.”

Eddie cries.

Thought he was done, but he’s not.

He lets you press kisses to the skin just underneath his eyes as he closes them.

He lets you open the car door and help him into the passenger’s seat.

Lets you drive all the way back to Wayne’s whilst he cries, because this is the second time little Eddie makes this trip, from the motel to Forest Hills. But this time he’s not scared.

He knows he’s going to go to a better place.

A safer place.

To a person who will try his very best hand at proper damage control. Who’s got a nice trailer, and a room that will get turned into his own bedroom three days into his stay.

To a person who will join Eddie in the closet for those first few nights. Who will just bring him food in there, have their dinner hidden away together, and who won’t force him out.

Who will play silly games with him in there, until the trips to the bathroom feel safe enough to do on his own.

There’s never other people in the trailer.

Just them.

Safe.

Eddie cries as he remembers more. Thought he had forgotten almost everything, but he remembers so much. He can’t talk about anything yet. Not now. His voice won’t let him. But that’s okay. You’ve got the radio on and need to focus on the road, and you’re taking him back to Wayne, and all he really wants to do is sleep.

And you just drive, and hold Eddie’s hand as he clings to you, and this is good.

It’s good.

Little Eddie deserves the fucking world.

You think so.

And you know of a handful of people who would wholeheartedly agree.

Slowly, you think Eddie might start to understand where you’re coming from.

He was never okay and happy and fine.

Still isn’t okay and happy and fine.

But the light has been switched on.

There’s light now.

He might one day be okay and happy and fine, and that’s something that before today was the most difficult thing to grasp.

“We’re taking you home, kiddo. I got you.” Eddie whispers, soft enough so only he can hear it over the engine and the music coming from the radio.

“Let’s go home.”

---

The Taglisted

@almightywdm, @alwayslindie, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @dailyobsession

@eddies-puppet, @elvendria, @emma-munson, @emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee

@ferfan14, @figmentofquinn, @gri959, @hazelenys, @joesquinns

@keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke, @kravitzwhore, @lovelyblueness, @loves0phelia

@mandyjo8719, @munsonluvrr, @munsonssweets, @nadixq, @niallersfreckles

@notverywise, @overthinking-raccoon, @pepperstories, @pinchofhoney, @readergf

@royale1803, @sherrylyn0628, @shizlac, @solzi1420, @songforeddiemunson

@sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow

@witchwolflea, @xxladymjxx, @yunirgo

Add yourself

[wolfofcelestia]

oh, i didn’t really think about that. but yeah judging by what we know from the main story, sylus seems well liked by people who know him.

the mechanic he takes MC to talks about how sylus is often scapegoated, and implies sylus is a much kinder man than the impression he gives

the fact that the defected branch of onichynus created unnecessary casualties and bombed civilian areas show that some of the criminals within the organisation didn’t agree with sylus’s management style, which suggests they just didn’t like how he sort of played by a code of honour and wasn’t actually greedy for more power. like they think he’s not doing enough to “dominate” the city.

sylus’s biggest asset is mephisto—who he uses to watch over the N109 zone like a protector. he’s just sort of in the shadows watching over everyone, making sure things are going smoothly while keeping an eye on the EVER group

which reminds me, i think he watches over MC for the same reason. like ofc that’s his soulmate he’s been searching for through space and time but i think he also does it because MC’s life truly is at risk and he keeps tabs to make sure she isn’t exploited or taken as a test subject like tobias was.

we’ve only ever seen sylus kill corrupt people. so he clearly is an antihero with a moral code. he killed the EVER guy to send a message because these people are literally enslaving and abducting innocent people (including the almost extinct lemurians) and doing experiments on them to prolong their lifespans. sylus has seen firsthand what happened to the twins and i’m sure he’s seen even worse. the other guy he kills was a defected member of onichynus who was double-crossing him and was using the onichynus name to bomb civilian areas. i don’t think he killed the man because of betrayal, but rather because he was a threat to innocent lives and was absolutely shameless about it. like you said, he’s not a cop so he takes justice into his own hands. very antihero behaviour.

sylus also repeatedly has said he doesn’t like picking on the weak. in his anecdote he frees the captive beasts and returns the treasures back to their rightful owners after killing a tyrannical overlord.

you’re definitely right. he’s not only distrusting of the law, he’s been burnt by the law system. he’s been treated unfairly and he knows the real criminals are the people in power (like the story he mentioned in Lost Oasis of the seven gods that were beheaded for being capricious and exploiting their followers). every aspect of his story is so heavily connected to corruption in power, greed, and exploitation of the weak by individuals and organisations who want to “play god”. and he’s at odds with such people because these people are the kind who wiped out his entire species in a genocide, trapped him in an abyss for centuries, are directly related to the EVER group who successfully managed to prolong human life and move to philos, etc etc.

i’d love more anecdotes on sylus and his life and yes! more companions. i’m almost entirely sure that he was imprisoned in the space-time prison for going against some corrupt person in power, or he was scapegoated.

Yeah, we don't actually know the reason why he was in that top security prison huh? I wouldn't be surprised if it was Ever behind it all, either using him as a scapegoat or sentencing him harsher than normal. Even in one of the first glimpses we saw of Sylus, when he deliberately walked past the flower struggling to grow in an unnatural environment, it was clear that he isn't one to hurt or destroy anyone/anything that didn't warrant it

Even though we have his myth, we still don't know much about him in the present timeline. They really need to step up with giving us his lore before he gets overshadowed by Caleb entering the game

He was definitely keeping tabs on MC to keep her safe. We know a lot of people are after her aether core, but I also like to imagine him letting her do her own thing to see how brazen and strong she can get without him. If she had failed to become a hunter, I feel like he would step in sooner when she began investigating her past. And I feel like he would train her himself so that she could protect herself from people tracking her down and so she could come along to some of his "deals"

[yea-baiyi]

i’m sure people smarter than me have said this, but the odyssey is the sequel to the monomyth actually. in the hero’s journey the hero departs from home, from innocence, from safety, to fulfil his destiny. in homer’s the odyssey, the war is over, the destiny fulfilled. next comes the real fight, the unwinnable fight—to return to everything you left home to fight for.

in the first half of the poem, while odysseus fights tooth and nail to return home, his home fights with its last breath to give odysseus a home to return to. and time is running out. his wife penelope is down to her last desperate excuse. suitors have invaded his home, eating through his household and his wealth. his son, telemachus, almost grown, leaves home for the first time to find out if odysseus is still alive, if there is still a reason to keep fighting. having lost everything he had, over and over, odysseus is finally allowed to arrive in his homeland. at first he doesn’t recognise it. and he is cursed to look old and decrepit, so that none of his loved ones would recognise him.

for the second half of the poem, he has returned and miraculously, he has not been displaced or forgotten. but now he has to reclaim what was his. and removing the rot, restoring this place to the home odysseus remembers, is long and painful. instead of walking through the front door, he must sneak in through the back or risk being thrown out. not a single person knows him by sight; odysseus must prove his identity over and over, to every member of his household. he must retell story after story, share secret after secret, reveal every marking or scar upon his body, to finally be recognised by his own family. and then he destroys every last trace of the intruders—kills the men, kills the servants, wipes the slate clean.

by athena’s magic, he is restored to his former youth and glory as he reunites with his wife. the families of the slain suitors try to seek revenge, but zeus, lord of the skies, intervenes. odysseus, filled with his god-given strength, is home, and ready to fight to protect it.

it’s a complete sequel to the heroes journey, but what makes it part of the monomyth is the horrible truth about odysseus’ tale: that it’s impossible. that you will leave, and your home will change in your absence, and someone might fill your place; your family won’t recognise you, your wife met someone else, intruders have destroyed your home, and you will never be as young as you were. you will return and you will fight with every ounce of your strength and it won’t be enough to turn back the clock. it’s the terrible last chapter to every hero’s story that we don’t like to talk about.

and yet, of course, it’s the same story we tell over and over: we’ve won the war, now all we want is to return home, but home is no longer somewhere we can reach.

[fastandcarlos]

Children Once Again : ̗̀➛ Lando Norris

summary: when you’re invited to the f1 as an ambassador the last face you expect to see is that of your childhood best friend

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by mclaren, landonorris and 792,057 others

ynusername: such an honour to be in monza to watch the grand prix, thank you so much to mclaren for the awesome hospitality 🧡

68,472 comments

username1: no way you finally for to go to a race!

mclaren: it was an honour to welcome you and host you at your very first f1 race 🧡

username2: hope you had the best time ever yn ❤️

kendalljenner: told you that you’d absolutely love it 😂

ynusername: @/kendalljenner I should’ve listened to you!

username3: ngl she seemed to be really close with lando when they were around the paddock together!

oscarpiastri: thank you for being such an awesome guest to have with us this weekend!

username4: papaya really suits you btw yn 😉

username5: and you got to go to monza too, that’s one of the best races on the circuit!!!

landonorris: can’t believe we finally got to see each other again, let’s not leave it so long next time 😂

ynusername: @/landonorris you’re still just as annoying as ever 😂

username6: wait wtf is going on here…did they already know each other??

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by oscarpiastri, kendalljenner and 837,018 others

ynusername: never in a million years did I think I’d get reunited with this guy, nearly 14 years later and we’re back together again 🥹

71,950 comments

username7: wait so they were friends at school and reconnected? omg that’s adorable

username8: see the f1 really does change lives 😂

georgerussell63: how you managed to put up with him growing up is crazy to me!

ynusername: @/georgerussell63 it was hard work at times 😂

username9: I can just imagine them causing so much trouble when they were younger!!

landonorris: 14 years to make up for but the rest of our lives to be back together causing mischief again!!

username10: look at how happy lando looks to be back with her again

mclaren: we’re so pleased we could unknowingly bring the two of you back together again 🧡

ynusername: @/mclaren I owe you guys so much for inviting me in the first place

username11: this is just the sweetest story ever 😭

oscarpiastri: at least I don’t have to listen to you guys reminiscing anymore 🙄

username12: so happy they got to reunite together 🥺

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by danielricciardo, ynusername and 2,038,173 others

landonorris: a dream weekend with my childhood best friend, still feeling just like big kids and like we’ve never not been each other’s lives 🥹

73,067 comments

username13: and you’re sure she’s just a friend are you???

alex_albon: these photos suggest you’ve had more than just a dream weekend to me

username14: you can just tell how fond of her lando still is 😭

danielricciardo: yeah, sure “just” friends 😉

username15: who is buying a friend flowers that are that nice!?

ynusername: you’re not gonna be able to get rid of me so easily this time around!

landonorris: @/ynusername good because I don’t want you to go anywhere anyway 🥺

username16: I don’t want these two to go their separate ways again 💔

maxverstappen1: you’ve known me since we were kids and yet you don’t hug me like that 🤨

landonorris: @/maxverstappen1 stop reading so much into things 🙄

username17: you’re not kidding anyone norris 😂

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by oscarpiastri, georgerussell63 and 782,607 others

ynusername: the first photo was lando when I surprised him at the race, now compare that to the last one after spending four hours with me 😂🧡

73,058 comments

username18: they couldn’t even stay away from each other for more than a week!!

maxverstappen1: I can so see why you two were the best of friends after meeting you 😂

username19: just look at how excited he is to see her 🥺

danielricciardo: it was a joy to meet you here and hear so many childhood stories of lando’s!!

username20: ofc cause only a friend would do something like this right??

landonorris: stop lying to people, I really was happy to have you here for the whole time 😂

ynusername: @/landonorris that’s why you banished me to the paddock for most of the afternoon 👀

username21: it breaks my heart knowing they spent so long apart when they seem to get on so well…

carlossainz55: it was fun embarrassing lando with you for the whole weekend!!!!

ynusername: @/carlossainz55 I had no idea he was still as stupid as he was back in school 🤦🏻‍♀️

username22: he loves spending time with you really yn 😂

oscarpiastri: I’m sure I saw him shed a tear when you told him you had to go

landonorris: @/oscarpiastri definitely tears of joy!!

username23: we really missed out on this friendship for so many years!

alex_albon: still sticking with the friendship storyline I see��

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

ynusername just posted two stories

replies

alex_albon: if you went out with one you’d be a true passenger princess!

ynusername: when do you plan on letting this go??

username24: can you two just hurry up and date already?

georgerussell63: look at how handsome he is yn, you can’t deny it 😂

username25: put us out of our misery please and just announce it!

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

danielricciardo: why are you two kids holding hands!?

username26: I still refuse to accept that you two are just friends!

username27: are you playing us all by pretending to just be friends?

charles_leclerc: when will you two just wake up and see it??

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by carlossainz55, oscarpiastri and 2,492,613 others

landonorris: don’t tell her but I secretly loved her back in school all those years ago, and I guess it’s fair to say I still love her just as much now ❤️

203,362 comments

username28: finally they’ve given us what we wanted for so long 👏🏻

alex_albon: can’t believe you tried to convince me that you two weren’t dating 🙄

oscarpiastri: couldn’t be happier for the two of you 🥰

username29: these two are the perfect reason as to why you should believe in destiny 😭

danielricciardo: this might just be the worst kept secret in the world!!

carlossainz55: i feel like I’ve watched a movie watching your romance unfold 🥺

username30: the fact he’s always been in love with her melts me 🫠

charles_leclerc: well aren’t you guys just the cutest 😭

username31: please don’t ever lose contact with each other again!

georgerussell63: you guys are perfect for each other, so pleased you managed to find one another again

username32: all these years and yet none of us knew that he actually only ever had eyes for her…

mclaren: congratulations to you both, secretly we’re taking all the credit for this 🧡

landonorris: @/mclaren you guys can absolutely take credit, thank you for inviting yn all those weeks ago!

username33: this is the kinda romance that everyone dreams of, only this time it actually came true 🧡

ynusername: it was only ever you 💞

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

[sigh-tofm]

when the power goes out one cold and rainy november evening…

… price

- goes full dad. pulls the grill up to the back veranda door and cooks up some mean steaks for you two. gets a fire going in the fireplace to keep the house heated. has half a mind to call the power company and tell them that they don’t need to hurry, he’s got everything covered here. actually, they don’t need to come at all, not for a few days. tells you his thoughts as he pulls the mattress off your bed and deposits it in the living room in front of the fireplace, so you both can keep warm tonight. you let him know in no uncertain terms that he will do no such thing. you’ll let him have is fun tonight, but you will need a hot shower and a working oven in 36 hours, no matter how much he wants to play boyscout. but as you sit in front of the roaring fireplace and your admittedly very rugged and handsome husband feeds you bits of grilled steak and holds a glass of red wine to your lips, a thick, warm blanket covering you both, you must admit that this isn’t bad either.

… kyle

- excitedly improvises. you know, it’s like this every day when we’re in the field, he beams as he brushes the dust off the firepit in the woodshed. doesn’t mean it has to be like this now though, does it, kyle. you pull your jacket tighter around yourself and watch as he finds the least rotten firewood in the shed and uses up eight matches before he can get a light. you almost tell him to leave it and come inside, that you’ll order in tonight, but he’s so engulfed in fanning the little flame to life that you can’t help but play along. you get an umbrella when the rain comes down harder and use it to shield both your boyfriend and his firepit from the weather. when you gently ask how he’s going to cook up the pizza you two were in the middle of preparing when the power went out, he wilts a little, but somehow manages to macgyver a cooking system for it that only leaves it slightly burnt. you know, he says while you two are standing under the awning, admiring your fire baby and nibbling on damp, blackened pizza, in the field we sometimes need to share sleeping bags too.

… johnny

- immediately relents. moans and groans about being off duty and that he shouldn’t be expected to fend for himself like this when he isn’t in an active war zone. you pull up the local takeaway menu on your phone and hand it to him. go get us some warm food, soldier, you prompt him and gather up some supplies while he’s away. the old scottish farmhouse you live in has a fireplace, of course, so you light a fire there and with some effort pull the couch up in front of it. blankets and pillows from the living room, old fair isle knit jumpers from the hallway closet, a sheepskin rug to warm your feet on. when he comes back with his arms full of steaming indian (best to get some extra, mo chridhe), his mood seems to have lightened a little too. especially when he sees you in thigh high knit stockings, wearing his jumper and laying on the sheepskin rug. okay, maybe this isn’t so bad. at least he’s not being shot at.

… simon

- is prepared. goes down to the basement and carries up box after box of emergency equipment. hands you a round little paraffin stove (which you have no idea how to work) and a matching aluminium pan, as well as a large variety of ready-made freeze dried stews and soups. just add water, he says unhelpfully, and continues pulling out equipment from his kit. amongst the various bags of tools and gadgets you can spot tent poles and emergency flares, and it’s obvious he’s been itching to use all this stuff for a while. you decide to entertain him and google your way around the stove, finally getting a light on it. you light candles and pull out your winter coats while the water boils, making it an overall cozy time. hav’ta be prepared, he mutters as he comes to sit with you when the food’s ready, the living room full of his unpacked catastrophe preparations. next time we’ll just go to a hotel, you gently request and serve him year-old mushroom stew, brought back to life with some warm water. he looks longingly at all his equipment. you yield. or camping.

[timmydraker]

During a patrol in Gotham one night, Red Robin comes across a strange sight.

A young woman stands over a crumpled body with a sling shot primed and ready, aimed a man with a rather large hand gun. It’s clear she’s protecting the woman who looks like she’s been hit over the head and had her bag nabbed, as it’s ripped and contents are spilled everywhere.

The girl sits shaking, she isn’t scared at all, standing strong with a shard of glass aimed at the man’s crotch.

Tim jumps down and disarms the man smoothly before turning to the young girl, who upon closer inspection seems to be around thirteen years old.

“Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head and stares at him for a moment with awe in his eyes before her eyes widen and she turns to the person behind her, “But she is! That guy was cornering her and I tried to help but he hit her and-“

“Alright, I understand. Would you like to help me get her to the ER a few blocks away?”

The girl nods with a determination Tim remembers seeing in Dick and Jason in their Robin days and he smiles.

He doesn’t ask her what her name is because side he knows he’ll follow up and find something to feel guilty about, but the girl seems to have her own plans.

She shows up a couple of days later, standing on a tall building with a cheap Robin outfit on.

Tim is confused before he drops down and she gives a big grin and mock salute, “How can I help?”

Tim smiled a little before shaking his head, “Taking the title of Robin, are you?”

She nods, now more bashful, “Well, I want to help people. I don’t want to fight exactly, but… well, sometimes you bats are too busy with the villains to notice the little guy and- bro to say you’re a bad hero-“

“You’re right, it’s okay. We can only do so much and sometimes preventing more damage being done saves more lives, but there will always be a cost.”

She smiles, bright orange, and impressively curly, hair getting in her eyes and sticking to the poor quality glue of her fake domino.

“I want to help. I… can help, please.”

Tim answers after a solid minute of silence, “What is your name?”

She frowns, “Aren’t I supposed to have a secret identity?”

He smiles in answer, “Yes, but I know what you look like and I can find out, I’m asking out of politeness.”

The girl looks like she could pout and Tim feels strangely old at the sight, even if he’s still got a few months before he can even legally drink.

“Carrie. Caroline to be specific.”

Tim smiles, “Well, Carrie, here’s the deal. I will meet you here or somewhere like here every night and until, and only until, you can land a hit on me will I agree to let you help.”

While Carrie doesn’t look pleased she nods, a clear sense of hope in her eyes even as she looks nervous.

She looses the first fight, and the second and third and fourth, but she gets better and better.

Tim doesn’t tell anyone about Carrie Kelly, nor does he tell her that he does end up doing a back ground check and finds two dead beat parents more focused on weed than their incredibly skilled daughter.

When she proves to be relentless in her desire to save lives he sends her to a teacher to help her stay hidden and safe. He’s not like Bruce, he doesn’t send her overseas to some dangerous people, but close by and to someone he trust to not hurt her nor tell anyone else about the strange young girl whose managed to give him a taste of his own medicine.

Selina Kyle is more than happy to take in the girl when she watches her sling shot fire crackers at muggers.

When Carrie comes back and meets Tim on a rooftop, she not only manages to hit him but knocks him off his feet.

Tim grins at her, pride filling his mind and making him understand Bruce just a little more.

But unlike Bruce, he isn’t throwing her into the fight at all.

Tim Drake is the one who pays for her school pills while her yippie parents refuse to work or spend money on her, and sends her real time footage of medical lectures in various collages across the country.

Carrie doesn’t become Robin, nor did she even wear that suit after the second night and he gave her a basic training outfit that properly covered her eyes and hair, but she does become something else.

She becomes Cardinal, the vigilante that swoops in to save civilians and provide the medical care that saves hundreds of people and allows the ambulances and hospitals to have a chance.

When she makes her debut the other bats worry about a new kid making bad choices, probably inspired by them, but Tim ignores it if only because he’s actually proud of her and trust her in a way he hasn’t trusted teammates in years.

After a year of this, a young girl asks for a meeting with Mister Tim Drake at his company and, purely so he wouldn’t have to do more pointless numbers, he lets her in after she passes the security check.

The girl who comes into his office is barely ten, cute little clips in her dark bob hair and a big book bag almost half her size behind her.

Tim recognised her instantly once he sees the bright yellow shoes she’s wearing.

This little girl, name Mia Mizoguchi, has been stalking him and Carrie for a few months now.

After he enrolled Carrie at Gotham Academy, the young girl nicknamed ‘Maps’ had been asking Carrie a lot of questions. Carrie had been good at avoiding incriminating answers, but had fallen for the younger girls clever trap as she casually spoke out infomation that could help with cases and Carrie delivered it back to Tim.

As soon as he realised that Maps had done exactly what he had done and figured out who Carrie was he was impressed. Because even if Carrie was new to the game, she had a skill for tricking people into looking away from her and had done well to stay low.

Maps had made the connection back to Tim, apparently.

Luckily, unlike Bruce, he wasn’t ignorant to their little stalker and actually knew her family from a few galas and charities. To be fair, Tim also wasn’t clouded by grief, but as he lets the girl explain how she totally doesn’t know who Red Robin is but if she did know who he was she would want him to know that a new drug trade route was actually being covered by a cotton candy company and she has over sixty pages worth of proof.

When he shows up to The Nest (named by Carrie) with Maps behind him, he finds Cardinal waiting with an excited gleam in her eyes.

Due to her being so young, Tim doesn’t allow Maps to go into the field until she’s the same age as both he and Carrie were, but she’s quick to show her worth taking over coms and doing an insanely detailed level of detective work that Tim can’t help but be a little jealous of.

Just like Carrie, who has been trying with Selina about only becoming Catgirl if Catwoman stops being a criminal for a few weeks now, he sends her to someone else for mentor ship.

Maps is a sweet girl, but she loves to talk and has a lot of friends who have most of the same interest, so he sends her to the one bat member he trust most.

Cassandra Cain immediately tells Tim that he has to adopt both of them and can’t quite understand why them both having living parents matters.

It’s Cass who gives Maps her vigilante name, Sparrow.

[clockwayswrites]

A Bird and a Menace of Bats - Part 17

masterpost

“We could always look up where he lives,” Tim suggested.

Bruce gave his son a tired look, turning slowly that he was sure not to jostle the sleeping man on his shoulder. “No, we can’t.”

“Sure you can. WE has to have it on file.”

“That would be a gross misuse of my postilion and an invasion of privacy,” Bruce said. “As in something Danny could very well sue for as us taking him home has nothing to do with his work and why we would have his address on file.”

“What about his driver’s license?” Duke suggested.

“He doesn’t have one, or at least not on him,” Dick said. He had Danny’s jacket pulled open and was carefully feeling inside for pockets.

Next to him, Jason was going through the card pocket on the back of Danny’s cellphone case.

“He does have a rewards card for Lacey’s though, so good taste there.”

Bruce rubbed tiredly at his face. “Dick, stop looking for a wallet. Jason, put all the cards back where you found them, please, and no hacking the phone.”

“You’re no fun anymore,” Jason said in a mocking whine.

Stephanie stifled a snicker.

“Stephanie, stop stalking him on social media and Babara, stop using what she’s found to try and triangulate where he is from,” Bruce said.

“Jason’s right,” Stephanie said as she slumped dramatically back into the seat, “you’re no fun anymore.”

“Yes, how boring of me,” Bruce drawled, “not invading the privacy of a man so unwell that he fell asleep in a noisy limo full of near strangers.”

Cass leaned forward at that.

Bruce quickly shifted gears to try and reassure her. “He’ll be alright, Cass.”

“Breathing is shallow. Heart?”

Bruce nodded. “He said there was an accident when he was a child that affected his heart and pulse. It was very slow and weak early after he stood up from his seat and had to sit back down. But he also said that it wasn’t unexpected and that he’s been to his doctor recently.”

“He did take this week off.”

“Tim.”

“What?” Tim said defensively. “He befriended my sister, I had to check him out.”

At least that was a reasonable excuse in case Danny was hearing any of this.

“If he’s doing badly, he shouldn’t be home alone, right?” Stephanie asked far too innocently.

“Not that we even know where he lives without waking him. Shouldn’t we let him rest?” Tim added.

“I shall start to the Manor then,” Alfred said, bringing an abrupt end to the discussion so suddenly that was that.

For what felt like the millionth time that night, Bruce sighed heavily.

-

It rather said something about the family that they were both efficient and graceful in getting an unconscious body out of the car. Bruce, with Dick’s help, passed Danny to Jason who held him out of the way as the rest of the family climbed out. Bruce was surprised to have Danny passed to him the moment Jason was able, but Bruce was quickly distracted.

“Right?” Jason asked.

“Hn.”

“Hn? Hn what?” Steph asked, popping up at Bruce’s elbow.

“The guy’s too light,” Jason answered. “It’s like he’s got bird bones.”

Tim stifled a snicker. Bruce, once again, sighed.

“Tim, take Steph and go help Alfred make sure the room is ready,” Bruce instructed. “Dick, help wrangle. Cass, darling, go rest. Jason, manage the doors for me, please.”

There was a coarse of agreement and the children were off. Bruce and Jason followed more sedately to be gentle on Bruce’s sleeping cargo.

“Jokes aside, he’s too light,” Jason said, keeping his quiet words between them. “This might be more than just a weak pulse.”

What Jason didn’t say is that they knew it was more than just a weak pulse—or at least it had been that night. It was concerning to think what lingering effects the transformation might be having on Danny. Especially concerning because…

“Cass is already attached,” Jason said, as if finishing Bruce’s own thoughts.

“I know.”

“And now the others are curious. Well, more curious.”

“I don’t suppose I could pay you to keep them in line?”

Jason snorted. “Even you couldn’t afford that, old man.”

“I was afraid not,” Bruce said as he fought back a smile.

Despite Jason’s refusal, Bruce knew that his son would keep his eyes others. Jason wouldn’t likely stop them, but he would keep an eye on them. Danny was still enough of an unknown that Bruce couldn’t help but be wary of the man’s presence in the middle of the family.

At least the guest wing was on the other side of the Manor from the family wing. The spaced eased the anxiety, a little. Alfred was just finishing shoeing Stephanie and Tim from the guest room as they approached and Jason peeled off to take his leave with them. Bruce entered the room with Danny on his own.

And apparently it was going to stay that way as Alfred said, “I trust you to see our guest settled,” and closed the door.

Bruce resisted the urge to sigh one more time.

At least Alfred had already folded down the sheets.

Bruce laid Danny down and started with the dress shoes, mostly to delay having to decide just how much clothing was appropriate to strip a near stranger of. After all, Danny didn’t know that he had slept curled up with the whole family once before. Bruce was also aware that he had less propriety than most people, given his unusual night life.

By the time the shoes were off and set aside, Bruce decided that the bare minimum would likely be most comfortable for Danny in the morning. The tie and belt went onto the seat of the nearby arm chair while the suit jacket was draped over the back. Danny’s phone was set on the nightstand. Alfred, of course, already had clothing set out for Danny to change into in the morning, should he wish. Bruce left it at that and covered Danny lightly with the sheets before he took his leave.

[xazse]

So about the Shouki no Kami x reader, while we're fighting Scaramouche's boss we get injured and some pieces of our clothes are already ruined, causing Scaramouche to feel umm. Yk 🫣

HUMILIATION

Synopsis: Your ruined clothing definitely catches Scaramouches attention.

Notes: Hi I enjoyed writing this, I must tell you that it’s completely consensual and reader was free to leave whenever she pleased but chose to indulge in scaras antics! + I do have other requests but they are just asking for a part 2 of something, I’d love to work on it but id rather work on some new stuff.

Pairings: Scaramouche x fem!reader

Warnings: Pussy eating + crying + manhandling + mean!Scara + dom!scara + overstimulation + smut + not proofread + creampie + begging

“Die insolent woman, you’ve been a pain in my side for the longest.”

Scaramouche points Shouki no Kami’s hand at you, he can’t choose which way he wants to kill you, with all the elements in his very hands it’s hard. He wants to make you suffer for as long as possible: wants your screams to fill the room as you beg for mercy, maybe you’ll even cry he’d enjoy that the most.

He bares you one more final look your face dirty and ragged, coughing up your own blood, his eyesight falls a little lower and he pauses. Your shirt was ripped with large tear; exposing your bra, it’s white and basic but nonetheless he can see the fat of your boob spilling out: clearly the bra doesn’t fit you as well as you think it does. Your shorts are a tattered mess as well.

He halts the beam to stare and maybe even admire you a little, He won’t lie and say he hasn’t felt a little bit of attraction at just how desperate you are to kill him, every battle you’ve had with him ends with him fleeing after taking a damaging hit or he’s managed to knock you unconscious, why he hadn’t killed you those times is because he’d wanted you to live with the humiliation, but now that he’s in the final steps of his plan he no longer sees the need to toy with you.

Looking at you longer starts to stir some of those lewd feelings he knows he shouldn’t have for you, it’s merely sexual nothing romantic, he deems you aren’t on his level for him to see you that way, doesn’t matter you’ll be dead in a few.

But… Ever since becoming sentient and reaching the age of maturity, Scara hasn’t laid with any women. As a way of relief when he was alone he’d find himself grabbing and groping at his cock, such a thing had an impact on his body and mind it aggravated him that men had to go through that, it did feel pretty good though when he reached his peak.

He supposes in this moment that you’d be the perfect specimen for him to have sex with, you should be honored you’ll be the first woman to take what humans call his virginity.

You attempt to grab your pole arm but find it getting knocked all the way across the room with just a flick of the giant robots finger. You feel completely defenseless, at least the comfort of knowing you went down with a fight will provide some relief, you close your eyes as you await your death.

Footsteps can be heard behind you, the bastard wants to kill you with his own hands? His steps are slow and steady as he approaches you, when he finally does he kicks you over you groan in pain at just the force of the kick, you’re now on your stomach when he sits down and puts his entire weight on your back.

“I’d kill you right now but I have other uses for you”

“Just get it over with” you seethe through clenched teeth

“And miss the chance to further humiliate you? I don’t think so. I could kill you right now or I could fuck you then let you leave orrrr you can leave and run back to your family with your tail inbetween your legs. Your choice either way you’ll die sooner or later it doesn’t matter to me”

Your lip quirks upwards and you resist the urge to burst out laughing

“Not so popular with the women? Knew you were a hopeless virgin,” you giggle a little before continuing “is that why youre so hell bent on destruction? You just needed some pussy?”

Scaramouche’s expression darkens but you can’t see that, he won’t allow you to.

“You’ve got a mouth on you, always have.” “I think that’s why breaking you down has been so fun”

You shrug “I’ll indulge you Scaramouche” you huff out, “I don’t need to guide you through it right?” You tease.

“No need, I’ll have you crying on my cock begging for more.” He tears off the remainings of your shirt, your shorts are next as he descards the fabrics somewhere else, you aren’t getting those back you sigh loudly.

He places his hand under your stomach in a way you’re arching: ass up and face smooshed into the cold hard floor. You don’t process it as quickly as you should but next thing you know you can feel the cool open breeze on your parts, bastard even ruined your underwear. He admires you once again, staring at your cute cunt as it’s begging to be filled and fucked, he’ll give you just that.

First he decides that he wants to taste you, wants to figure out why people enjoy pussy as much as they do.

He bends down a little, having him eye level with your cunt makes you feel a little embarrassed and your body a little hot, you’ve never been eaten out before if he does- you lurch forward when his tongue licks a stripe up. He thinks he didn’t really get a good taste so he licks another, and another until he’s full on licking and sucking directly on your hole.

“Ohh..mnh-“ you use your hand to close your mouth, you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. But fuck does it feel so good, he hasn’t even found your clit yet and you don’t think you’ll be able to hold back anything.

He starts getting messy with his tongue work, it was messy before but now it feels dirty. You know you’re becoming wetter by the second and he isn’t wasting even a second to lick up the essence that leaks out. This position isn’t doing it for him anymore so he flips you onto your back, immediately he dives right back into sucking, when he accidentally brushes over your clit and sees the sweet whine that slips past he does it again to make sure he heard you right, tracing over the bud you once again make the noise but even sweeter.

“Scara-Ah..ngh”

His arms wrap around your thighs, he doesn’t even seem the least bit bothered that you’re caging his head in, he’s completely in tune with sucking on your wet sloppy clit. All you can do is take it and cry small whimpers of his names, you don’t know whether you want him to stop the pleasure or continue it.

His shorts begin to constrict as he starts to grow hard, they feel tight around him and he feels the need to loosen them up, his hand dips below his waist and into them, his fingers grope his cock roughly, the damn thing definitely has a mind of its own as established earlier. It’s already leaking precum into his hands.

He stands up on his knees, you obediently don’t close your legs, leaving them wide open, a little bit of licking has your eyes clouded and lusty, he thinks you definitely now deserve to feel the stretch of his cock.

He tugs his waistband just below his heavy balls, you stare openly too, he’s fucking big, you had never expected that from his small stature. He knows he is too with the condescending smirk on his face, clearly proud of what he has. It’s more thick than it is long, girth was not lost on him, you advert your gaze fully.

“What are you doing? Look at me clearly woman, none of that shy stuff now.” He leans in and pulls your bra down, useful for later he supposes.

He stokes himself a few times, making sure your eyes are trained on every stroke and every dribble of pre that cascades down his length. He taps his cock against your clit eliciting a sharp rise in your chest. His cock is placed against your wet hole and pushes in, he only gets a little past the tip before you’re whiny voice picks up and telling him to stop for a moment, he does obey to let you breathe.

As he sits and waits he can feel just how hot you are, he bets putting it even deeper will have him seeing stars.

He starts pushing in again, repeating the words relax as you tense up every so often, he isn’t going to fucking kill you. Your tight cunt starts to slowly adjust and pull him in, it gets warmer and warmer the deeper he goes.

“You’ve been- mhn..- fucked? How come you’re so damn tight?” It’s clearly starting to affect him, serves the dick right.

It’s not long before he’s got his full hard cock deep inside you, his chest is connected to yours as he lifts up his hips to slam right back down into you.

“So… ooh my god” his hips can’t stop fucking into you, your gummy walls just adds so much more stimulation, it’s filthy and gross the loud sounds of his balls slapping against your ass or your equally lewd moans of his name drive everything so much higher. His chest is rubbing against your nipples when he goes up and down, they feel raw and extra sensitive adding ontop of the pleasure.

He’s using you like a damn toy to reach his peak, it feels different than when he would use his hands, his balls feel heavier and he feels the need to empty them, empty them right inside your sopping cunt.

You take your fingers and begin rubbing wildly at your clit.

He’s been hitting a certain spot inside of you, but when he inches his hips a way, he hits it directly.

“Pleas- please again-“ “deeper-deeper Scara.”

It’s embarrassing how you’re full on crying it feels so good, too good, you can’t help but cry from the amount of pleasure you’re feeling, no man you’ve ever come across has had his size nor the way he keeps hitting that spot.

He gives you one more stroke and you whine his name the loudest since he had you bent over on all fours. Your pussy gushes and cums around his cock, that nasty white ring shines so much when he looks at where you’re connected for a slight moment but he quickly returns to your face: mouth slightly agar as you take wide gulps of air from just how powerful that orgasm was.

You weakly try to slide up and slip his cock out of you, he’s quick to slam right back in to the hilt.

“That’s not fair, I haven’t came yet, I think you can spare a few more hours” he taps your cheek lightly in a mocking manner.

“You can can’t you?” He purrs out so seductively.

“I’can” you slur out slowly looking so fucked out and In scaras terms ready for another orgasm just like that one.

He keeps fucking into you, even if his cock is soaked in just your cum, or when he switched positions to him standing and holding you with your arms wrapped around his neck whilst he fucks up into your pussy. The floor decorated with your juices just drive him to keep ruining you. When he finally does cum it’s mind-blowing, he bites down so hard on your neck that you think it drew blood. It muffles his loud groan as his balls constrict and he’s filling you with his load, you think the virgin will stop and be one and done but he isn’t, he pauses to breathe but starts bouncing you up and down on his cock all over again.

Scaramouche thinks he actually wants you alive, wants to keep feeling your hot pussy milk him nonstop, he’s interrupted in his thoughts with you weakly begging for more, you’re so fucking gross, wanting to be filled with more of his cum regardless of your hatred for him.

[notafunkiller]

What if I am too much?

Summary: When Sam's girlfriend calls you clingy, you decide to give Bucky some space. What you don’t know is that he doesn’t want any space. None at all.

Pairing: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x female reader

Warnings: 18+, angst, teasing, language, pet names, spanking, daddy kink, metal arm kink, no mention of y/n

Word Count: 2.2K

Bucky Barnes masterlist

A/N: I want to thank @marvelouslizzie for her help!

Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!

“Oh, you’re alone?”

You turn your head in the direction of the voice and smile politely. You don’t recognize this woman, but she looks at you like she does.

“Uh, yes. Hello!”

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

You instantly blush, ashamed, and search for Bucky’s face in the crowd. Nowhere to be found. Damn it!

“No, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she says before coming next to you. “I’m Misty.” Brunette, tall and beautiful.

“Where did we meet?”

“Sam’s birthday, but I’m not surprised you don’t remember me. You were too busy clinging to Bucky’s side all night.” She sounds serious, and you freeze, having no idea where this came from. She simply laughs, grabbing your arm with some kind of bionic cold hand for a second before letting it go.

It’s not like Bucky’s. It’s more... robotic.

“Clinging?” You ask confused.

“Yeah, you know, always sitting with him, holding his arm, following him around.”

You puff, already annoyed by this random woman. “Following him around? I’m not a dog!”

“Didn’t say you are a dog, honey. Just pointing out the obvious.”

You try to hold your tongue, pushing aside the impulse to start a fight. This is a night about Bucky. Not you or your discomfort. And she is his ex-co-worker-friend’s girlfriend. Your anger can wait.

“Alright, but how does my clinging affect you, though?”

“Oh, don’t take it so personally! I just meant to be friendly. It’s a girl’s advice. Live a little, being insecure is not gonna save your relationship.”

A piece of advice no one asked for. A take you never even considered. You’re not insecure and you’re definitely not keeping Bucky to your side all the time. You don’t… He is free to do whatever the hell he wants.

“Thank you.”

She has the audacity to laugh. “Don’t be so defensive, honey! Gonna get a cocktail, want some?”

You shake your head, feeling a hole in your stomach after she leaves you alone, and you basically run to the bathroom, trying to calm down. What if she is right, though? What if Sam heard or saw something? Maybe Bucky is extra grumpy or unhappy. Maybe he even complained…

You never thought sitting with Bucky is a sign of clinginess. You thought it’d help... he is not the most comfortable person at events. He gets stared at a lot, he hates small talk, and you really like being close to him. Gosh, you are clingy!

The rest of the night passes like a blur. When you come back, Bucky’s waiting for you, and despite your instinct to wrap your arm around his back and let him hold you, you keep a little distance, giving Sam and his nosy girlfriend a fake smile, while Bucky keeps staring at you strangely.

You even manage to avoid touching him all week somehow, except for a few kisses now and then. Your period came, and as he tried to hold you, you had to fight tears while telling him not to. You’re sick and tired and you miss him, but you want to give him some space. You’ve been suffocating him for so long... You make sure to cry only when he’s out because he might hear you even in the shower. He has super hearing after all.

You thought it would become easier every day, but quite the opposite. Every time you’re close to giving up, you remember Sam’s comment that he made a week after you met him about how Bucky always likes his space and what Misty told you, so you fight against your wish.

Until Sunday afternoon.

You’re in bed, scrolling down on Instagram as Bucky comes out of the shower. You try not to stare at him, but how can you not? He looks absolutely incredible.

What you don’t expect is him trying to get on top of you to tickle you with a huge smile on his face. He’s so adorable.

“B-Bucky, stop!” You laugh as his hands get under your T-shirt. He loves making you laugh no matter how he does it. “N-no.”

“Oh, I will,” he says playfully.

But what he failed to tell you is that stopping means sneaking his head under your T-shirt, which starts to rip a little because of the stretch, and resting it on your boobs.

“Bucky!”

He puffs, annoyed. “Why the fuck are you wearing a bra in the house, bubba?”

“Cause it’s a bra?” You ask back sarcastically, but you know this is weird. You always complain about needing to wear it outside. But inside? It’s even worse.

“Unacceptable.” He quickly rips your bra in half, not bothering to unhook it, and you feel his beard on your breast all of a sudden, making you shiver. Fuck, you really miss this.

“B-Bucky, come on, your hair is a little wet!”

“Bubba, please...”

“Bucky! Why did you do that?” He immediately takes his head out of your T-shirt, and you almost cry. He looks do lost and scared.

“Baby, do you not want me anymore?”

“What the fuck?” You groan. This is the last thing you wanted him to think. All you tried to do was to make him happy and feel less pressured.

“You don’t let me touch you. You don’t want to cuddle with me. You don’t wake me up with kisses. You don’t get on top of me You don’t hug me! What did I do?”

Your heart aches for both of you. “Wasn’t that better?”

“Better for who?” He cries. “This was the worst week of my life since Hydra.”

“Unfortunately, that cannot be true, Bucky.” You sigh, getting closer to him. “I thought you like space...”

“I do, but not with my fucking baby!”

You melt at his words, truth be told. He said it so passionately, but you’re so confused.

“I thought I was being too clingy, touching you too much, you know?”

“What? Where did this come from?”

You close your eyes. How are you supposed to answer this without sounding like a petty bitch?

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it does!” You feel his hands grabbing your face so you can look at him. “It means I did something wrong.”

You frown, upset that he thinks that. He’s been nothing but kind, understanding, and loving to you, and you hate how he feels like he failed you or something.

“Sam’s girlfriend told me I am clingy... always with you, never leaving you alone to breathe basically. And it reminded me of Sam saying how much you love your space, and I just...” You try not to cry, you really do, but you cannot hold back the tears this time, which Bucky immediately reaches to wipe with his flesh fingers.

“Jesus, baby! I don’t give a goddamn shit about what they say, you aren’t allowed to listen to anyone! Just let me touch you.”

You immediately wrap your arms around his neck, and Bucky lifts you a bit so you can sit on his lap. You can hear his heartbeat, and you find that so peaceful.

“I thought you’re gonna break up with me, honey.” He whispers in your ear. “I was terrified when you didn’t let me cuddle with you.”

“I’m so fucking sorry, baby.” You don’t know what else to say. You hurt both of you for days just because you let some woman get inside your head, but you had good intentions. “I just didn’t want to be a burden.”

“I should be the one saying that, not you, bubba.” He leaves a kiss on your shoulder. “God, I missed you so much, it feels surreal to touch you.”

“I love you, I’m sorry.”

“Promise to never do this shit ever again!”

“I’ll try,” you murmur. “I didn’t realize you want me to touch you so much.”

Bucky lifts your head. “You know I have to punish you for that, right?”

“Punish me?” You ask surprised.

“Yeah, for believing some stranger over your man. For pulling away and giving me a heart attack. And for depriving yourself of my cuddling skills.”

You giggle. “What if I let you suck my nipples for a whole week anytime you wanted?”

“I already do that!” Bucky lifts your T-shirt as he speaks, and you gasp.

“You do not!”

“Yes, I do. Remember when I came home from the last mission and I made you come by-” He lowers his head and licks your right breast, avoiding your nipple.

“Fuck you, tease!”

“I am the tease?!” He snorts, continuing to lick.

“You’re always the tease. Now kiss me and gimmie your cock.”

“I won’t give you anything until I punish you.”

“Jamie!” You scream when he turns you around, ripping off your shorts in half, along with your underwear before placing you on his thighs. “What the fuck?”

“What the fuck to you for keeping yourself away from me.” You feel him caressing your ass for a few seconds before slapping your right cheek with his flesh hand. You squirm, gripping into his hip.

“F-fuck!”

“Count.”

You groan. “Jamie...” He spanks you again but harder, and this time you moan. “T-two.”

“Nope, we start over.”

“O-one.”

“Good girl!”

The third and fourth aren’t as hard as you want and you find yourself wiggling your ass in the air.

“Harder.”

“Harder?” He snorts, amused, and before he can bring his flesh hand in the air, you grab his metal arm.

“Please, daddy, use this one!”

Daddy? It didn’t take too long for you to get back in the mood.

“Can’t use it, baby, I’m sorry.”

“No!” You cry. “I need it, pleaseee. I’ll ride your face as many times as you w-want.”

Bucky still doesn’t agree. “Baby, it would hurt.”

“Let it hurt!”

You want it to hurt because this pain is not unbearable, quite the opposite. It pushes you over the edge faster.

He sighs and listens to you, bringing his metal hand to your ass, but you barely even feel it when he slaps. You groan, upset.

“I said slap! Do you want me to hover?”

“I can fucking hurt you.”

“I told you to hurt me!” You beg. “Please, honey! Please, please, please.”

He does it again, not hard enough for you, but you count anyway. Again and again.

“Jesus, you’re making my thighs so wet. You’re such a little whore for me.”

“I’m your whore. Always, daddy, please!”

Bucky’s moan comes somehow from the back of his throat, and the last spanks are perfect. He gently caresses your ass, cooling it off with his metal hand, and you smile. “You’re so dirty sometimes, but also such a good girl taking your punishment perfectly.”

“I am sorry,” you whisper.

“For what exactly?”

You pout, grabbing his face. “For all of it. But you’re you, Bucky. You’re the greatest guy in the world, I just didn’t want to be annoying.”

“You were annoying when you didn’t let me even hug you.”

You know that, but sometimes you can’t help but do dumb things, thinking about him. “I wanted you to be happy.”

“Well, I wasn’t happy, obviously. And neither were you, bubba. Promise me you’ll talk to me first next time.”

“I was just stupid…”

“No.” You feel his thumb all over your lips. “You were worried. I love you and I really need your touch, okay?”

“I noticed,” you laugh.

“Good, now feed me my boobs, and then I wanna see you riding my face as you negotiated.”

You fake sigh and grab your boob. “Open up.”

*

You’re not sure how to react when Bucky drags you straight to Sam and his girlfriend as soon as you get inside the museum.

“Hey, Buck-”

“Who do you think you are?”

Misty gasps while Sam and you freeze.

“Wow, wow, wow, man. Hold on a sec, what is going on?”

“What is going on, Samuel?” Bucky asks rhetorically through his teeth. “Ask your little girlfriend where she got her audacity from to tell my girl she is clingy. That she basically spends too much time with me. Who the fuck gave her the permission to even speak to her? So she either apologizes and keeps her mouth shut, or we’ll have a big problem.” Bucky turns his head to look at Misty. “From one metal arm to another. Wanna try me?”

“You did what? What the hell?”

Misty frowns, staring at you. “You went to complain to him for giving you a friendly, harmless advice?”

Bucky instantly grabs her metal arm wrist before you can answer.

“You got three seconds to beg for her forgiveness before I snap your hand in half. And I am not bluffing.”

Sam doesn’t even try to get between them, simply watching, and Misty immediately gets teary.

“I’m... sorry.”

Bucky shakes his head, squeezing her wrist. Holy shit! You haven’t seen him like this in ages. “Didn’t hear you.”

“I am sorry. I should have minded my own business!”

“Yes, you should’ve,” you say without regret. “But I forgive you.”

Bucky lets go with a grunt before nodding to Sam and bringing his hand to your hips, leading you toward the exit.

As soon as you are outside, you don’t even care if someone can hear you as you speak. “Fuck, I wanna suck your cock so badly!”

Bucky laughs. “I see. In the car… is that okay for you?”

You get on your tiptoes to kiss him. “Perfect.”

[docdudo]

Hybrid 141 As Parents - Foster Human Child!Reader (Part 11)

Their background is clear to you—always has been since your social worker told you about them in her car on the way here.

They’re military men. Most of their long lives have been spent in the field. She even mentioned that their first children grew up on base when they were little.

Which sounded cool, you thought. It was so different from the office jobs other foster parents had. A bonus, even—it made you feel safe in their house.

They were bigger than most. If not by height, then by width. They were large. Buff. Even the damn harpy, who was supposed to be lean, had broad shoulders and lots of muscles.

So you felt safe. That was a big bonus. Better than that weird suburban house you stayed in, where the mother often avoided the creepy neighbor who looked predatory. You remember his strange glances and how nervous the mother was when he came knocking one night while her husband was away.

How nervous you were as you watched their interaction a few feet away.

So, you’ve always had a big thing about safety, thanks to the weird places you have stayed.

And they felt so safe. It was comforting, really. After the initial phase of settling into a foster home—when you flinched away from everyone until you got to know them better—you started to relax.

(Unless they were the angry type. Or worse, the type to lay their hands on you.)

So, when Price sat you on his lap, checking your temperature again and combing your hair with his hand and sharp claws, you felt... calm. Eh, not totally, you admit. You still tensed a little when his hand came near your face and stayed quiet because of your shyness.

But it was progress, and you really, really wanted to feel at peace with them.

When night came, after they gave you more medicine, warm tea, and another serving of John's bean and bacon soup, they decided to put you to bed early.

Which... was fine. You were actually very tired. Sickness does that to you.

Price carried you, lifting you easily from the dining room chair with the booster seat they’d gotten from somewhere. He placed you down carefully in the big nest full of heavy blankets and pillows, the others following behind at their own pace.

Being there gave you a chance to watch more of their routine.

Ghost was the last to enter. You could hear him rattling things downstairs and turning off lights as he came. His low voice confirmed that all windows and doors were locked.

Gaz was already in the room, sitting at the nest’s edge as he combed through his wing with a special tool, a weird looking comb thing. Johnny worked on the other wing with a concentration you didn’t know he could manage. Both of them were close to you, their legs nearly bumping your small form in the giant nest.

Price moved calmly around the room, putting things away and finishing his hygiene routine in the attached bathroom.

"Feeling better?" Gaz cooed softly, his leg—talons, talons, such sharp talons—bumping near you to get your attention.

"Y-yeah, better..." you answered quietly, nodding for emphasis.

"Good." He crooned, satisfied, especially when Soap purred right after.

(Is it really a purr if he’s a werewolf?)

"Good pup, such a good pup. Really brave, huh? Dinae complain even once. So strong..." Soap murmured, leaning over Gaz, who relaxed back against him.

"It's just a small fever..." you mumbled, frowning a bit at his exaggeration. You were shy. "It’s nothing..."

"Not nothin’, kid." Simon grumbled, finally climbing into the nest after discarding his mask and gloves. He lay beside you, checking your forehead again. "Sick is sick. A flu is a flu. Still makes you feel like shit."

"Simon..." Price scolded as he emerged from the bathroom, closing the door behind him. "Didn’t hear the hatchling say one bad word ’til now. Don’t influence her."

"To be fair, we barely heard her speak at all until now." Kyle retorted sassily, smiling at Price before glancing down at you. "Small, quiet fledgling."

"Nah, she’ll warm up to us!" Johnny declared confidently, shaking his head. "Right, pup? Wanna play with Papa tomorrow? We can play anything ya want!"

"Tone it down, mutt. It’s snowin’ outside," Ghost grumbled, already wrapping your small body in one of the blankets.

"We can play inside. We’ve got the space," Soap said smugly, finishing Kyle’s wing before slipping into the nest on your other side. "We can play, pup. Promise I’ll be gentle!"

You tensed a little, unsure. Your expression showed your doubt with your little frown. After a few seconds of silence, you managed to murmur.

"....o-okay... I guess..."

"See? Who said peer pressure doesn’t work?" Ghost deadpanned, making Price snort with laughter, faint wisps of smoke escaping his nose.

"You don't have to if you don't want to, hatchling. Soap will understand." Price says with a quiet laugh, approaching the nest as he adjusts some kind of shoulder weight attached over his sleeping shirt where his missing wing used to be.

You stare at him for a moment, frowning slightly in confusion.

"...Soap...?"

Your question seems to stun them for a moment before they all start laughing softly, like it’s some kind of inside joke.

"Tha’ would be me, lassie." Johnny replies with a big smile, flashing all his sharp teeth as he leans closer. "Just a codename. Military, aye?"

"Nickname...?" you mumble, still confused.

"Close, hun. Codename." Gaz explains with a gentle laugh, sliding into the nest now, his wings resting against Soap and Price’s backs.

"It’s like a nickname, but it’s used for secrecy. So bad people don’t know our real names." Ghost adds calmly, his heavy hand giving your back a slight pat.

That makes you scrunch your nose slightly.

"Why Soap...?"

Once again, the others laugh at your question, except Johnny, who just sighs quietly, though his smile remains.

"Doesn’t matter why." The werewolf says with a shrug, still grinning as he gestures at Simon. "This bastard is called ‘Ghost’ in the field, Kyle is ‘Gaz,’ and John just uses his last name, ‘Price.’"

You nod quietly, blinking as you process the information. It’s kinda weird, but it makes sense for their lifestyle. Military men for most of their lives, huh? That actually makes you wonder...

"...Are your kids also military...?" you ask softly, hugging your knees over the thick blanket.

"Thank fucking god, no," Price answers quickly, sounding both relieved and horrified at the thought.

"I thought we weren’t doing bad words?" Ghost asks slowly, his tone sarcastic as he sends Price a bored look.

"Oh, shut it." Price growls softly back, leaning closer to him with a sharp smile.

"But no, none of them are in the military." Kyle chimes in, smiling slightly. "Doesn’t mean they didn’t think about following our footsteps at some point, though."

"Wee lads and lassies always thought the military was cool, wanted to be like their papas." Soap says dreamily, though his smile falters slightly to a more nervous smile. "We would never let them, though."

"Why?" you ask innocently, tilting your head in confusion. "You didn’t like the military?"

"No, no, not that! Ah love the military, wee lass!" Soap defends quickly, waving his hands around. "Can’t imagine doin’ anything else with my life!"

"But no parent wants their kids in such a dangerous job," Price interjects, shaking his head as he mutters under his breath. "Honestly, if I had my way, they’d still be here in the nest with me."

"Ignore ’im. Dragon instincts get the best of ’im sometimes." Ghost mutters, shaking his head before gently nudging you down into the nest. "Come on, kid. We can talk tomorrow. It’s sleep time."

You’re still curious, but you nod, laying back against the nest. Johnny immediately curls around you, his giant body wrapping you up entirely. You even feel his tail loop around your legs. You tense for a moment at the closeness, but soon relax, rolling slightly to burrow your face into the blanket. His much larger body shields you completely.

"Night, kid." Ghost grunts as he settles, his hand resting on top of your wrapped form.

"Sweet dreams, hun." Gaz murmurs softly.

"Sleep well." Price adds last, leaning down slightly as the others settle into their spots in the nest. "Call us if you need anything, alright?"

"Gonna be monitorin’ her. It’s fine..." Johnny mumbles, still draped protectively over you. "Good night, lassie."

You fall asleep as the lights turn off and the others cuddle into the nest. Despite the heavy snowstorm outside, you feel incredibly warm.

Safe.

Part 10 /

[chelseeebe]

i still love you, i promise

18+. smut. mentions of domestic violence (eddie is NOT the perpetrator!!!) exhusband!eddie x fem reader. this is far more nice domesticity than smut

if i’m being honest i don’t like the ending to this buuuuut i wanted to put it out because it’s been a while!! i have some holiday themed stuff cooking that i want to post before christmas so let’s all pray i actually finish it! i also wanted to just disclaim that yes cheating is bad yadda yadda yadda but we make an exception for fiction and especially for dear reader and eddie okay!?

☾ ⋆｡°✩

the tv rumbles on in the background, eddie’s eyes darting to the clock to determine whether another episode would be wise or not. 

fuck it. 

it plays on anyway, illuminating his dark living room and his terrible posture. he’d spend another couple hours here before finally dragging himself off to bed somewhere between one and two. 

he jumps out of his skin at the sound of hammering, a chorus of fists pummel the door, startling him from his slouch. whichever asshole had the audacity to bang on his door at this time would certainly live to regret it. 

he swings open the door with such force, his fist already clenched, expecting to beat the ever-loving shit out of someone only to find three sleepy faces smiling up at him. 

and you. 

stood behind your grinning sons, completely dejected as you balance what looked to be the entirety of your belongings in your arm. 

“what the f-“ managing to stop himself as the boys run around his legs to get inside. 

his eyes fall bank to your face, the shining bright maroon bruise adorning your cheek only becoming apparent to him now. 

“what happened?” eddie frets, caressing your cheek with a gentle hand, “what the fuck happened?” he didn’t really need you to tell him, that much was obvious. 

you sigh, he hadn’t seen you this low in years, no witty quips or snarling insults. just a permanent scowl and dried tears on your cheeks. 

“can you just..” moving your head from his grasp, “can you put them to bed for me? please?” desperation rippling through your tone. 

“yeah.. yeah of course,” stepping out of the way to welcome you inside, “but you’re telling me what the fuck happened after.” 

-

it’s at least forty five minutes before they settle, eddie growing more and more impatient with every stifled giggle and unnecessary request for the bathroom or water. 

when he does eventually close the door and make his way back to the kitchen, you’re stood over the sink, opened beer bottle in hand as you stare out of the window onto the street. 

“what happened?” he asks gently, hoping not to startle you though you jump anyway.

eddie grabs a bag of opened peas from his freezer, storming over to press the cold bag to your now, very violet cheekbone. 

you sigh again, much different to the usual exhausted mutters you gave him, “it doesn’t matter- thank you for doing that.” 

“too fucking right it does- did he hit you? did he touch the boys?” his grip on the bag tightening as his knuckles glow white. 

“no, he didn’t touch the boys,” placing your hand on top of his, taking the bag of vegetables from him, “just me.” 

eddie can’t help himself, the rage bubbling over once again, “i’ll kill him- i’ll go over there right now and kill that fucker,” searching for the key to his van, anticipating a night in jail for whatever was about to happen. 

your frown only grows deeper, “don’t be fucking stupid,” a disapproving frown etched on your face, watching him flap about the kitchen only to pause, blinking at you. 

“he hit you,” annunciating the words just in case you didn’t already know. 

you hum in acknowledgment, taking another swig of beer, “you got any cigarettes?”

eddie pauses again, completely astonished that you could be so calm about this. but, he’s nothing if not your willing servant, getting the box out of his pocket to hold out to you. 

“can you be serious about this? please?” withholding the box just before your grasp. 

“what do you want me to say eddie? he punched me in the face! it’s done, it’s over. i just wanna have a cigarette and drink my fucking beer, okay?” the dejected look on your face makes his heart sore, he hadn’t wanted to upset you, just get you to agree to him going over there and beating his ass. 

he nods, pointing at the balcony doors, “alright.. alright,” giving up entirely, “go ahead.” 

eddie slips out into the cool night with you, dropping the cig in your open palm, lighting his own in a bid to calm down. 

“thank you, by the way,” exhaling softly, “it means a lot, it’s just-,” you sigh, looking off into the distance, “it’s a lot for me to deal with right now, you don’t need to worry about me.” 

that was all you needed to say, a hint of guilt hitting his chest. eddie hadn’t meant to be so abrupt, so pissed off, it had just washed over him in a scornful fury. 

“i’m always gonna worry ‘bout you.” 

your lips crack into a smile for the first time this evening, relieving a little regret from his heart. 

“now smoke your cigarette and drink your fucking beer,” parroting your earlier outburst, with love of course. far too much love really, so much so he didn’t know what to do with it all. 

-

the first time actually sleeping next you again had never meant to be on his pitiful pull out couch, it felt almost unnatural. 

eddie slept here a lot, especially when he had the boys, but he can’t help but feel you deserve better. 

not that either of you are sleeping, you’re tossing and turning too much for him to drift off to sleep. 

you sigh for the four hundredth time, turning onto your back with a disgruntled huff.

“can’t sleep?” he asks, knowing the answer already. 

you startle, expecting him to have been asleep, “no, not really.”

“yeah i can tell,” deciding to spring some humour back into such a glum night, “you haven’t stayed still all night,” rolling onto his back to join you in staring at the dark ceiling. 

“i’m not a good wife-“ completely out of left field, forcing his brows to knit together in confusion. 

“that’s not true,” eddie interjects, pulling your body into his chest, really just trying to stop this self loathing shit you had going on. 

you chuckle, wrapping an arm over his waist, “i’ve cheated on him like a thousand times eddie, i know i’m not.”

“only with me right?” he asks curiously, unprepared for any answer other than yes. 

“yeah, only you.”

“then i don’t think that counts,” entirely too confident, “i’m your ex husband, he should know that you’d never be completely over me.”

he can feel your chest rise and fall nestled into his side, a deep sigh escaping your lips before slinging your leg over his waist to scoot on top, his hands don’t hesitate to slide downward to rest on your doughy hips. 

“hey, at least you might be invited to the next wedding,” your arms snake around his neck, running your fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck. 

this sort of intimacy was what eddie missed most, just being able to touch you whenever he liked. starting out completely innocent just to naturally slip into something more. christ, he’d pay millions to have it back. 

especially when you looked like this, your ragged oversized shirt and a pair of shorts from before bill clinton’s administration. perfect. 

“uhh no, i won’t be going unless it’s me you’re marrying,” sliding his hands from your hips to your ass, resisting the urge to growl as he does so. 

you laugh, breath brushing against his cheeks, “is that right?”

you’re so close, you may as well just meld into one body, a mess of limbs and parts. keeping your face, for obvious reasons. 

“yeah, so don’t forget it,” grabbing a handful of your luscious ass, savouring the way you felt in his grasp. 

your eyes roll back on their own, shifting only slightly to discover his dick stiffening, the rising tent in his scruffy old boxers. 

“are you hard already?” 

eddie chooses to ignore your sneering tone, his voice thick with exhaustion, “what do you think?” 

“of course you are,” sucking the backs of your teeth, “what’re you? 15?” but your thighs spread, moving into a more comfortable position for what was obviously about to happen. 

“you’re a weirdo,” he laughs, mindlessly grinding upwards, planting his feet firmly on the shitty mattress to help keep you upright. 

“mmhmm,” humming to yourself as you lean forwards, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose, “and you love it.” 

eddie sighs, moving your hips backwards with his hands, “you’re gonna have to get off of me if you’re not gonna do anything,” the feel of your warmth against his growing erection only making it worse, growling with need. 

your hands trail down his chest, stopping at his pudgy tummy, a feat he’s sworn to get rid of for years now. “what makes you think i’m not gonna do anything?” tucking two fingers inside the waistband of his strained boxers, teasing them down like he won’t cum right then and there. 

he hums, his breathing becoming laboured, “i- fuck, i dunno,” losing all coherent train of thought when you tug his boxers down below his heavy balls, dick springing up against his stomach. 

your tongue peeks out, wetting your lips, “thank you,” coming out of nowhere, “for letting us- or- me stay here,” hands lingering on his ribs. 

“of course,” a no-brainer, really. you were and always have been the love of his life, he’d do anything for you anytime, “you don’t ever have to thank me for shit,” giving your ass a generous squeeze for good measure. 

“yeah i know,” exhaling as you shuffle upward, lousy shorts pulled to the side as you fist his dick, positioning his tip at your sopping entrance, “but i’m gonna.” 

and with that, he slides inside, welcomed into your warmth with a soft moan, your hands finding his sighing shoulders to rest on as you move slowly.

it’s all painfully slow, knowing you weren’t alone and ran the risk of being interrupted at any point meant a milder version of events than what this room usually saw. 

he plants both hands on your cheeks, bringing your face in close, “you can get married a thousand more times and it’d still always be you,” breathlessly, pressing his sticky forehead against yours.

“st-stop it,” a shuddered breath, his gooey sentiments making your cheeks flush. 

“i mean it,” eddie’s sure he can feel your eyelashes flutter against his own, “no one’ll ever come close,” stilling his hips, your tepid smile and laboured breathing was enough to make him cum right now. 

“eddie,” you coo, coming to a halt to send a warning glare in his direction, “i’m still married,” as if soppy words meant more than the continued torrid affair you’d been having. 

“i’m literally inside of you,” he chuckles, finding your waist to caress instead, “you know this already.”

“mhm you are,” shifting on your knees, obviously hoping to distract him from his confession, “so shut up and fuck me,” whispering harshly, your finger lingers over his lips. 

he nods, losing the battle anyway. his hips thrust upward, meeting yours in a rushed manner, you gasp softly only tightening your grasp on his skin. 

the couch creaks, the springs begging for solace as you begin to move with him, containing your pretty little mewls within. eddie already knows he’s going to cum quick, he hadn’t seen you in weeks and even his hand had started to bore him. 

“oh shit,” he groans, running a hand underneath your shirt and up your flexed back, “i’m not gonna last,” gazing into your half-moon eyes, not put off by your growing smile. 

“no?” bouncing your hips faster, deliberately clenching your pussy around his cock, spurring him on for a disappointing showing, “you can’t wait f’me?” goading him, wanting him to cum just so you can hold it over his head. 

eddie pants in time with your frantic hips, allowing you to take control completely. he loves it like this, when you just use him to get off. barely able to keep watching you through hooded eyes, the sight of your wild waist sending him into overdrive. 

“nuhuh,” he strains, wetting his lips as he tries his utmost to keep going, “i can’t.. you feel so good,” through gritted teeth, his heels dig into the couch as a means to ground himself, prolong his climax for as long as possible. 

“c’mon eds,” pressing your damp forehead to his, “‘m nearly there,” positioning yourself so he nestles into your sweet spot, a clammy hand palms at the back of his neck as you desperately rut your hips. 

concentrated gasps fall out of his parted lips, reminding himself to keep breathing concurrently with every jerk and swing of your body. 

sticky skin meshes into one, he doesn’t know where you end and he begins, just a heaving pile of limbs on his couch. 

he’s trying to think of something, anything else to stop him busting his nut, but you’re whimpering, making these soft sounds and your eyes are rolling and it’s all too much. 

he’s thrusting upward without much thought, spilling over in a whirlwind of his nerves exploding and guttural grunts. filling you up, completely unapologetic in the moment, he knows he’ll make it up to you somehow. 

eddie can’t even comprehend your annoyed plight, his ears ringing and his vision fuzzy while you settle on his thighs. he can just about make out your frustrated pout, scowling at him as he floats slowly back to earth. 

“you’re so mean,” cupping his chin to force his eyes to meet yours, “i can’t believe you.” 

his eyelids flutter, sinking into the pillows with you still perched atop his thighs, “sorry sweetheart.. not my fault you feel so good,” sighing as the sleep takes over his eyes, lazily running his fingers over your supple thighs. 

you groan, sliding off of his lap to your spot next to him, pulling the blanket up and over you both. at least maybe now you’d get some sleep, though eddie’s not certain he will. thoughts of beating the life out of david crowd his mind, clearly not as empathetic or understanding as you were. 

he snakes an arm around your waist, watching your face as your features settle, embracing the tired aching of your bones. 

-

an ear-piercing, blood-curdling screech serves as your alarm, closely followed by three lots of footsteps banging down the wooden stairs in his apartment. 

eddie can’t have had more than three hours of sleep. holding onto your twitching body, preoccupied with guilt and anger over your bruised cheek instead. if he had been a better husband, this wouldn’t have ever happened. 

but now, he’s forced awake by your children, groaning into the pillow as their limbs flail and scramble onto the couch, screaming about breakfast and cartoons. 

“alright alright!” he huffs, still gruff from his lack of sleep, “get the hell off me,” shielding your head with his arms while they settle into place. 

“do we have have to go to school?” oscar perks up, an opportunist like his father. 

“uhh yeah,” you emerge from the blanket cocoon to scold your idiotic children, “what makes you think you’d be skipping today?” 

“because we’re at dads house, we only come here on the weekend,” so innocent, though you can both see right through it. 

“it’s tuesday,” you chuckle, “you’re going to school,” tipping them from your legs to stand up. 

there’s an unexpected sadness that settles in his chest, a knowing that he’d missed out on this for too long because he fucked up in the first place. 

eddie climbs out of the makeshift bed anyway, masking his lingering sadness with a cough, determined to make his incompetence up to you somehow. 

“i’ll get them ready,” he assures, leaning ever so nonchalantly against the counter, “go, take my bed, you need it more than i do,” it’d quite simply take all of his might not to crawl up the stairs and join you, leaving you alone in his bed was just torture. 

you nod, muttering a quiet thanks before shuffling off, running your fingers over benji’s mop of hair for good measure as you go. he was the only one that had inherited eddie’s curls, though unlike his dad’s, his sat nearly atop his head and not hastily thrown into a bun like his. 

“alright freaks, what’s for breakfast?” 

-

toast and ice cream apparently. 

a long battle of no’s and absolutely not’s ended with eddie conceding to his feral children, on the condition that they had toast as well as their ice cream. 

it worked, for the most part, until it came time to leave and oscar couldn’t find his pencil case and benji’s shoes needed to be tied. 

but they’d made it to the gates only a few minutes late, bundling them out of his car and far far away for eight hours. 

he still needed to call the shop and let them know he wouldn’t be in, not for a couple days at least. you were his priority now, not that you hadn’t ever been, they all knew he’d drop work if you asked. 

eddie leaps up to his apartment, desperate to get back to you. he wasn’t expecting to find you in the kitchen, washing the dishes from his chaotic excuse for breakfast. 

“did they have ice cream for breakfast?” you ask the second he enters the room. your tone gives nothing away, forcing him to answer cautiously in case yes was the wrong answer. 

“it’s the only thing they’d eat,” he holds his hands up in admission of his guilt, “they had toast too though,” sidling up besides the sink, studying your eyes to grasp whether you were pissed. 

“alright,” nodding as you drain the sink, wiping your hands with the dish towel, “they had a shitty night, ice cream is fine,” shrugging as you turn to him. 

is this a ruse? were you about to release your real frustration? eddie’s not sure and he’s not about to find out. 

“how ‘bout some food? we could go out?” changing the subject entirely, a safe, but wise move. 

you blink, glancing at the clock, “you don’t have work?” 

he shakes his head no, “called in, told them you needed me here so.. you’re stuck with me,” sliding closer along the countertop, a bashful grin overcoming his features. 

he’s not sure how long this’ll last but he’s going to soak up every last minute of you being here, letting him dote on you instead of refusing, a semblance of the old life he so dearly missed. 

“i want a burger,” stating plainly, knowing he’d get you anything you asked for. 

“i can do that,” he eyes your disheveled shirt and no pants, “you wanna get changed first or are we just going like this?” 

you snarl before scurrying off to get ready. eddie finds it difficult to not let his heart swell, he’d never fallen out of love with you exactly, but he’s certain he’s falling in love with you all over again. 

-

eddie’s not complaining at all, but he’d forgotten just how long you took to get ready sometimes. 

an hour later and you reappear, the maroon marking still adorning your face, though you look a little less tired and a little more like you. 

deciding on a benny’s special over shitty fast food which he didn’t mind. eddie used to work at benny’s right around the time you got pregnant with oscar, it was a short lived job though, he wasn’t exactly cut out for customer service even in your local dinner. 

benny was kind enough to let him go with his whole pay check, he’d always had a soft spot for him. 

“are you getting out or..” his hand pauses on the door handle, staring at your frozen body.  

“uh no? not with this,” gesturing to the bright purple bruise decorating your face. 

eddie’s brows furrow, you weren’t one to care about what people thought of you, especially not something shallow like a bruise. 

“why? d’you think anyone’s gonna care?” completely dumbfounded by your hesitance. 

you scoff, “no eds, i don’t want anyone to think that you did it.”

oh. 

“oh.. shit, yeah,” it was so unfathomable to him to ever think about hitting you that the the thought had just never crossed his mind, he would never, not even if his life depended on it. 

“yeah,” you repeat, laughing at his ignorance, “i’m doing this for you,” staying put in your seat, a self-righteous nod as he clambers out, having already memorised your order on the journey over. 

he can’t stop thinking about it. 

that anyone could ever assume he’d do that to you. 

he lost his temper sometimes but not like that, never at you. it makes him nauseous to even imagine, babbling through his order while all his brain can fathom is you. 

eddie’s more sure than ever that he had to do whatever it took to keep you next to him forever. you liked to joke a lot about your divorce, how it was the best two thousand bucks you’ve ever spent, but eddie’s not sure it’s at all true. 

he slides back into the car, holding the food in his lap while he, rather shoddily, thinks this through. 

“what? what’s wrong?” oblivious to the inner workings of his head, the buzzing feeling of electricity coursing through his veins. 

the car is silent, though he’s certain you can hear his brain ticking along before he takes a hold of your hand. 

“i’ve been thinking,” your arm going limp with his touch, befuddled by his sudden change in demeanour. 

“oh no,” laughing quietly, letting him continue whatever this was, “that’s never a good thing.”

he slides his ring from his finger, still unable to part with the commitment he’d made, and slides it onto your, notably empty, fourth finger, “i want you to have this, and i want you to keep it until you’re ready- whether that’s a couple of months or twenty years,” twisting the metal around and around, “i’ll be there.”

“eddie,” too gentle for scolding, perhaps it was purely pitiful instead. but your eyes soften when they catch his forlorn gaze, squeezing his fingers for good measure.

a sign that maybe not all hope was lost.

[nadvs]

the act of unravelling (part four)

pairing rafe cameron x pogue! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary you never expected you’d get tangled up with a kook, least of all, rafe cameron. one night, you make a life-altering decision to get revenge on someone you both despise. after you vow to keep what happened a secret, your relationship begins to twist into something more.

tags very dark! violence, homicide, drug and alcohol use, parental neglect, mental illness, s/a, trauma. no smut.

< prev

You sit in your manager’s office, facing the bay window that overlooks the vast golf course. Your fingers are interlaced in an effort to hide the way your hands are trembling.

When Detective Brading asked for the space as you meekly followed him into the office, your boss shot you an unsettled glance, then agreed and left the room.

It throws you into a chilling realization. Everyone will give you that same condemning look when they find out the truth. You can’t imagine why else a cop unexpectedly came to your workplace and dragged you away – he must know what you’ve done.

The confidence you had last night that you’d get away with this crumbles when the door slams shut, making you flinch. Detective Brading expels a deep sigh. Why doesn’t he just arrest you and get it over with?

“Every second in a missing person’s case is precious,” the detective tells you. He sits on the edge of the desk instead of in the chair behind it, staring down at you. If he’s trying to scare you, it’s working.

Missing. At least that means they haven’t found Porter’s body.

“I hate to disrupt you like this at work.” His words mismatch his tone. “But I think you can help us.”

“How?” you ask.

“You said you were with Rafe for a couple hours the night Porter went missing,” he says. “Do you know where he went after he dropped you off?”

“Home,” you answer quickly.

“And you’re sure about that?”

“I’m…” You can’t be too defensive. It’ll raise red flags. “Pretty sure.”

The detective sighs again, as if you’re disappointing him with every word you say.

You glance at the framed photos of your boss and his family on the wall. He lives such a comfortable, normal life. You lost your chance at normalcy the second you told Rafe to pull the trigger.

“I’m sure it’s hard to hear this about a friend of yours, but we think he played a role in Porter’s disappearance,” he says. “And we need to ask you to talk to him about that night.”

“Me?”

“Yes. We’d have you wearing a wire.”

“What?” you say, floored. “Why me? We haven’t been hanging out that long. I don’t think he’d trust me enough to tell me anything.”

You hope you didn’t just discredit yourself or Rafe. But if they try to get one of Rafe’s other friends to trick him into a confession, you know for a fact that he wouldn't admit a thing. But you? You’re the only person he’d openly talk to about what really happened.

Your body is tight with anxiety. Maybe that’s why they’re asking you to do it. They think you know something and Rafe slipping up in a conversation with you is their meticulous way of proving it.

“I shouldn’t share this, but his other friends don’t believe that he’s entirely innocent,” Brading says. “You’re the only one we spoke to who does. And I think Rafe knows that you’re in his corner. I can tell you’re a good kid. Do the right thing and help us find Porter.”

You don’t buy it. You can’t ignore the instinct telling you that Brading is suspicious of you, too. He’s manipulating you. And for once, it feels good to be underestimated.

If you refuse to help, it could work against you. But if you agree, and you find a way to warn Rafe that you’re being listened to, that’d help your case. And his.

“I’d have eyes on you the entire time,” the detective explains. “He’s out on the golf course now. He came alone. Act like it’s just another day at work. Strike up conversation. See if he can open up about what he did after he dropped you off that night.”

“You want me to do this now?” you stutter.

“Like I said, every second is precious,” he says. “I know you’re caught off guard, but he’ll be, too. It’ll work to our advantage. I’d be in your ear, telling you what to say. You can handle this.”

This is a trick. It has to be. He cornered you because he suspects you, and now, he’s trying to outsmart you.

You mentally run through the possibilities. You can’t contact Rafe to warn him. But you could type a note out on your phone and find a way to flash it to him inconspicuously.

You’ll figure it out. And if you can’t, you’ll back out and say you couldn’t handle the pressure.

“Okay,” you agree. “I can do it.��

“Good.”

“I just need a second. Can I go to the restroom?”

“Yes. I have to ask you to leave your phone. We can’t take any risks.”

He assumes you’ll give Rafe a head’s up. Now you’re sure you’re a suspect, too. You try to look understanding as you hand him your phone.

·········

You’re seconds away from a panic attack as you pace around the private restroom, trying to figure out how the hell you can tip Rafe off. Maybe you should just back out.

Then, it comes to you.

The logbook tucked in your backpocket. The one Rafe teased you about and called your diary just last week. It’s your way out.

You uncap the pen hooked onto the book, open to an empty page, and write: wearing a wire. act innocent.

·········

Rafe lines up his club behind the white ball, his shoulders tight. He can’t shake off what happened last night.

You’re afraid of him. You pulled him in and pressed your lips against his, but then you shoved him away when he tried to hold you. And after you promised you wouldn’t screw him over, you left abruptly and took away the warmth he’s spent his whole life craving.

You’re supposed to have each other’s backs. He owes you and he wants to protect you, but you act like he’s a wild animal you can’t trust won’t bite you. He doesn’t know how to prove that you don’t need to be scared of him.

And it’s not just you expecting the worst of him. The way his own friends have been acting around him, shifty and tense, is pissing him off. He is guilty, but the fact that they have no faith in him digs a hole into his already overwhelming loneliness.

He’s out here on his own because he desperately needs to clear his head. He desperately needs to see you.

You drive the cart over the paved pathway to where Brading told you Rafe is. Your heart is racing, terrified this will go terribly wrong.

“You can still hear me clearly?” Brading says in your ear.

“Yes,” you say quietly. The earpiece he gave you is tiny and unnoticeable. The logbook you placed beside you after you drove off is the only chance you have of warning Rafe.

“Remember, act natural. Bring up Porter when it feels right,” Brading says. “Looks like he spotted you.”

You pull up to Rafe as he places a club in the bag hanging off the back of his cart. You remind yourself over and over that you have to speak about Porter in the present tense.

You can’t believe you’re here. Life twisted and turned and things you never imagined possible are your reality now.

There’s a genuinity in Rafe’s smile when your eyes meet his, the complete opposite of the pompous smirk you’ve seen over the years you’ve known him. If your heart wasn’t already pounding from adrenaline, it would be from the way he’s looking at you.

“Finally,” he says. “I was getting thirsty.”

“Don’t tell me you want a beer this early in the morning,” you sigh tensely, staying seated as you look over your shoulder to the cooler packed in the back. Brading is yards away, parked in a cart and posing as a golfer taking a break. Your breath is shaky.

“I’m kidding,” Rafe says, a little softer. He steps forward, hand on the roof of your cart, leaning closer to you. His eyes search your face. You’ve been aching to see him again. You wonder if he feels the same. “You mad at me or something?”

“Ask him why he’s alone,” the detective instructs you, jerking you out of your small moment of joy.

“I’m always mad at you,” you joke. “How come you’re alone out here? You’re always with your friends.”

“They’ve been pissing me off lately,” he mutters.

“Why?” Brading says. You plead with your eyes that Rafe just look down at your note, but he speaks before you can repeat the detective’s word.

“Why’d you run out last night?” His gaze trails down to your lips, his voice low. “Thought we were having a good time.”

It’s embarrassing to know you’re being listened to. And nerve-wracking that now the detective knows you’re more than just friends. Anyone could tell from Rafe’s suggestive tone that something happened.

You did suddenly leave the closet you’d led him to last night. Kissing him got to be overwhelming. But you can see in his gaze that it wasn’t just an impulsive, passion-filled makeout at a party. It meant something to him. And it’s a relief, because it meant something to you, too.

The chemistry you felt with him was always returned. It was just contained. Watered down. And now, whatever this is could end before it even begins. He could say one thing and get you both into trouble.

You regret agreeing to this. You need to get Rafe’s attention on the open book beside you before it’s too late.

“We were. I had to get back to my friends,” you say. “Why are yours pissing you off?”

“You know,” he says, glancing to the side. “They’re always lookin’ at me like I’m guilty.”

You can hear your pulse. You keep your eyes on Rafe, discreetly tapping on the page. He doesn’t notice. He doesn't follow your silent instructions.

“Are you?” Brading says. You repeat the two words, your throat dry.

Rafe’s brows furrow in confusion. He looks at you again. A tense silence blankets you.

“I wouldn’t tell anyone,” you say. “Not even my diary.”

Your heart lifts in all-consuming relief when Rafe catches your meaning. He looks down at the logbook and realization washes over his face.

You’re safe. The man in your ear isn’t going to discover a thing.

“What, you agree with them?” Rafe asks. His tone is casual, but his Adam’s apple bobs with a nervous swallow. Your eyes are locked knowingly, enveloped in the comfort that he knows to play along now.

“Tell him no,” Brading says.

“No,” you half-laugh. “I’m just saying, if there is something about that night that you didn’t tell me, you can trust that it’ll stay between us.”

“I was with you.”

“Ask him what he did after,” Brading instructs.

“Not all night,” you reply, cocking your head. “Where’d you go after you dropped me off?”

“Home. You know that,” he replies. “Even you’re doubting me now? Come on.”

“No,” you repeat. You reach for his hand, eyes trained on him. “I’m sorry. I just meant to say… if something happened, I wouldn’t judge you for it. You trust me, right?”

Rafe’s body buzzes at your touch. He does. He completely trusts you and it’s such a new, comforting feeling and he wishes you felt it for him, too.

“I do,” he says.

“You’d tell me?”

“I would.”

You nod reassuringly.

“I don’t know where Porter is,” Rafe says. “And I wish people would stop looking at me like I did something to him. I’m so sick of everyone expecting the worst of me.”

You’re not sure where his lie ends and the truth begins, but his fixed gaze is heavy with sincerity.

“We’re not getting anywhere with him,” Brading mutters. “End the conversation and meet me back at the office.”

“I don’t expect the worst of you,” you tell him.

His shoulders relax and you can tell your words did something to him. You nod again, a small, relieved smile pulling on your lips.

“I should get back to work,” you say. “You sure you don’t want anything to drink?”

“You’re just fishing for a tip now,” Rafe replies, smirking.

“Guilty.”

You both share a soft chuckle, the twisted joke behind your word choice not lost on either of you.

·········

The detective is tense when you see him again, a minor crack in his confident demeanor. It’s clear he thought he was going to catch you – both of you – today.

You thought you’d clear your and Rafe’s name through the monitored conversation, but Brading just looks angry now.

“You didn’t mention your relationship is more than friendly,” he says, arms crossed as he stands across from you in your boss’s office. He didn’t even care to sit down this time.

“Sorry. I didn’t know you needed to know that.”

“I need to know everything. You were withholding information,” he tells you. “And there’s something else you’re not telling me.”

The facade he was putting on has faded. He’s on edge and direct about the fact that he doesn’t trust a word out of your mouth.

“There isn’t,” you reply.

“Listen,” Brading says, his voice heavy and terse. “Porter’s family brought me into this because I’ve had a long, successful career of putting away scumbags like your boyfriend. I know your type. I know you’re covering for him. And you’re just making it worse for yourself by not telling me what you know.”

You don’t respond, staring at him blankly, your heart drumming in fear.

“I could make things easier for you if you just admit it,” he says. “A judge is likely to be lenient when someone helps with an investigation. I’d vouch for you.”

He’s intimidating. But you won’t give in. You never will.

“I don’t know anything,” you state.

His lips close into a firm line as he steps past you.

“I’ll see you soon,” Brading threatens before he opens the door.

·········

The lip of the sun still clings onto the ocean horizon as Rafe drives south. He was relieved when you texted him to come over tonight. He needs to see you. And he needs to talk about what happened this morning.

You answer your front door and Rafe takes in your gentle gaze and he swears that the pull he always felt towards you is a thousand times stronger because for once, you actually seem glad to see him.

“We can go to my room,” you say. You’ve been anxious to meet with him. You can’t control your impulse and you don’t see any reason to.

You press your cheek against his chest and wrap your arms around him the moment your bedroom door shuts behind you. His heart is thudding against your ear, his body hard and warm.

Rafe hesitantly cups your arms, not sure if you’ll push him away like you did last night.

“He just showed up at my work,” you say in a nervous rush, “and I thought if he heard you say you didn’t do anything, he’d back off, but then he said he knows I’m hiding something. He’s onto us. I don’t think we should talk to him without a lawyer. I can’t afford one. You have to help me pay for one.”

Rafe realizes you’re trembling beneath him. He doesn’t give a fuck that the man who scared you like this is a cop; if he was in front of him right now, he’d punch him.

“I will,” he says. “That was smart. The note.”

“I was so worried you wouldn’t see it.” You pull back, craning your neck to meet his eyes. “I know it was risky. You did a good job.”

He nods, gazing down at you. He’s not used to people telling him he did something right.

It’s unreal to be here, standing in your bedroom, past the guard you’ve forced him to stay behind for so long. It’s intimate seeing where you live, where you sleep, where you exist.

“He told me a judge would go easy on me if I helped with the case,” you admit, “but I have your back. And I don’t expect the worst of you, okay? I know you have my back, too.”

“You trust me?” Rafe asks, a hint of surprise in his deep voice. His hands drag down your arms, stopping at your wrists.

You wriggle against him, a subconscious test that you’re not trapped. He immediately releases you.

It makes his chest ache to know you expect him to harm you.

“I won’t hurt you,” he says.

Your body betrays you. Tears surface, hot and fast. The fresh wound lodges against your heart.

“It’s not…” You step back, knees wobbling. Your legs are suddenly desperate to rest and can’t hold you up any longer. “It’s not personal.”

You step away, sitting at the edge of your bed, head in your hands. You’ve barely been keeping it together, trying to outrun the shadow of pain that’s been haunting you. There’s no limit to what you’d give to forget what happened.

You brush your hands off your face when you hear the floorboards creak. Rafe leans in front of you, crouched at your feet. You watch his hands ghost over your calves.

It throws you for a loop, seeing him on your floor like this. For so long, all you assumed about him was that he thought he was above you. Now, he’s on his knees for you.

“Hey.” He says it in the same way he did after the gun went off. He doesn’t have to tell you to look at him. You know that’s what he wants.

You meet his eyes, and when you see the genuine concern swimming in the deep blue, all the strings hardly keeping you together unravel.

“It wasn’t about money,” you utter tearfully.

“What?”

“It wasn’t ever about money. He didn’t rip me off.” Your sobs start to come out as gasps. “He hurt me.”

Rafe’s veins turn to ice. He frantically searches your face for an explanation because no, it can’t be what he’s thinking.

“I passed out while he…” You shake your head, tears rolling over your cheeks as you shut your eyes. “It’s like my mind couldn’t take what he was doing to my body and I passed out. And then you came in…”

His breaths grow shallow. That’s why you were as angry as you were. Why you cried as hard as you did. Why you tense up and shove him away when he holds you.

When Rafe pushed Porter in that room, he never would have expected you’d be there, bearing the pain of something that fractured you. He’s furious, disgusted, in disbelief.

He sees now that you meant when you said you don’t regret killing him. The empty look on your face was never guilt. It was fear. Trauma.

“I know I shouldn’t have gone upstairs alone,” you whisper, eyes still closed. “I didn’t think–”

“Stop,” he says softly. His hands rest on your face, palms gently cupping your wet cheeks. Of all the things you thought you knew about him, you would’ve never expected him to be so tender. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

It settles your coiled heart hearing him dismiss the nauseating, intrusive thoughts you’ve had blaming yourself for what happened. You finally open your eyes to look at him again.

His eyes are glossy. He knows now and he’s looking at you with so much sympathy that your chest stutters with your gasps, stomach somehow twisting in both pain and relief.

For once, Rafe doesn’t say the first thing that pops into his head – that if he knew what Porter had done, he would have made him suffer, he would have tortured him, instead of shooting a single, life-ending bullet. Because there’s no point. You saved his life that night and he wishes he could’ve saved yours, but all he can do right now is tell you what he will do instead of what he would have done.

“I’m never going to let anyone hurt you again,” he murmurs. “I swear on my life. You’ll always be safe with me.”

He’s hesitant to startle you with his touch, but thankfully, you lean over and wrap your arms atop his shoulders and it’s so gratifying to know you’re using him to ground yourself.

Rafe holds you like he can’t get close enough. Because he can’t. Nothing he does now can take back what happened to you but everything he does moving forward will be to make sure you never experience a horror like that again.

His life is no longer a cycle of numbing thrills. He has a real reason to keep going now.

You inhale the comforting smell of his neck, your cheek pressed against his. You curl into him as you shake through your sobs.

“Nobody else knows,” you admit, voice muffled against his skin. “I didn’t think I’d tell.”

Even after what you’d done together, a bond that didn’t exist between you before digs its roots into you both. He’s holding you with softness you didn’t know he was capable of, after making a promise so sincere that you felt it in your core.

“You’re safe,” he whispers. And for the first time since that terrifying night, you feel it.

·········

It’s been five days since Brading accosted you at work. Even though he hasn’t bothered you since, and there haven’t been any public updates on the investigation, you’re on edge knowing that you and Rafe are suspects.

Since then, when you’re not working or hanging out with your friends, you’re with Rafe.

You still haven’t told the guys. You don’t know how you could possibly prove to them how good of a man Rafe actually is when you can’t tell them a single detail of what’s happened between you. You’d rather not have to explain yourself to them. Not yet.

Rafe doesn’t pester you about being your secret. As long as he’s something to you.

It’s dusk and you’re sitting on the quiet beach with him, cocooned in comfort and curled up on the sand, the setting sun playing across his handsome face.

Since your conversation in your bedroom, you haven’t spoken about the night that tied you two together.

But you have been speaking to each other like never before, holding onto the playfulness that always existed beneath your banter, allowing yourselves to talk and joke and kiss with no inhibitions. Except he doesn’t dare hold you without asking if he can first.

Tonight, as you sit side-by-side in the clouded orange and pink glow, Rafe feels a smile on his face, a real one, after not smiling for so many years. Being with you is the first time in a long time that he feels vaguely normal.

“It’s too bad,” you say, gazing at his dimples.

“What is?” Rafe rasps.

“That you’ve been keeping this smile from me for so long,” you say with a glint in your eyes. “Why were you so dedicated to hating me?”

“You hated me,” he scoffs with a smirk.

“You started it. All that Pogue/Kook crap.” You meant it as a joke, but Rafe’s smile fades. He looks ahead at the crashing waves. You hit a nerve.

“What?” you ask softly.

Rafe is consumed by his own emotions. He’s a victim to how demanding and overwhelming they can be. He’s been like that for most of his life.

Being with you has cleared some of the fog in his head. He knows now that he was desperate for some form of connection and that’s why he bought into the idea that being part of a group meant something.

If he had nothing of substance to him, nothing lovable, at least he had wealth in common with a social circle he always felt disjointed from. It was a ridiculous substitute for a sense of belonging.

“I was jealous,” he finally admits.

“Jealous?” you echo.

His jaw tenses. He can’t look at you.

“You’ve seen it yourself,” Rafe mutters. “When shit hit the fan, nobody backed me up. Nobody checks up on me. Nobody gives a damn. I don’t have any real friends. And you called your friends family. I don’t have that. I don’t have anybody. It’s why I sell coke. It’s pathetic, but at least I have something worth…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. The man who you thought had everything never did. He was in pain, lonely, selling drugs because at least it gave people something to like about him.

“Rafe,” you say quietly. He meets your gaze. You wish you could unsee the hurt in his eyes. “You have me. I care about you so much.”

You look at him in all the ways he’d always secretly hoped you would. The years of longing for you – the girl who always has a retort, who always keeps him on his toes, who always looks so frustratingly beautiful – all those daydreams don’t come close to how it actually feels to have you like this.

He wonders if you have any idea of all the ways you can break him.

“Yeah?” is all he can mumble, his throat tight.

You nod, finding his hand and pulling it to your chest. He’s not sure if you meant to press him up against where he can feel your pulse, but he feels the rhythmic thudding coming from beneath your skin, and God, is it insane that he feels like he lives for your heartbeat?

He thought he was fine living an empty life. But he’s gotten a taste of being wrapped up in you and he doesn’t want to lose it. Ever.

“You keep me safe,” you say softly. “Let me do the same for you in my own way, alright?”

He nods, blinking away tears. Your heart breaks and you lean forward, losing yourself in his kiss. His lips are soft and gentle, pushing against yours with a soft fragility.

“Are you okay?” you whisper against his cheek. He hasn’t been okay in so long. But this is the closest to it he’s ever gotten. He doesn’t want to hide you. He wants everyone to see you chose him.

“Do you want to go to that bonfire tonight?” he asks.

There’s a party at the beach you spoke at a couple of weeks ago, back when Rafe stopped you after you bought a joint from Porter.

“Together?” you ask. He nods, uncertainty pinching his face. You can tell he’s expecting you to say no. As if you’re ashamed of him.

You’re almost sure your friends won’t be there. They asked you to hang out at Pope’s tonight and you declined and said you’d stay home. They probably won’t be at the bonfire.

Either way, you’re willing to take the risk. Rafe is worth it.

·········

Gossip spreads like weeds. You can tell by how people stare at you when you arrive with Rafe that his name has been in everyone’s mouths, whispering conspiracies about what he did to Porter. You know your name will start to come up in those conversations, too.

“So, it’s true,” one of his buddies says when he sees you cupping Rafe’s bicep as you join the group, the bonfire crackling. “You’re really messing with a Pogue.”

“That’ll be the last time you call her that, got it?” Rafe says sharply. His friend scoffs a laugh, putting his hands up in feigned surrender, his beer bottle sloshing.

Rafe leans to mumble in your ear, “Do you want a drink?”

“Yeah,” you say, eager to take the edge off.

You swallow the bitterness of the drink Rafe picks up for you, staring ahead at the ocean, thinking about how somewhere in the vast expanse, Porter’s body is lying at the bottom.

“Man, it’s weird just… continuing to live life, isn’t it?”

You look up to see a man standing beside you. He’s a friend of the person you killed. You recognize him from the day at the club when Porter called you over. You still get shivers remembering his smile.

“What do you mean?” you mumble.

“Porter. He’s just gone,” he continues. There’s a slur in his words. He’s drunk. “He’s gotta be… you know. There’s no other explanation.”

You tighten your grip on Rafe’s arm, but he doesn’t notice, lost in conversation with one of his buddies.

“Yeah,” you offer. “It’s sad.”

“He told me he liked you,” he says with a raised brow. “He had a huge crush on you.”

You can taste bile on your tongue. You look up at Rafe, whose attention is on your conversation now. His stare is hard, his nostrils flared in anger.

“I didn’t know,” you say simply.

“Really?” he laughs. “He said you were playing hard to get.”

His vile words make your breath hitch.

The flame in Rafe rises so fast that within two seconds, he swings a punch. And suddenly, he’s leaning over, knuckles ramming into the idiot’s face as he lies on the sand, unleashing the rage of what happened to you and the urge to take your pain away.

He could kill him.

Rafe feels hands at the crooks of his shoulders pulling him back. He struggles to get on his feet, his friends’ words overlapping as they try to calm him down. He’s breathless, looking up to meet your eyes, taking in how completely lost and anguished you look.

He roughly pushes his friends off as he stumbles towards you, his shaking hands resting on your shoulders.

“Let’s go,” he says to you, looking at you like you’re the only one here.

“You’re such an asshole!” the guy on the ground shouts.

Rafe ignores him, his hand on the small of your back as he leads you away from the crowd. You’re trembling, thrown back to that night, thrown back to being called a tease, thrown back to being held down.

You reach the parking lot, not nearly far enough from the loud crowd, still hearing the crackling of the fire, when your knees buckle.

Your heart is pounding so hard that you’re afraid it’s going to give out. But Rafe holds you up as you stand between parked cars, looking at you with desperation.

“Baby, it’s okay,” he whispers. “You’re okay.”

You find strength as you pull your arms up around his shoulders. He holds you tightly, firm and still against your shaking body.

You’re slowly finding peace.

Then you hear JJ’s voice mutter, “What the hell?”

You pull back, spotting him a few feet away with Pope and John B getting out of the car, looking at you with an expression you can only describe as appalled. You don’t have words. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

Blistering sirens reverberate through you. They get so loud so fast that you don’t realize you’ve lost contact with Rafe until a police car jolts to a stop a few feet away from you.

This has to be a nightmare.

Detective Brading swings open the door, followed by another cop, rushing towards you and Rafe. He’s carrying handcuffs. You might lose consciousness.

“Knew this day was coming, didn’t you?” Brading says before he grips Rafe’s wrist, pushing him up against the nearest car.

Rafe struggles, but Brading slams him against the hood of the car so hard that you hear the thud of his skull against the metal.

“Stop! You can’t hurt him like that!” you cry. The other police officer steps in front of you, pushing you back. You expect him to handcuff you, too. He doesn’t.

You look around you in terrified desperation as if someone can help. The crowd has quickly come closer, watching in awe, as if you and Rafe’s lives aren’t being pulled apart for everyone to see.

You meet Rafe’s frightened gaze as the side of his face presses against the car. Brading flatly recites his rights, handcuffing him, ignoring you as you beg that he tell you why he’s being arrested, that he stop hurting him.

Rafe doesn’t say a word until you whimper in pain and plead to the officer keeping you back to stop holding so tight. He tries to charge forward, demanding he take his hands off of you, earning him another rough push against the car.

Brading hauls him away and you try to follow, but the other officer keeps you back, gripping you so hard that it reminds you of Porter all over again.

“You want to get arrested, too?” he mutters. Your muscles give in, losing tension. You still don’t understand why Rafe’s being arrested and you’re not.

“No. Sorry. I’ll stop,” you say weakly. “Where’s he being taken?”

The officer doesn’t believe you at first, but eventually, he loosens his grip.

“The county jail,” he says, looking past your shoulder as the car door shuts.

Then, they leave, and you’re in front of the crowd, in front of your friends, frozen and speechless.

·········

Your mouth is dry as you wait in the lobby of the quiet jail. They won’t give you any information. Nothing about what the charge is, how long Rafe will be here, if he’ll be given bail. It’s been an hour.

You hold JJ’s car keys in your shaking hands. You were frantic when you begged him to lend you his car, promising you’d take care of it.

He confusedly agreed and you left immediately, not exchanging any other words, following the police car just in case the officer lied to you about where they were going.

Your phone is dead and your connection to the outside world is dead with it.

Your stomach drops when you spot Brading exit through a door behind the processing desk.

“What’s happening?” you ask. “Where is he? Is he okay?”

He stiffly cuts through the lobby, pushing open the front door, letting it swing behind him. You grunt as the door hits your palms.

“I suggest you go home,” Brading mutters as you trail him into the dark parking lot. “I can charge you for assault against a police officer if you don’t stop harassing me.”

“Please. I just want to know,” you plead. “Nobody will tell me anything.”

You’re sure he’s getting a power trip out of this. You didn’t tell him what he wanted to know. Now, he won’t tell you.

“Please,” you repeat, feeling utterly powerless. The detective stops abruptly, facing you, his face in a scowl.

“I’m ordering you to go home,” he says sharply.

“Brading?” someone calls behind him.

Within a matter of seconds, you hear something you never thought you’d hear again. The single and unmistakable blow of a gunshot.

·········

You’re in disbelief, staring ahead at the stranger sitting in your living room as her gaze travels between you and your parents. The woman introduced herself as an agent, flashing a shiny badge before she came inside.

Last night, you gave the cops a statement about what had happened in the parking lot. A man was out there, agitated and waiting for Brading. He shot him and looked you dead in the eyes before another man shouted for him to get down on the ground.

He drove away, tires screeching, as the officer who’d rushed out of the jail shot at the car. You remember dropping to the cold concrete, being interrogated by a detective, and eventually being ordered to go home and not tell a soul what you’d seen.

You’re still terrified, unable to accept what your life has become and how the domino effect you’ve been thrust into could be so vicious.

“Detective Brading is in critical condition,” the woman says, “but he was able to identify the man who shot him.”

“What about Rafe?” you ask. “Is he okay?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know who that is.”

You sniffle your tears, shaking your head in disbelief. You still haven’t been given any updates on him.

“I’m here because the man from last night,” she continues, “is part of a family that has dangerous affiliations. Brading has a history of putting away high-profile criminals, and he arrested the shooter’s brother. His brother recently passed away in prison and… he tracked Brading down to make him pay. He’s still at large. According to your statement, he saw you, is that right?”

You nod anxiously, waiting for her to get to her point. By now, you have enough trauma to last you ten lifetimes.

Then, she tells you that for you and your parents’ safety, you’ll need to be put into witness protection and that you’ll be relocated and given new identities immediately.

When you ask what you’re supposed to say to the people you’re leaving behind, she’s eerily calm as she tells you, “Nothing. I’m sorry, but there’s no way you can contact anyone you know. Everyone will be under the impression that you’ve died.”

·········

You consumed Rafe’s thoughts as he sat in the county jail cell. He didn’t focus on how suffocating the room was, or how badly his wrists burned from the handcuffs, or what his future was going to look like.

He thought about you, how completely and deliberately you were in his corner, how all the embarrassment of being arrested in front of all those people was erased when you yelled in his defense.

The only voice in the crowd standing up for him, while everyone else watched, was yours. He has never cared about someone more than himself. You changed that.

That’s why when he receives the news that you passed away in an accident, he snaps.

next >

note sorry for the drama… now i can finally share that this inspired this part of the story 🤭

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

[elexaria]

poly!ghoap x reader where you’re working in a hostile workplace and have a creep shitbag of a manager who always lingers around you. his hands always manage to find their way to the small of your back, his chin resting on your shoulder as he’ll sway. it’s unnerving, i mean, the man is damn near old enough to be your dad. you’ve asked him to stop, but he never listens.

and one shift, he takes it too far. he corners you in the storage closet, getting all touchy feely. you break free and instantly take off, sobbing as you drive back to your apartment. the boys come home late, carrying bags full of takeout as they idly chatter to themselves.

normally, you’d be curled up on the sofa reading your book, beaming ear to ear as you greet them. but instead, you were nestled on the bathroom floor, pale and sickly looking as your bleary eyes wearily glance up and simon and johnny. simon looks furious, almost as if he knows what happened just based on his instincts. johnny kneels besides you, large hands soothing your back gently as he coos, “hey…. what’s up, hen?”

you explain everything, how your manager just keeps on pushing himself onto you, how you’ve complained and complained and nobody seems to give a shit. the pay isn’t even great, but jobs are scarce these days so you persevere to make ends meet, so you can pay the rent on the apartment. oh reader, you should have mentioned this a whole lot sooner …

simon and johnny exchange glances, simon’s lips drawn into a straight line as he glances back to you, nodding at you. “what’s this bastard’s name, and where does he live?” he asks, no, demands. you shake your head, sniffling. “i… i don’t know where he lives, si…. don’t bother, yeah? it’s.. it’s no probl—“

johnny presses a gentle kiss to your temple, giving your back one last gentle rub before getting up, nodding at simon. “we’ll be back in a bit, love. help yerself to some chips, yeah? don’t wait fer us.” he says with a chuckle, winking before disappearing back out the front door with simon.

the next morning, you wake up to breakfast in bed from both johnny and simon. johnny cuts up your pancakes, playfully making aeroplane noises as he gently feeds you. simon leans against the wall opposite your bed, clearing his throat. “don’t worry about work, yeah? we’ll look after everything until you can find a better job. you won’t have to worry about that prick ever again.”

you glance over at johnny, raising your eyebrows out of shock. he nods, bashfully grinning as he playfully nudges you. “aye, we mean it. oh, don’t worry�� we didnae hurt the wee fella.” with an impish grin, he glances back at simon, who’s lips twitch with a slight smirk.

[covenofagatha]

Saw you're taking requests and decided to toss one your way!

Agatha x reader, reader has had a really tough day and Agatha helps put her into subspace to relax. Some soft!dom Agatha with a splash of praise, degradation, mommy and maybe some size kink? And of course some fluffy aftercare after reader has been thoroughly fucked out of her mind❤

Hope you enjoy! (Disclaimer: I've never written subspace before so hopefully I did it justice, along with everything else you wanted)

Bad day

When Agatha comes home to find that you had a bad day, she takes it upon herself to make you feel better

Word count: 2600

Warnings: praise kink, degradation kink, subspace, size kink, mommy kink, oral, strap-on, aftercare, smut, and fluff (I may have missed one)

You’re on your last nerve when you get to your afternoon class on Wednesday. 

Your car didn’t start in the morning so your girlfriend, Agatha, had to drop you off at work, which you’d never complain about, except she had still been asleep when this happened so you were almost late because she had to get ready. 

And then work was awful. You had a shift at the popular retail store in town and it seemed like every customer who came in was on a mission to personally ruin your day. 

From dissatisfaction with the prices to vomit all over the restroom floor, it seemed like nothing could go right. 

Agatha had been at work herself so you had to call one of your college friends to give you a ride after. 

And now you had to sit in a class on Personality Theory for the next three hours and listen to your professor drone off on tangents. You would be getting your tests back from last week though, and you were hoping you had done well. 

“Alright, before we get started, I’ll go ahead and pass out your exams. Once I call your name, you can come up and look at it,” your professor says and you anxiously tap your fingers on the desk while you wait for your turn. 

Finally, he says your name. Butterflies in your stomach, you walk to the front to look and it’s like you’ve been punched in the gut. 

There must be something wrong, you don’t understand how you missed this many. 

Red ink stains the page and you have to clench your jaw together to keep your composure. Tears prick at your eyes as you hand the exam back to your professor and head back to your seat, burning with shame. 

It seems like it’s just one thing after another. 

You barely pay attention for the rest of class, head spinning with thoughts of how bad you did, how everything sucks, how you just want to go home. 

Agatha texts you a few times during the three hour time span, just checking in on you, but you don’t even respond. She always says that you get too wrapped up in your own brain and you know she’s right. You do let her know that you won’t need a ride home, not sure you could take the older woman’s softness right now. 

You just want to take a shower and lie in bed. 

Class finally ends and you order an Uber instead of asking a friend to take you home. When you get in these moods, you don’t want to talk to anyone. 

You grunt in response to the driver’s question of asking how you are and then the rest of the ride is spent in silence. It’s not often you get in such a foul mood, but when it does, it’s tough. 

When you make it through the front door of Agatha’s home, you immediately collapse on the couch and breathe in the blanket that still has her scent. She’ll be home soon and now you just want her to give you a big hug and tell you that everything will be alright. 

You hear keys jingle in the front door maybe ten minutes later and you sit up on the couch expectantly, heartbeat picking up. You’ve been with Agatha for six months now and she still managed to have the same effect on you that she had at the beginning. 

“Hey, baby,” she calls out, seeing the lights on, and she makes her way to the living room to find you swaddled in her favorite blanket on the couch. She frowns, instantly able to tell something is wrong. Usually you get up to give her a kiss. “You okay?” 

And then it’s like a dam breaks. You start sobbing and telling her all the things that have gone wrong that day and she instantly sits down next to you, engulfing you into a hug and whispering that everything will be okay. 

She lets you cry for a bit, hand stroking your hair, making soothing sounds. Eventually, you calm down enough to take slow, shaky breaths. 

“I’m sorry, doll. Sounds like you had a rough day,” she says, pressing a kiss to your head and wiping the tears off your cheeks. You nod in agreement. “Is there anything I can do to help?” 

You shrug while you think about it. And then you lean in and chastely kiss her lips. 

When you pull back, she’s smirking. 

“You want mommy to help you?” She coos and instantly, a fire awakens in your belly at the use of your favorite name for her. Your head bobs up and down eagerly but she tuts and grabs your jaw to hold it still. “Words, baby.” 

“Yes please, mommy,” you whisper. No one can make you feel as good as Agatha can. 

“Good girl,” Agatha hums and the fire gets worse. “What do you want?” 

You squirm on the couch, just looking at her, begging with wide eyes. 

“Why don’t you show me what you want?” You whine and grab her hand and bring it down to your shorts. “Oh, do you want me to touch you?” 

“Please,” you force out again. “Touch me, mommy.” 

Her grin is wicked as she lays you back down on the couch, positioning herself so she’s holding her weight above you. Your noses are almost close enough to touch. 

“Does my little baby want me to reward her like the perfect little angel that she is?” Agatha purrs and you gasp, feeling your head start to get fuzzy. She plays with the waistband of your shorts and your hips buck up involuntarily. You make a sort of strangled noise from your throat – all you can do, really – and she shushes you. “Just relax, doll. Let mommy take care of you.” You whimper as she kisses your nose and moves down your body to undress you. 

You feel like you’re on a different planet when Agatha pats your waist so you can lift yourself up for her to take your shorts and underwear off. 

“There we go, so good for me,” she says, leaving kisses against your thighs. You moan, senses heightened. You babble something incoherently and you can hear her chuckling at you. “Baby, you’re absolutely dripping for me.” 

Her fingers move up and down your slit, collecting wetness, and sounds are pulled out of your mouth by her administration. 

“Does that feel good, hon?” 

Your head lulls back on the couch and you try to say something to affirm her question. 

“Aw, is my little baby in subspace right now?” Something in the back of your mind tells you that you must be, but you’re too blissed out to answer. 

And then her tongue is on your pussy and you couldn’t say a word even if you tried. If you didn’t already feel like you were floating then, you sure do now. Your back arches off the couch as she sucks on your clit but her hands come up to hold you down. 

“Be a good girl for me and let mommy do all the work.” 

Your moans get louder as she keeps eating you out and you’ve never felt this good before. It’s like all your worries and stress and frustration that built up over the day are melting away to leave you in a puddle of pleasure. 

“Mommy, so close,” you slur, hands digging into the couch beneath you. Her teeth scrape against your clit and she moans into you and it sends you into an explosive orgasm. 

You’re not sure you’ve ever cum that hard. 

She licks you through it and you have to pull her away after a while because you become sensitive. 

Agatha comes up to kiss you, long and hard, and you can taste yourself on her tongue. 

“Do you want to try something new tonight, baby?” She asks once she pulls away and you nod eagerly before even asking what it is. You trust her more than anyone. “I’ll be right back.” She gives you one last parting kiss and quickly runs upstairs. 

She’s up there for a few minutes while you lay on the couch, still in a trance-like haze. 

And then she comes back down and your mouth falls open. 

Attached to her hips is the biggest strap-on you’ve ever seen. She must have just bought it. You had gotten to where you could take the toys you had pretty easily, but you are certain that this will stretch you out so much more than them. 

“Mommy,” you whisper, eyes widening as she comes back over to the couch. You can see that she’s holding lube in one hand. 

“Mommy wants to see if your tiny, little pussy can fit her big cock,” she says and a thrill runs through you despite yourself. “Might have to work you up to it.” 

Your legs part without thinking and she laughs. 

“So desperate for me, aren’t you? My perfect, little slut.” You gasp at the words, feeling yourself get even more wet. 

While you loved the praise from her, degradation almost turned you on more. 

“You have to relax, baby,” she reminds you, moving to kneel on the couch between your legs and pushing them even more open. She rubs your clit and slides two fingers in easily. You grind up on her fingers, trying to pull them in more. “Look at how well you take my fingers. So good for mommy. You can’t get enough of them, can you?” 

You shake your head and groan when she curls them just right. 

“Such a good whore for mommy,” she sighs. “Can you take another?” 

“Please,” you gasp out, walls clenching around the two already inside you. She pulls them and you feel empty, but that feeling is quickly gone when she pushes three in you. The stretch feels so good and your hips meet her every thrust, the pleasure in you already growing. 

And then it’s gone. Your head flies up to look at her wrapping the hand wet with you around her strap and coating it. And then she opens the bottle of lube and pours a hefty amount in her other hand to also stroke the toy with. 

“Are you ready, baby?” 

“Go slow, mommy,” you tell her, even though you know that she will. “You’re so big.” 

“You’re going to look so pretty, sweetheart, stretched around my big cock,” she says and positions the tip at your entrance. “Like a little, perfect slut. 

The first push steals all the air from your lungs. 

“Fuck,” you groan. You’ve never been so full in your life and you barely have any of it inside you. Agatha doesn’t move, just rubs small circles on your thighs and waits for you to tell her you’re okay. 

It takes a few moments for you to adjust. It’s definitely easier in the headspace that you’re in right now. 

“Okay,” you say and Agatha obeys, slowly moving forward inside you. She stops when your breathing gets strangled and doesn’t move again until you’re back to normal. 

“God, your little pussy looks so good taking my big cock so well,” she grunts once she finally bottoms out. If your mind was clearer, you’d tease her about the size kink she so clearly has. “How are you doing, baby? Can I move?” 

“Please, mommy,” you beg, still feeling euphoric. Every drag of her cock against your walls now feels like heaven. She smirks and starts to move.

She starts slow at first, just short, slow strokes to make sure that you’re still comfortable, and then she starts to really fuck you. 

The pace Agatha sets is rough and bruising and you can hear the wet, squelching sounds that the toy makes as it pushes back inside you every thrust, a mix of your wetness and lube. 

“Mommy,” is all you can pant as she fucks into you over and over again, a light sheen of sweat breaking out on her. 

“So fucking good, sweetheart, you’re taking my cock so well, such a perfect slut for mommy,” Agatha mutters, never slowing down once. If you were already in subspace before, you’re not sure you have a word for what state you’re in right now. There are not even semblances of thoughts in your head, there is only Agatha and the pleasure she is giving you. You can’t even remember what you were in such a bad mood about earlier. 

She reaches down to rub your clit again and you hear someone moan obscenely loudly. 

You think it might have been you. 

All you know is that you’re getting so close again you can taste it. She seems like she can tell because she somehow speeds up, which you didn’t think was possible. Little gasps are forced out of your mouth with every push and your walls are tightening so much around her that it makes it hard for her to thrust. 

“So good, baby, you’re taking me so well,” Agatha chants, a hand reaching up to play with your nipple under your shirt. “So perfect, such a perfect slut, my perfect good girl. Cum for mommy, cum all over mommy’s big cock.” 

She angles her hips just right and rubs your clit hard and you spasm, back bowing off the couch. You’ve never felt pleasure this extreme; it feels like you’re having an out-of-body experience. All the tension in your body is gone and you pant heavily as Agatha pulls out of you. 

“You okay, baby?” She asks and you wheeze a laugh. 

“M’okay,” you say happily, a slow smile spreading onto your face. You can feel your head clearing with the loss of her touch. 

“Let me get a washcloth, alright? I’ll be right back, I promise.” She gives you a kiss on your head and she’s back in what seems like seconds with a warm towel. You wince at the feeling of it between her legs but it helps. “Do you want to move to bed?” 

You nod, but you’re not actually sure if you can stand up based on the jelly feeling in your legs. Agatha seems to understand this without you saying anything and she scoops you off the couch bridal style and carries you up the stairs. 

You giggle and burrow your head into the crook of her neck, breathing her in and feeling her against you. 

“You did so good, baby,” she whispers. 

“Thank you, Agatha. I really needed that.” 

She pauses for a second in the hallway to peck your lips. “I know you did. I’m happy to help, sweetheart. Whatever you need.” 

Once in the bedroom, Agatha helps you into some comfy pajamas and makes you take sips of water from the bottle on her nightstand. You lay down and she pulls the covers over you both, pulling you close to her so she can wrap an arm around you. 

“You’re so perfect, baby, you know that?” She murmurs. “I love you so much.” She kisses you softly, bringing a hand up to stroke your hair. 

“I love you too,” you mumble in-between kisses. No one has ever made you feel more loved than Agatha. 

“I’m so proud of you,” she continues and you blush. “I know you had a hard day today, but tomorrow will be better. You’re so strong. You’re my perfect girl. I love you.” 

And she keeps whispering the sweetest things into your ear, and you drift off to sleep in her arms, feeling like nothing was ever wrong. 

[bluelocksource]

U-20 Japan National Team Match Just Before the Game: A Day in Daily Life at Blue Lock.

Isagi: "I styled my hair. The little sprout on top of my head looks great today! Just then, Bachira came up and said, "Harvest ♪" while grabbing it tightly. No matter how much I tried to escape, he kept holding on. I resigned myself to it and let him grip it for a while until he got bored and went off somewhere. What a free spirit!"

Gagamaru: "There’s no nature inside Blue Lock. I wanted to see trees and flowers. Anything would be fine. Just something green. While I was looking around, I found Otoya. His bangs are green, so when I stared at him, he said, "Not into guys."

Aryū: "Little by little, the Blue Lock folks are starting to get a taste of 'Osha.' But in truly 'Osha' moments, people shine. I swear here that one day I’ll show that!"

Niko: "I was caught washing my forehead by Aryū-kun. It was embarrassing. But he taught me, 'Embarrassment is an important emotion that makes us human.' I became interested in Aryū-kun. I want to know a little more about this 'Osha' thing."

Chigiri: "I fell asleep while drying my hair. There’s no one here to wake me up. My hair is long, so it takes a while. Maybe I'll cut it next summer."

Bachira: "When I was walking around n*k*d, Karasu scolded me! Otoya joined me in being n*k*d ♪ Isagi... treated me the same as always! It seems he’s gotten tired of making remarks at my n*k*dn*ss. What a strange guy."

Karasu: "I found myself in the bath with Hiori. We didn't really have a conversation, but that was perfectly fine. I think we were both comfortable with it. It was great to see him looking well. I'm glad we had the chance to meet again."

Nagi: "I ate alone. I did the laundry by myself. I’ve become able to train on my own. I'm proud of myself. Changing is fun, but it can also be a hassle and a little lonely. Still, I think it's an important thing."

Otoya: "I contacted some girls I know on my smartphone after a long time. Most of them didn’t respond. It turns out that not keeping in touch regularly really does make girls dislike you. On to the next one! Woohoo ♪"

Yukimiya: "I talked about various things with Nagi-kun. Like the things we like, and how we've managed to get this far. It seems that for Nagi-kun, the existence of Isagi is significant. It's a story that doesn't really concern me, but having a rival like that feels nice somehow."

Rin: "When I woke up in the morning, my left lower eyelash was turned inside out and it hurt my eye. It happens sometimes, right? Bedhead with lower eyelashes. Huh? Is it just me? My brother said he has it... Oh, don't remind me of that guy. What a terrible wake-up!"

Hiori: "I trained with Isagi-kun. I sent in crosses, and Isagi-kun delivered a direct shot. With each one, he practices with intention and communicates well. He’s a smart type. He’s a bit like Karasu, too. I don’t dislike Isagi Yoichi."

Reo: "I ate alone and trained alone. It’s been a while since I did anything by myself. I can live on my own, but I dream of things I can’t do alone. I have to change. It’s not over yet. Someday, I’ll do it once more."

Barou: "I touched up the "X" shave on my temple. One line represents my murderous intent towards others, and the other represents my murderous intent towards myself. What’s that? Don’t look at me, you stinky guy (Nagi). It’s not a mark saying to give me a headshot here!"

Igaguri: "My hair had gotten long, so I asked Shidou to cut it with clippers, and he ended up giving me a heart-shaped bald spot on the back of my head. Love Amida Buddha…"

Ishikari: "I suddenly felt like playing basketball, so I asked Anri-chan for a basketball. I gathered some people randomly, and it turned out Kiyora was surprisingly really good. Basketball is so much fun!"

Kurona: "Good morning, good morning. Hello, hello. Good night, good night. Greetings are important, very important. It’s a given, but it’s precious. Everyone’s everyday life, everyday life."

Kiyora: "For dinner today, should I have croquettes or minced cutlets? My heart is 50% 50%. I feel like both choices are correct, but I also think I’d regret whichever one I choose. Alright. I’ll eat both. ………………………… Damn, I ate too much and my stomach hurts. Should I lie down or go to the bathroom? The borderline starts again."

Zantetsu: "It's better to brush your teeth properly every day, I told everyone. They replied, 'You should study more.' Well, if you get a cavity, don't say I didn't warn you!"

Tokimitsu: "I was saying, 'I lack confidence. I want confidence,' when Karasu-kun teased me, saying, 'It was just lying in the bathroom earlier, right?' Ugh… come on, don’t mess with me for real… Well, I went to check the bathroom anyway… but of course, it wasn’t there! Uwaaa!"

Nanase: "I washed my headband. When I put it in the dryer, it shrank a lot... what should I do? For now, I just wore it as it was that day. My head felt 'juri juri' (itchy)... Oh, I mean it felt 'zuki zuki' (throbbing). There goes my dialect again! Hehe, sorry about that!"

Hiiragi: "I used my hobby of tarot cards to predict my future. The 'Devil' card came up… Well, it's just a fortune-telling, right? Nothing to worry about! Right?"

Raichi: "I got really into a sideburns talk with Ishikari! His sideburns are pretty good, but mine are definitely cooler! In the end, we ended up arguing about it!"

Shidou: "I woke up. My mind feels clear. Yeah, it’s a good start today. In the afternoon, my body feels energized. I can sense my cells buzzing with excitement. At night, my heart feels restless. I’m sure something will happen tomorrow. I want to experience this night, knowing I can sleep with that thought, over and over again."

Ego: "Anri-chan was drooling and sleeping at her desk. She should sleep in her own room. Well, I decided to show a little concern for her. With this, she’ll probably listen to me for a while again. Kindness has its intentions. That’s how humans are."

Anri: "I was given an assignment by Ego-san to come up with ideas to make the existence of the Blue Lock better known to the world. Since that day, I've been stressed and having strange nightmares. Damn it… I want to sleep well! I’ll do my best!"

source: Egoist Bible 2

[blueicequeen19]

Drunken State pt. 2

Warnings: creampie, jealousy, mentions of cheating, somno, oral

Part One

You’ve managed to dodge Pope and his innocent advances for almost two days after a night of explosive orgasms with a drunk JJ. It was a simple mistake. Just two friends with similar needs.

It wasn’t supposed to happen again. And again.

It hadn’t even been 48 hours yet and JJ Maybank had been inside you more often than not. You’d find yourself in a room with all your friends and JJ would give you that look that made your blood heat and pussy pulse.

Now you found yourself cornered in the bathroom again, his cock hammering into you from your spot on the counter while your friends were all outside for a bonfire.

“I’m close.” You moaned into his ear, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist as he grunted his pleasure.

“I know. You’re squeezing me so fuckin tight.” JJ groaned, his hands squeezing your ass hard enough to bruise.

“When are you gonna let me taste you?” You whisper, digging your nails into his back as he bares his teeth.

“Shit, don’t say shit like that.” JJ hisses, his body growing taunt like he’s trying to hold back.

“You don’t want to cum down my throat, J?” You purr, tightening your legs around his waist and squeezing hard. JJ moans loudly, his orgasm ripped from him as his eyes roll back. You smile in satisfaction even if it meant you didn’t have time to get yours. The power you had over him was intoxicating. This game had become too much fun.

“Fuck.” JJ growls, cupping your jaw and bringing you in for a hard kiss. “Stop making me cum without you.” JJ snags your bottom lip between his teeth, his cock still pulsing inside you.

“Never.”

Minutes later, you’re cleaning up in the bathroom while JJ rejoins the party. You’ve just finished fixing your hair when you hear raised voices in the living room.

“I’ve been waiting outside for you. What were you doing?” Your body bristles at the sound of JJ’s exs voice. Why was she here?

“You cheated on me so what does it matter?” JJ fires back, dread filling you at the direction this could turn. JJ was impulsive and unpredictable when cornered.

“We didn’t break up so if you’re screwing some other bitch then you’re cheating on me.” Oh fuck.

“Seems only fair, right?”

“Yo, what’s going on?” You froze at the sound of Pope’s voice, the front door swinging closed behind him. “Where’s Y/N?” Pope asked, your stomach dropping to the floor.

“Y/N? Is that who you’re fucking? That bitch over me?” This couldn’t be happening.

“What is she talking about?” Pope demands back.

“Don’t listen to her, Pope. She’s only happy if she’s running her mouth.” JJ snaps.

“I don’t remember hearing you ever complain about my mouth.” His ex fire back, satisfaction in her voice. Jealousy weighed you down, threatening to drown you as you fought to remain hidden.

“Get out!” JJ shouted, making you jump from the harshness in his voice. There was a long pause followed by the slamming of the front door. Only then did you release the breath you’d been holding.

“Where is Y/N?” Pope asks, the accusation clear in his voice.

“She said she was tired and went to her room.” There was another long pause that made you wish to see what was silently passing between them. You didn’t want to hurt Pope.

“We’re about to put the fire out for the night. Are you about to go to bed too?” Pope asked.

“Yea, I’m beat.”

“Alright, I’ll see you in the morning.” The front door opened and shut, giving you the all clear to slip from the bathroom. You cracked the door open to see JJ downing a beer in the kitchen, his eyes finding yours almost instantly.

“This is done until we come clean to Pope.” You said, flinching when he threw the beer bottle in the trash and raked a hand through his hair.

“Fine. Whatever.” JJ snapped, following Pope outside as you turned to find your bedroom.

Your heart hurt but it couldn’t be helped. You didn’t want to risk hurting anyone or your relationship with the rest of the group. A night alone would be good for the both of you.

Your eyes fluttered open on a soft moan as heat spread between your legs and left your clit throbbing. It took a moment to fully wake up before you felt the hands on your thighs and the tongue between your lips. Rings dug into your skin and you gasped, arching your back off the bed. It was impossible to fight the pleasure after denying yourself earlier. His skilled tongue was dragging you towards something explosive and your body was begging for it.

“Don’t scream.” JJ growled, before sucking hard on your clit and burying two fingers inside your pussy. You slapped a hand over your mouth as your body bowed off the bed and you came hard. His tight grip on your thighs kept you grounded as you rode out the high and were reduced to a shaking, withering mess.

“JJ.” You panted as he threw the blanket off and crawled up your body. His lips claimed yours in a wet kiss as he forced you to taste yourself. The head of his cock nudged your clit over and over again through the thin layer of his boxers, leaving a mess across the fabric.

“I can’t stay away from you.” JJ admitted, tugging on your peaked nipples through your sleep shirt.

“Get on the floor.” You urged, pushing at his chest and following him down onto your discarded blanket. JJ kicked off his boxers and sat up as you straddling his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. You sank down on him with ease, your pulsing wet walls welcoming him as he moaned in your ear.

JJ yanked your shirt off to claim one of your nipples in his mouth as you started to ride him.

“Oh, fuck.” JJ groaned around your flesh, his hands on your hips urging you faster.

“You’re reckless.” You growl against his lips, suddenly irritated that he couldn’t listen for even one night. His teeth smacked yours as you bounced, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Is that all?” JJ smirked against your lips, thrusting up into you.

“Impulsive.” Thrust.

“What else?” Thrust.

“Irritating.” Thrust.

“You don’t feel irritated.” Another hard thrust had your jaw clenching as you fought off the impending pleasure.

“J.” You bit out as his mouth moved to your neck, biting and licking at the sensitive skin.

“You feel ready to cum. Like you’re holding back because you want to be mad at me.” JJ taunted, digging his fingers into your hips as he forced you to bounce harder. “Have you ever been able to stay mad at me?” JJ whispered harshly, holding you tighter as he rolled his hips and hit something even deeper inside you. You bit down on his shoulder as you came, meeting every roll of his hips with your own while he grunted in your ear.

“That’s my girl.” JJ slapped your ass before rolling you both over. A pillow was stuffed under your ass and your legs thrown over his shoulder just as he began to hammer into you. The floor was uncomfortable but you couldn’t risk waking your friends with the headboard slapping against the wall. And watching JJ sweat just did something to you.

“Oh, fuck.” You rasped, his cock reaching an even deeper spot. Your fingers found your nipples, pulling and twisting the hardened peaks while pleasure shot up your spine. JJ couldn’t tear his eyes away, blue eyes nearly black with desire as you played with yourself.

“You’re so fucking hot like this.” JJ growled, his hands digging into your thighs as he pounded your pussy. You were both so close to release but not ready to stop.

“Get on your hands and knees.” JJ whispered harshly, giving you no warning before he was handling you into position. Your knees ended up between his on the pillow as he entered you again. His pace was torturously slow, making you whine with each slow drag of his cock.

“JJ.. please..” You reached back, digging your nails into his hip to urge him on but he only chuckled.

“So impatient. Do you need to cum?” JJ taunted, pulling you up by your hair and wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you upright. You groaned pathetically, his cock so deep it hurt but he wouldn’t move. “I thought you were mad at me?” JJ whispers, turning your head so his lips can tease yours.

“J, please. Make me cum.” You beg, nails biting into his arms as you roll your hips, desperate for the pleasure he’s withholding. Your tongue comes out to lick the seam of his lips before taking his bottom one between your teeth.

“I’ll do anything you want. I just need your cock. Make me feel good, J.” His nostrils flare at the same time you feel his cock pulse inside you.

When his arms tighten around your trembling body, you nearly groan in satisfaction until you hear an unexpected sound. The sound of your door creaking open and a startled gasp. Your stomach falls before you both jerk your heads around to face the intruder.

Pope.