#don't blame me oc story

[izzy140105]

ON HOLD!!

𝕯𝖔𝖓'𝖙 𝕭𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖊 𝕸𝖊 ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ 𝐽𝑜�� 𝑆𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑥 𝑜𝑐 || 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 + 𝐌𝐘 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑

"𝑫𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒎𝒆, 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒎𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒛𝒚. 𝑰𝒇 𝒊𝒕 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔𝒏'𝒕, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒊𝒏'𝒕 𝒅𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒕 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕. 𝑳𝒐𝒓𝒅, 𝒔𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒆, 𝒎𝒚 𝒅𝒓𝒖𝒈 𝒊𝒔 𝒎𝒚 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚. 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒏' 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆..."

𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐱 𝐎𝐂

𝐌𝐘 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑:

𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒆 - 𝐼𝑠𝑎𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑒

𝑨𝒈𝒆 - 16 𝑡𝑜 22

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓/𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒔 - 𝐹𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑒, 𝑠ℎ𝑒/ℎ𝑒𝑟

𝑯𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 - 5'5"

𝑬𝒕𝒉𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒚 - 𝑊ℎ𝑖𝑡𝑒

𝑯𝒂𝒊𝒓 𝑪𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒓 - 𝐵𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑛

𝑬𝒚𝒆 𝑪𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒓 - 𝐻𝑎𝑧𝑒𝑙-𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑛

𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒:

𝑾𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒑𝒂𝒅

𝑺𝒑𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒚 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐍𝐄:

𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒅𝒆 𝑶𝒏𝒆 - 𝑊𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑠 𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔

𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒅𝒆 𝑻𝒘𝒐 - 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐾𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠𝑟𝑜𝑎𝑑

𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒅𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆 - 𝐿𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑆𝑛𝑜𝑤

𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒅𝒆 𝑭𝒐𝒖𝒓 - 𝐶𝑟𝑖𝑝𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑠, 𝐵𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐵𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑒𝑛 𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠

𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒅𝒆 𝑭𝒊𝒗𝒆 - 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑊𝑜𝑙𝑓 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐿𝑖𝑜𝑛

𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒅𝒆 𝑺𝒊𝒙 - 𝐴 𝐺𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝐶𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑛

𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒅𝒆 𝑺𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 - 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑊𝑖𝑛 𝑜𝑟 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝐷𝑖𝑒

𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒅𝒆 𝑬𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 - 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑃𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑦 𝐸𝑛𝑑

𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒅𝒆 𝑵𝒊𝒏𝒆 - 𝐵𝑎𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑟

𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒅𝒆 𝑻𝒆𝒏 - 𝐹𝑖𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐵𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑑

[thegeorgiatennantblog]

Oh my god I love this!

(for reference: Anna's baking post)

[demaparbat-hp]

For the Spirits—

Chapter VIII: Make You Stay

And I'd do anything to make you stay

No light, no light

Tell me what you want me to say

—No Light, No Light by Florence + The Machine

.

Ming had experienced so many different, wonderful things. She had lived, truly lived, and allowed herself to dream of things that had been impossible back in the Academy. Endless possibilities now seemed to lay gently in the palm of her hand. But she would give it all away to vanish the shiver that tore its way down her spine at Yoi’s words. The Prince has genuinely gone mad. He—didn't you hear?—he insists on going on this mysterious quest on his own.

[messy-nyks]

The Fernweh Saga by @lacunafiction - Agnes edition

Who would have thought? 🤭

Agnes "Nes" Sigrún 🌑RO: James Corvin

Personality: sincerity // cautious // friendly // merciful Traits: heart // compliance // believer Past affinity: writing [horror stories] Primary ability: empathetic impressions Past susceptibility: receptive

☀️Fernweh: She never really thought about leaving Fernweh… It was her place, near her family and friend(s). She felt good there and assumed she’s gonna spend her whole life happily in this little town. Even if Fernweh brings back devastating memories, she’s curious about what’s happening in Fernweh now, in her true home. It’s always been her dream to work in Turn The Page, and during her ‘short’ stay in Fernweh, she started thinking about it again. Why not stay for longer…? She would love to carry on her grandfather’s work and bring his legacy justice. 

☀️Grandpa Jóhann: When she was young, she had an amazing relationship with her grandpa. They were completely honest with each other, and she loved him wholeheartedly. Some people thought that making her grandpa proud was her main hobby. She used to tell him all about her dreams that she had, which were always wild... and also about the nightmares… It took her by surprise when her grandpa, one of the most important people in her life, started being less involved. She was hurt and began to wonder if she had done something to cause the distance between them. His decision to move her out of Fernweh so quickly after this tragic event made a huge impact on her mental state. She needed time to cope and be with her closest ones, especially her grandpa...but after all she didn't blame him. She often heard that she looked exactly like her mother…like her grandpa's daughter... She assumed he could not look at her, without thinking about her... And she could not blame him for wanting to escape that pain. Agnes knew it was the best thing that her grandpa could do for him, and she accepted it, too eagerly. She always too eagerly took the blame for everything.

☀️Beckett Warrick: After what happened in Fernweh after James she had even more trouble interacting with other people and making new friends… However, Beckett was an exception. He was the first person who got to truly know her after the events in Fernweh. When she got the letter about her Grandpa, she considered hiding the truth from him, because she knew deep down that he would be there for her if she needed him… even if he would not particularly enjoy it. It's a good thing she’s such a bad liar… Her main concern is about Beckett’s well-being. She noticed that this 'little' trip made a huge impact on him. He wasn’t supposed to be here, and it’s because of her that he–... She needs to make sure that nothing happens to her friend. And she will somehow manage to bring him back to his home.

☀️Reese Verner: They had an unconventional relationship. Reese saw her as a rival, while Agnes thought of him as a friend. She was confused about why Verner, someone of great importance, would even look at her see her as a rival. She knew there were better candidates for his games. She had only one question on her mind - “why?”. Despite Verner's playful teasing, Agnes always remained polite and friendly towards him, even when he attempted to push her boundaries. Girl knew how to keep her true feelings behind a warm smile she still does. If I can be completely honest… Agnes was rather shocked that Reese still remembered her… and was actually looking for her, which sounded so unbelievably. His concern for Milton's well-being made her see him in a slightly different light. Of course, she already knew Reese had a good heart, but his behaviour really touched her. Additionally, Agnes noticed that Reese and James’ relationship became stronger and deeper… It’s for the best. James deserves someone as dependable as Reese. He will always be there for James. 

☀️Sofia Dorran: Their bond was formed over a shared admiration for books and... the color blue. It may sound funny now, but these things became central to their lives and deepened their friendship. Sofia was the first person Agnes entrusted with her writing, and valued her honest feedback, knowing that Sofia would not make her feel bad if something needed improvement. They frequently borrowed books from each other's collections. Agnes yearned for the days when she and Sofia had reading sessions together, sipping on their favorite beverage. The only issue back then was when the book ended poorly or their library didn't have any new positions for them to read. She's willing to know how Sofia's taste toward books shifted (if shifted) and how she changed as a person. She's also extremely grateful because her grandfather received constant care from Sofia and her mother.

🌑James Corvin: …Do I really need to tell you that James was her first crush? And that she never found the courage to tell him so? maybe now will be the time? Agnes and James were always together, wherever one went the other followed. They were inseparable. Agnes even used to bake oatmeal cookies for James with her mother's help. They dreamed of their idyllic life together. As friends, obviously. Seeing him again after all those years was much harder than she anticipated. Agnes felt overwhelmed with stress from the moment she stepped out of her car. Every time she heard his surname, she unknowingly flinched. Her mind was full of questions about his well-being, life, and changes. She couldn't help but wonder if he would be happy to see her. …she did manage to hold his hand for a moment, I can consider it as a success

☀️Alex Corvin: Agnes has always looked up to Alex for their adventurous spirit and their willingness to embrace life to the fullest. She has always wanted to adopt a bit of Alex' wild side. Whenever they are around, boredom and dullness seem to disappear. They both share similar values and support each other's life goals. If I would say which person Agnes was the most willing to meet during her stay in Fernweh that would be Alex. She was confident in their friendliness towards everybody and was sure that their kindness had not wavered. Agnes was touched when she heard that Alex was looking after her grandfather's bookstore… It appears that Beckett has a new admirer, which Agnes wholeheartedly approves of.

☀️Mal: Agnes has a sense that Mal might be suspicious, but she is quite naive and doesn't believe that he could mean trouble. Although she is wary of him and finds him a little untrustworthy, Agnes believes in being kind to everyone, and she is willing to give Mal a chance, not judging him by her own impressions of him.

☀️Goldie: Agnes is grateful that her grandfather had a furry companion like Goldie, who probably managed to brighten his spirits. She fondly recalls how her grandfather would tell her stories when he once had a dog, when he was younger and how his eyes would light up with joy as he shared his story. Agnes is committed to taking excellent care of Goldie and ensuring her safety.

[artekai]

Look who's stealing whose evil master plan because he's never had a single idea of his own

[pyrriax]

ANYWHO goodnight tumblr i'll be back on the art grind tomorrow i think 🙏

[cimarraskylark]

Today's a be brave day. So, I would like to introduce the fanfic I am writing in order to share Cimarra's story with everyone. It's a long-term and intense project for me, but I am excited to be going on this journey with her.

*presents* This is the cover I made for the first book in the series, which I am posting on Ao3. It's currently very much an "in-progress" story and will take time to finish, but seeing where it goes and everyone's reactions to it is a great part of my motivation. ^-^

"Forgotten, but not dead. Wandering, but not alone. This saga holds the intricacies of her life, her love, and her legend. For those brave enough to follow her footsteps and learn her fate…

A Warrior’s Saga"

[ooc-miqojak]

Send ❓ for a different dynamic - and tell me more about it!

I'm sending the ? because it's a bit of a wildcard, but I'm terribly curious as to how you feel about AUs where cross-fandom meetings happen. I don't get enough of them and I miss them.

Of course, if you'd prefer strictly WoW muses, I have a couple I could resurrect. Jussayin'.

Simple Shipping Meme! Sorry it took me a bit to respond, I've been Having a Time Of It™! That said, I don't tend to do AU stuff - though I would never knock it! But it's just never really appealed to me, and it's hard to say why? I'll just ramble about it in the tags, as usual.

(I'm going to sidebar and say that I have been on the verge of having a literal AU version of Lily in WoW, because...well, I look at her old Pally model on my login screen every time I log in, unwilling to change her into anyone else...and Dragonflight uh, confirmed AU Azeroths are a thing [thank you, Azmerloth, for being more than just a quick meme]. I have the brain rot about it, but I figure Main!Lily should get some RP before I go ahead with anyone/thing else.)

That's all to say...I'd prefer Azerothian muses for Lily - but hey, if you have XIV folks, I still have characters there, as well! I thought I'd drop trying to RP Jak and the alts there, because I wanted to focus on WoW, but it takes time to gain traction in either game community, so I'd still be down to RP in Eorzea with my far-too-smug cattes/fox!

[2hightocare]

DOWN BAD! 02

Synopsis: Despite undeniable chemistry, your guys’ relationship remains undefined, caught between playful teasing to deeper, unspoken longing.

Pairings: bad boy! jungkook x fem! reader

Genre: friends to lovers. college au. slowburn!

Warnings: angst, drug use, profanity, explicit content, talks about abusive home, fighting, arguing, screaming, crying, flashbacks, oc and jk are nineteen (freshmen’s in uni) mentions of death, daddy/mommy issues.

a/n: GOSHHHHHHH! pray for my girl yn😓😓 she’s down bad and she fr ain’t getting up. Left you guys on a cliffhanger hehe. enjoy🤍🤍

01! playlist

"What do you want?" He says, the smallest glint of amusement on his face has Jungkook's stomach recoiling.

"The regular," Jungkook found himself saying, reaching into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. "I don't have opioids. My supplier said there was a shortage—want to try some new shit?" Yoongi says as he balances his cigarette on his lips, looking into a cabin.

"You've tried snow before, right?" He looks up at Jungkook who stands there. "No, I told you l don't fuck with that shit," Jungkook shakes his head, putting his wallet back into the pocket of his jeans.

"It's on me, just try it," Yoongi hands Jungkook a small bag filled with white powder. "Just snort it and let it do its thing, boy," Yoongi chuckles as he watches Jungkook look down at the drug in his palm. "It won't kill you if that's what you're thinking," he continues, taking a drag from his cigarette before exhaling.

Jungkook's mind immediately goes to you as the words leave Yoongi's mouth.

“You’re going to kill yourself,” you scream, your hands pulling on your hair as Jungkook watches silently—his heart breaking as he sees the tear fall from your eye. Whatever he wants to say stays stuck in his throat.

“I’ll be fine,” Jungkook finds himself muttering, a loud scoff heard from you as you hold his face in your hands, making him look up at you. “Tell me what’s wrong, fuck! I’ll fix it, just tell me,” you cry out. Jungkook watches as your legs give out and you drop to the floor in front of him.

Jungkook feels his stomach drop, his heartbeat stops, and his mind goes blank. He wants to drop to his knees and beg you to not care and run away as far as you can from him, but the selfish part of him wants you to stay.

“Baby,” Jungkook slurs, the drugs in his system not letting him speak normally. “I’m so fucking sorry,” he apologizes again for the hundredth time in the past few days. Jungkook drops beside you, removing your hands from your face as another sob racks through your body. Your eyes red and puffy as tears continue to cascade down.

Jungkook knows nothing about love, but there’s you. The highlight of his days, the only reason he even wants to wake up in the morning.

He hates how he drags you along with him—in every bad decision he makes. Jungkook’s life hasn’t been easy; an abusive household isn’t something anybody wants, but he’s one of the unlucky ones who got it. He knows he’s a legal adult and can move out, but his feet stay glued inside that house because of her, his mom.

God. Jungkook has seen everything fucked up in the piece of shit he calls his house. The blows his mom would take from the man whose blood Jungkook carries. He wasn’t a father to him, that’s for sure. Screams and fighting are the only things his house is filled with. He never heard a bedtime story or got a good night hug. The hug was replaced by a hit on the cheek, jaw, face—or anywhere his dad could get his hands on.

Jungkook blames his dad for the way he is, and every time he looks at you, he imagines the what ifs. Jungkook has done everything he could do to push you away, but instead of leaving, you stayed. It’s scared the shit out of him.

He’s in love with you. Jungkook has never felt anything more in his life than his love for you—it’s almost pathetic how much you make him feel. If your love were a drug, Jungkook would do it every day, every hour, and every minute instead of all the shit he put in his system to forget.

Your love is pure and innocent—everything that Jungkook isn’t. Every time he looks at you, he’s afraid he will break you. He wishes you could realize how unfixable he is and leave—but instead, you’re on your knees begging for him to be better.

How badly did he want to be better; so he could be with you.

“Stop saying sorry and stop doing it, fuck,” you sob, your fist holding onto his hoodie—your knuckles turning white from fear that if you let him go, he’ll vanish.

“You’re better than this. I know you are,” you cry, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, wetting his hoodie with your tears. “Please stop, you could die.” you beg desperately, like a child would.

“Shh,” he comforts, his hand rubbing your back as you sob into him, “I’m sorry.”

As Jungkook walked, the guilt inside him consumed him more and more. The hurt expression on your face after he disrespected you remained etched in his mind, feeling like someone was poking his heart with a needle with each step he took.

Similarly, the weight of the small bag in the pocket of his sweater sent a sense of panic through his body. He hadn’t planned on taking it, but the moment it was placed in his hand, he couldn’t bring himself to give it back. Instead, he bit his tongue and shoved it into his pocket.

His heart sank as an image flashed in his mind of what your reaction would be if you ever found out. With a shake of his head, he buried the thought deep within him before reaching the main door of his house.

Jungkook’s hand trembles as he holds onto the doorknob. He had nowhere else to go, it was either yours or this. He felt his throat close up as his mind went back to you, his heart screaming for you. To turn around and run back to you—like always, his safe space. The only place where he could let his guard down.

The aching sensation in his chest reminded him of the first time he told you about his dad. You were both seventeen—laying on the carpet of your room, staring up at the ceiling. The broken expression on your face after he confided in you made him feel worse than any hit he had ever taken.

“Did you seriously get into another fight?” you groaned as you examined his face, the purple and blue marks beginning to form twisting your stomach in knots. “Who was it this time?” you frowned, your hand reaching out to touch his bruised cheek.

“Didn’t fight anyone. I actually hit myself with the car door,” the lie flowed smoothly out of his mouth.

“A door?” You raised an eyebrow, not fully believing him. Jungkook had a tendency to throw the first punch after someone lightly touched him—he had more suspensions and run ins with the police than anyone could count. Every time you saw him, there was another bruise decorating his skin, always brushed off like it was no big deal.

“Who was it?” You tried again, your face turning to him.

Jungkook's eyes remained locked with the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling. “I can’t tell you,” he mumbled softly into the darkness.

“Why not? Is it a secret?” You quipped, scooting closer to his side—your finger tracing his features as he let out a deep breath. “It’s a really big secret,” he hushed, to which you only nodded eagerly.

“I can keep a secret,” you smiled, your heart beating fast in your chest as you noticed the proximity between you two. You raised a pinky into the air. “Pinky promise,” you bit your lip anxiously, watching him interlock his pinky with yours. “Okay, now tell me.”

“My dad,” he said, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“What?” You stuttered out, hoping you had heard him wrong.

“My dad, he's abusive,” he restated. The color drained from your face, and Jungkook saw it.

Sadness written all over your face. Words didn’t come out when you opened your mouth; instead, an ugly cry replaced the words.

“That’s why I can’t stand someone’s hands on me,” Jungkook says, his eyes squeezing shut as he tried to escape the pain in his heart. It felt as if he was being kicked and thrown.

“Fuck.. I always touch you,” you bit your lip, trying to contain your sobs. “Your touch is the only touch that doesn’t repulse me, baby. So if you plan on not touching me, don’t,” Jungkook quickly interjected, grabbing your hand and intertwining it with his.

Jungkook loved your touch; your fingers on his skin felt like heaven. It almost confused him how much he looked forward to it—sometimes he found himself initiating it. You were the only exception with such privilege; anyone else who laid a finger on him sent a sense of nausea and shivers down his body.

“I didn’t know. I’m so fucking sorry, baby. Let me help you.. we can tell the police, he deserves to be in jail. Please,” you sobbed, placing your palm on his cheek.

“You think I don’t know he needs to go to jail? For all I know, he should be put on a electric chair,” Jungkook spat out, shoving your hand away from his face.

“And fuck. Yes, my mom knows. She fucking gets hit too,” he rambled, his chest heaving as he tried to look anywhere in your room that wasn’t you, and for the first time, you saw him break down.

As Jungkook crumbled down with a loud sob, his hands cover his face as his shoulders shake as he weeps, you wasted no time dropping to your knees and pulling him into you, whispering reassuring words in his ear.

"She doesn't leave," he cried. "I keep telling her he's going to kill her if she doesn't leave, but she stays." The cracks in his voice mirrored the cracks in your heart as you listened, feeling the weight of his pain, as the double meaning clicks in your head.

"And I can't leave. Who's going to protect her if I'm not there?" he sobbed quietly, his hands tightening around your waist. "I'm scared that if I leave for too long, I'll come back to a house with a dead body in it," he confessed, sending shivers down your spine.

"Baby," you cooed, tears streaming down your cheeks,

"we should tell the police. They'll help you. I promise."

But his response shattered your hopes.

"No," he croaked out, untangling himself from your embrace.

"Listen to me. If you even think about telling a policeman what I just told you, I swear to god yn, I will never fucking forgive you," Jungkook shook, his face contorted with pain and panic.

"I trust you enough to tell you, but I swear if you say anything about this to anyone, we're done. Whatever the fuck we have, it's done. I will never fucking forgive you."

Jungkook pushes the door open, and he’s met with silence. Without thinking twice, he rushes to his mom's room, slamming the door open to be met with her limp body on the bed.

His heart stops beating, and suddenly everything stops—his hand trembles as he makes his way to her. He nudges her once.

“Mom,” Jungkook calls, only to be met with silence.

“Mom,” he tries again. She stirs in her sleep.

“Jungkook?” She croaks, her voice hoarse as she peeks from her lying position. Jungkook's heart picks up again, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Mom, are you okay? What happened?” Jungkook asks, dropping beside her on the bed. His fingers move her dark hair off her face carefully, revealing a bruise on her cheek.

“He hit you again?” Jungkook lets out a growl, his fist tightening beside him.

“I made him mad. It’s not his fault,” she defends, almost automatically making Jungkook scoff. “Mom, that's not an excuse!” He grits his teeth.

“He isn’t a bad man, Jungkook. He's still your father,” she sighs, the look of tiredness clear on her face as she winces when she moves to her side. Jungkook watches dumbfounded.

“You know, you remind me of him,” she shakes out a laugh, the whole sentence feeling like a punch in the stomach for Jungkook. The more he tries to breathe, the more difficult it becomes. “He was just like you, you know? Every time I look at you—it’s like I’m seeing him. He is a good man underneath it all, Jungkook. You have to understand that I could never leave him. I’m in love with him,” she continues, and every word feels like a hit in the gut.

“W-what do you mean.. I’m just like him?” Jungkook stutters, his throat drying up and the familiar feeling of tears picking up in his eyes have him clawing his nails into his palms.

“Do you think when I met your dad, he treated me wrong?” She finally locks eyes with Jungkook. The light in her eyes she once had is now gone, replaced with dull, tired eyes. “He was gentle with me, he was sweet, caring, he was everything to me. He’s still everything to me,” a tear rolls down her cheek, making Jungkook suck in a breath.

“What about me?” Jungkook's voice cracks, the knot in his throat tightening as he watches his mom shake her head.

“Am I not everything to you, Mom?” Another tear falls, followed by more.

“It’s more complicated than you think, Jungkook,” she sighs. Jungkook feels his heart crack into a million pieces as he watches the woman who brought him into this life discard him.

“He’s going to kill you one day,” Jungkook speaks, wiping the tears from his eyes before clearing his voice. “He’s going to kill you, and you’re going to let it happen.”

“He wouldn’t do that to me,” she whispers into the silence.

“He wouldn’t?” A shocked laugh leaves Jungkook's lips as he can’t believe what he just heard. “He fucking wouldn’t? He fucking hits you? Aren’t you fucking scared that one day he throws the wrong punch?” Jungkook shouts, anger taking over.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” she snaps. “I’m your mother, and you don’t get to fucking talk to me like that.”

“Well, you’re a shitty mother. A good mother would put their child first. The only reason I’m still here is because of you!” Jungkook snaps back, his frustration growing stronger as he watches his mom stay motionless.

“I keep coming back because I’m scared he’ll kill you. But apparently, you don’t give a fuck,” he breathes out, his hand tugging on his hair—feeling almost manic at the lack of his mother's reaction.

“Every hit he took on me, you blamed it on me. When all I did was try to protect you. But you always choose him. So fucking next time he comes in through those doors and has his way with you, don’t come running or yelling my name to come and save you,” Jungkook spits out before walking out of the room and shutting the door behind him with a loud bang.

Jungkook's mind kept racing, never shutting up for a moment, allowing him to think. His brain was filled with repetitions of everything his mom just said. The words "he was just like you, you know? Every time I look at you-it's like I'm seeing him" kept getting repeated in his head over and over again without a break.

Screams of his mom asking for him to save her echoed in his brain, the weight of his guilt and the haunting memories that plagued his mind had Jungkook pulling out the small baggie from his sweater, moving to the small desk in his room.

Jungkook dropped the white powder on the surface, making a line. Without hesitation, Jungkook leaned over, pinching one of his nostrils before snorting.

A sharp burning, stinging sensation spread through Jungkook's nose as he sniffed, rubbing off the remaining powder.

Jungkook dropped onto his bed in a star position as he stared at the ceiling, the feeling of numbness taking over his body. His muscles relaxed as the drug entered his bloodstream, sending a sense of euphoria—a warm feeling spread throughout his body, making him groan in pleasure.

And for once, the voices finally stopped.

It was embarrassing how you found yourself looking for the man you were in love with every corner of the campus. You started with the lockers and hallways, peeking through every classroom, hoping you’d catch a glimpse of the boy who left you standing in your angel costume Saturday night.

You had debated on running after him; the guilt that weighed you down from the slap was intense. Your touch was supposed to be his only gateway, instead, you used it against him to hurt him the same way his dad does. As messed up as his words were, it didn’t compare.

“Have you seen Jungkook?” You ask, poking Dahlia on the shoulder. She turns to look at you, mouth filled with food as she nods without saying anything.

“You have?” Your eyebrow raises as she continues to nod eagerly.

“Y-yeah, he’s ou-outside, in the corner,” Dahlia finally says, swallowing her food. You throw a small ‘thank you’ and rush outside.

As you run to the corner where everybody meets up to smoke, you curse out loud as you trip on the crack of the pavement before changing your pace to walking instead.

Your eyes meet his in an instant as you pass the corner, the lit-up joint hanging from his lips. You look around to see Taehyung and Jimin with worried looks on their faces. As you walk closer to them, Jungkook passes the joint to his friend before crossing his arms in front of him, flexing his muscles. If you weren’t so mad at him, you would find it hot.

“What’s up, pretty,” Taehyung says, trying to break the awkward silence as he takes a hit off the joint before passing it to Jimin, who looks uncomfortable as hell.

“Hey,” you acknowledge them both, giving polite head nods before turning your attention to the boy in the middle, his eyes bloodshot red with a small grin decorating his handsome face.

“What’s so funny?” You snap, crossing your arms in front of you. A loud laugh slips out of his mouth, shocking the boys beside him. “Hi baby,” he says, his eyes dropping low as he moves closer to you. You push him away with a hand on his chest, making him pout.

“Rude,” he playfully scoffs, leaning back onto the wall and reaching for the blunt on Taehyung’s fingers as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“That’s enough,” you say, taking away the joint from Taehyung’s hand as Jungkook was about to reach for it.

“This is our cue to leave. Let’s go,” Taehyung hurries off, pulling on his blonde friends arm, before they both mutter something under their breaths as they disappear around the corner.

“Don’t throw that, it’s some good shit, and I just bought it,” Jungkook chuckles, reaching for it only for you to push him away.

“Alright then,” you pull the rolled-up paper up to your lips and take a drag. Jungkook's face drops, and suddenly nothing is funny. His hand immediately shoots up and yanks the joint out of your mouth before throwing it on the ground and stomping on it.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jungkook roars, watching you cough loudly as white smoke rushes out of your mouth.

“Fuck, what were you thinking?” He panics, rubbing a hand over your back to coax your coughing fit. Your throat and chest burn as you continue to cough.

“Don’t ever do that shit again, do you hear me? It’s not good for you,” Jungkook sighs, his rough hand drawing circles down your back as you finally calm down.

“So, you agree it’s not good for you?” You say, your voice hoarse from all the coughing. “Let’s not do this right now, yn,” he pulls on your arm as he walks you to the parking lot. “You never want to do anything,” you yank your arm from his grip. Jungkook takes a deep breath, trying his best not to snap at you.

“Just get in the car, baby,” he continues, opening the passenger door for you. Instead, you push him off and slam the door shut.

“You’re high as fuck; you can’t drive, asshole,” you snap, throwing your arms in the air in anger. “And you’re not?” he clenches his teeth. “I took one hit,” you shove a finger in his face.

“Yeah, a big-ass one. Before you know it, you’ll be high, so get in the fucking car or I’ll put you in it myself,” he snaps. “You wouldn’t dare,” you spit out, and before you know it, your ass is in the air as he hauls you over his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t?” Jungkook mutters under his breath as he opens the car door and sits you down on the seat, reaching for the seatbelt and strapping you in. “Where are you taking me?” You roll your eyes as he sits down beside you.

“To your fucking house,” he says, pulling out of the parking lot of the school and driving you home.

The whole car ride is filled with silence; neither of you decides to utter a word. The moment the car stops in front of your house, you hurriedly unbuckle your seatbelt and open your door before sprinting to your door, unlocking it, and disappearing inside. Jungkook almost screams into his hands, wanting to throw a whole tantrum in this car, but he decides otherwise.

With a loud sigh, he turns off the car, turns to the back seat, gets his sweater, and jumps out of the car. He takes the same route he always did when he showed up at your house, climbing himself over the picket fence before climbing the tree next to your window.

The window is opened as you sit on the ground of your room, your knees up to your chest. Jungkook throws his sweater in first before jumping in.

Then his heart dropped, your small hands hold the tiny bag that was in the pocket of his sweater that had fallen out.

“What’s this, Jungkook?” You voice out, and Jungkook doesn’t miss the wavering of your voice as you finally look up at him. His heart might just have been stabbed by your shocked expression, the betrayal and the pain etched in your expressions send a shooting pain in his heart.

“Baby-“

“Don’t fucking baby me! What the fuck is this?” You interrupt him, your hand shaking as you think of every possible drug that could be in the bag. Jungkook didn’t reply; the words suddenly died in his mouth.

“Is this a way of pushing me away?” You ask, tears starting to flow down your cheeks, mixing with your anger and heartbreak.

“Did something happen at home again? Why? Fuck, why?” You cry, a soul-crushing sob that comes out of you, which has Jungkook coming back to his senses. He feels like shit, and that word doesn’t even cover half of what he’s feeling.

“Please tell me why? I’ll do anything. Let me help you, just fucking stop doing this shit, baby.” You cry, pulling his body to yours, wrapping your arms around his waist, crying into his uniform.

“Use me, scream at me, tell me horrible shit if that helps. Just don’t ever touch any drugs, Jungkook. I don’t know what I would do if you died.” You whisper the last words as you sob into his arms, begging for him to stop. “I’m never leaving your side, so get that into your head. If this is your way of pushing me away, it won’t work.” You sob.

And that’s where everything clicks for Jungkook. His mind thinks back to his mom, “You have to understand that I could never leave him. I’m in love with him,” and his heart drops to the ground. All the walls he took so long to build collapse. He was just like his dad—Jungkook wanted to say he wasn’t, but here he was, hurting you, making you sob into his arms, begging for him to change. The same thing his mom does anytime his father would get drunk.

“I’m not good for you,” Jungkook finally speaks, his hands cupping your face. “I’m not good for you.” He repeats, and you shake your head disapprovingly repeatedly. “Stop.” You cry, your tears wetting Jungkook's palms as he repeats the same thing over again.

“You deserve someone so much fucking better, baby,” Jungkook whispers, dropping his forehead to yours. “You deserve so much better than me. I can’t give you anything, baby, besides heartache and pain.” He continues as you repeat ‘no’ over and over again under your breath.

“Please don’t leave me,” you cry, as he untangles himself from you, pushing your hand away gently when you try to reach for him.

“Fuck, Jungkook, don’t leave. Stay the night; we’ll talk about this in the morning.” That was the last thing Jungkook heard as he jumped out of the window and ran to his car, leaving his heart in the hands of the girl crying on the floor, praying for him to be safe.

[izzy140105]

𝕯𝖔𝖓'𝖙 𝕭𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖊 𝕸𝖊 ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ 𝐽𝑜𝑛 ��𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑥 𝑜𝑐 || 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐍!!

"𝑫𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒎𝒆, 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒎𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒛𝒚. 𝑰𝒇 𝒊𝒕 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔𝒏'𝒕, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒊𝒏'𝒕 𝒅𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒕 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕. 𝑳𝒐𝒓𝒅, 𝒔𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒆, 𝒎𝒚 𝒅𝒓𝒖𝒈 𝒊𝒔 𝒎𝒚 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚. 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒏' 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆..."

|| 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐱 𝐎𝐂 ||

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Nine noble families wage war against each other in order to gain control over the mythical land of Westeros. Meanwhile, a force is rising after millenniums and threatens the existence of living men. And a girl from a world far different from this one, gets herself stuck in all of it.

⋆⁺₊⋆𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑 + 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒⋆⁺₊⋆

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐰𝐧 "𝐺𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑇ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠" 𝐨𝐫 "𝐴 𝑆𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑓 𝐼𝑐𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐹𝑖𝑟𝑒" 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐆𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞 𝐑.𝐑. 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧.

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐜 𝐱 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲, 𝐬𝐨 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭.

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧: 𝑨𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕, 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇, 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕, 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅, 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉, 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒔, 𝒈𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒏 𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆

₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ 𝑰𝒛𝒛𝒚140105

[tiredsmashbros]

SMG34: LIPBITE COMIC WIP UPDATE

oh boy... i know a bunch of folks are hyped for this comic... and boy oh boy are ya'll's prayers going to be heard... kind of... butt for the celebration milestone, and granted majority are from this comic, i thought it was best to give EVERYTHING that i have currently.

starting off STRONG with what you freaks most want: the completed pages. andddd yep that's it that all that i have done LMAO. i've been fixated on my own smg4 oc: tsb, and during the end of my summer was unfortunately fucked over by some personal issues that fortunately got resolved last minute good grief the anxiety prevented me from drawing the gays sigh... aNYWAYS LINEART WIPS!!!!

here are linearts i have completed / in the progress of!! want to aim like i did in the past by finishing up lineart first, and then speed through with color + minor rendering. the reason i have a few colored is to test out what it would look polished and my god... i have improved A LOT. THESE GAY PEOPLE GIVE POWER I AM NOT KIDDING BELIEVE ME IM NOT CRAY- anyways onto wip pages!

jumpscare: tsb stickman sketches. oh yeah. this is how i sketch and i blame sensei eiichiro oda /j. and in case anyone is unable to understand it {i don't blame u LMAO}, smg4 wakes up from the dream and is startled to see mario by his bed. they have a short convo before mario leaves, and we get a job to smg4 in the bathroom trying to put up a brave face. until the moment he leaves he's stunned due to seeing smg3 at his front door. will i elaborate more on specifics or unwritten dialogue? NOPE! gotta keep secrets to make it even more enjoyable at the end!!

currently at 13 sketched pages total, but this is probably gonna be reaching towards 20-ish pages, surpassing part two, but it will depend on how i come up with how to end it. additionally to confirm there will be a PART FOUR / chapter 3, to end this story. my goal is to have it done before i finish my senior year, or at least during the summer after i graduate bc good lord who knows whats gonna happen.

and lastly, before i end this crazy update, SCRAPPED PAGESSS!!!!!

CONTENT WARNING : NSFW SKETCHES !!!! PLEASE LOOK AWAY IF YOU ARE A MINOR OR DON'T LIKE THIS TYPE OF STUFF!!!

oh boy... dont draw comics while sleep-deprived at 6am... idek what i was even aiming with this ngl other than just for fun, but i scrapped it due to not being what i had in mind for the story. if it doesn't serve a purpose or narrative, its bye bye YEAH BYE BYE THIS IS THE CLOSEST NSFW UR GONNA GET FROM ME HAHAHAHAHA- i say that despite writing a nsfw jojo wattpad smh im only confident doing it in words good lord. btw not watermarking these bc i gen don't care since they're legit scrapped {left top part was kept and completed} so idk what to do with these. im just throwing it and walkin away

now to end with this update, i can hear your question, "when will this be done?" and to answer that question: i'm not entirely sure due to my heavy focus on my smg4 oc: tsb, but my best chance is postponing my oc lore a bit and complete this before november UOIYGJDSIUHJKDWSXYUGHJKCS but we shall have too see...

if you want to join the ping list comment on this post LMAO [click]

ignore below if you're not from the tsb birthday partydddjdhdhdjd

...

...

...

thurs: smg34 is canon in the tsb universe / au. though most of their encounters are platonic or best-friendy-way, they eventually express their feelings to one another and start dating 3/4’s way of the tsb storyline arc. tsb is a supporter of his friend's relationship and admires and takes inspiration from their relationship heavily to input his future love life. yearning to be in a similar position... to learn what is to really love someone... or what it's truly like to be loved...

[oukabarsburgblr]

drabble...

FEATURING: AITO SOUSUKE (OC), DAISUKE YUICHI (OC) x male reader

"Why the fuck did you come along if you knew you were gonna get scared?"

Sousuke hissed, jabbing his finger into Daisuke's chest who swatted his hand away. "I can go wherever I want? Your house is the furthest from all of us, why the hell would you stay back so late?" The pair were arguing, the moonlight shining through the windows of the dark hallways.

(m/n) and Haru only groaned, as they walked in front of the two. It was already night and they had came back to the academic buildings of the high school they attended. The (h/c) had misplaced his phone in his other bookbag which was in his class, he dragged Haru, his childhood best friend, to accompany him to retrieve it and Sousuke heard and tagged along but Daisuke wasn't going to leave (m/n) and Sousuke alone in a scenario where romantic moments can occur.

Although it would be challenging for the ravenette.

Haru swiped his long blonde bangs back, his bleached eyebrows furrowing in annoyance. "They're so loud. We're going to get caught by the security guards..." He complained and (m/n) whined as he shook his best friend's arm. "We're almost there. Don't leave me with these two idiots."

"How did you even forgot your phone out of all things?" "I don't play my phone all the time. Unlike you-" (m/n) heaved as his chest was smacked by Haru, catching Sousuke's attention.

"Hey! Don't touch him!" Sousuke scowled at Haru who rolled his eyes at him. Daisuke was fussing over the groaning (h/c). This was the norm for the group of third years, doing stupid shit but tonight was a highlight since they were alone during scary hours in an empty school.

Daisuke clinged to (m/n), scared out of his wits as he buried his face into the latter's shoulder, effectively dragging him in their step. "Why is your class so far away?" His hand was trembling lightly as the (h/c) rubbed his arm for comfort but the ravenette was too heavy for him.

"Sousuke, hold him." He pushed the ravenette into the redhead's hold, Daisuke gasping in betrayal as he scrunched his nose at Sousuke. "How could you??" He creened in disgust as he shoved himself away from Sousuke. (m/n) entered his class, pulling Haru as well leaving the pair to stand in the dark halls. The redhead glaring at Daisuke.

"You're a pussy, Daisuke." "Fuck you?? WHAT THE HELL-" He screeched as he instinctively jumped up and grabbed onto Sousuke, the redhead unintentionally holding him as he staggered in surprise. Daisuke had seen something flew past him and under the light it was a huge ass moth.

It wasn't really any better as he screamed while squirming in Sousuke's arms, the latter yelling at him to quiet down, opting to just drop him. Haru and (m/n) exited the class, the latter with his phone in his hand and gazed at the two unimpressed.

"Are you two dating or something..." Haru muttered as he rolled his eyes, leaving the group and (m/n) followed suit, his eyebrows scrunched and his lips frowning and pouting.

"Wait! It's not what it looks like!" Sousuke dropped the ravenette onto the floor and ran after (m/n), blabbering that he had nothing to do with the ravenette. Daisuke cussed and chased after them, not wanting to be left behind and prompted to hit Sousuke in the head resulting in more arguments as they exited the building.

They did get caught by the security guard. (m/n) was not impressed with Daisuke and Sousuke. Haru doesn't want to be friends with them anymore. Sousuke just kept blaming Daisuke and the latter kept talking about a moth??

[END SCENE]

Afterthoughts:

I feel better now. Friend group with daisuke (ravenette), Sousuke (redhead), Onaga Haru (blonde) and (m/n).

Their main story will be set in highschool. I got inspired seeing Kubz Scouts recent video haha

[ohsohoney]

When it comes to love you're just as blinded.

Part One

Eminem x Musician

Summary: It starts with a drunk embarrassing video, it spirals into something a whole lot more.

Note: Hey! First time writing for Em so I figured I'd use a side account and see how it went? Honestly this is a whole series in my mind so might add onto this first part soon! An oc character but can be read as a reader insert if you prefer:)

Set in 2014, just after the release of LP 2

Warnings: Lots of swearing, dark humour

Masterlist

I was mortified.

More so than I’d probably ever been, in truth. All because of a stupid video that had been taken a couple of years back when I’d had one drink too many on a holiday I’d always dreamt of.

To be fair though, the majority of the blame lied heavily on my younger sister’s shoulders, who’d found the stupid thing whilst reminiscing through old memories and thought it would be hilarious to post online. Forgetting about the millions of fans who would soon see it– and not just mine, it would seem.

No, because that just wasn’t how the internet worked, was it? And when a newly nominated artist, who had only been in the game for a couple years, was filmed rapping an old noughties classic instead of singing like expected, it was basically bound to go viral. Didn’t help that I was a Londoner through and through and had the accent to prove it, making the whole video that much harder to watch. In truth, I continued to cringe each time I was reminded of it, which was practically anytime I opened up social media or witnessed the guilty expression that continued to mar my sister’s face.

“Stop doing that.” I huffed at her later on when the worst of it still continued to storm on, almost whining actually as I looked away from my phone screen and down at the food I wasn’t really eating, just picking at. I was supposed to be mad, infuriated even, but it was proving to be a fucking chore when she kept on looking at me like that.

“Doing what?” Lottie retorted, not even attempting to wipe the culpable look from off of her face. She was currently residing back at mum’s now, seeing as how she had school and I’d only just landed back home, but I’d give it a day before she was back here again. My flight over had been strenuous, it always was when flying to and from Cali, but still I made time for her– even after the most recent stunt she had gone and pulled.

“Don’t do that either.” 

I’d meant to sound scolding but the soft laugh that escaped me truly was accidental. I couldn’t quite help it, I knew that being mad at her wouldn’t solve anything now and that she hadn’t really meant any harm by posting the video. That was just the type of person she was, she acted before she thought things through and didn’t ever think much for the consequences. Then again, she was still only fourteen and her putting the drunken moment on her Instagram story had just been one of those sibling type moments, the kind where you’d rip the piss out of one another simply because you could.

“I mean it, Lotts.” I sighed around the words, eyes flitting back to the screen and the way she was chewing on her lower lip. “It’s being sorted and, I don't know, I guess it’ll die down sooner or later. Mila reckons so anyway. We’ll give it a day or two, hey?”

A day or two did pass. And no such thing happened.

I’d been cooped up at home ever since I’d touched down at Heathrow, having jumped in the first cab available and fallen asleep the second I’d gotten in through the door. I’d been working out in LA for a couple weeks with a few other writers, just messing about with new sounds and ideas for the next album I eventually wanted to release. So I hadn’t been witness to the media catastrophe Lottie had created until later the next afternoon when Mila, my manager, had all but mowed down my front door, having called my phone three dozen times and gotten a guy she was currently seeing in the city to come buzz my intercom. It had been a wake up call and a half to say the least.

Still, she had assumed it would all die down fairly quickly, went as far to say that it could do wonders for my career– even with me being visibly tipsy– after having had the absolute gall to say that I hadn’t sounded half as bad as I thought I did. I’d cackled hysterically into the phone at that, then had somewhat of a meltdown, in utter disbelief over the apparent reaction she claimed the video had gone and garnered. Because I was absolutely not looking. Knew that if I did there would be too large a chance that I’d check myself into the nearest psychiatric unit. 

But as I said, a couple of days had passed and typically something like this would have eventually blown over when the next big story hit the headlines. White girl can spit a verse, who cared? Only then the VMA’s had happened and shit hit the fucking fan.

I hadn’t attended, shit like that had always irked me. I could perform in front of a crowd of thousands and step off feeling as high as a kite, but stick me on a carpet and force me to interact with cameras, questions, and people? That was where I drew the line.

At the start, I had tried. I’d been new on the scene and people had reasoned that I would just end up being another one hit wonder, so the label had figured it best if I got myself out there, if only to interact with other artists and producers in similar circles.

It had gone down a treat– like a cake being knocked over at the wedding of the year. Maybe even worse. I didn’t like to linger too long on it.

But I’d tried again and again afterwards, although it had only proven to worsen my mood each time and forced me to retreat, avoiding my team and the responsibilities I had lined up for a short while after. It was only following a particularly uncomfortable night that Mila had called it quits and had a contract drawn up stating that I only had to attend a certain amount of events a year. It had been at that moment that I’d realised just how fucked I would have been in this industry without her.

Even so, life still continued on without me and the VMA’s were just another show I would be mostly avoiding, only making a statement at the end of the night online for the nominations I’d been gifted.

It was around midnight when I heard the scream.

Lottie was staying with me, typical for whenever I was back in London for a few weeks at a time, and so I’d felt my heart literally drop to my feet at the very sound of her screech and legged it across the entirety of the house. At first, I’d thought she’d slipped and fallen, maybe cracked her head open on a counter. And then the thought of an intruder had crossed my mind whilst I’d gone skidding over the landing. So anyone could understand why I was so worked up when I finally threw open her bedroom door only to find her simply sat there on her phone, hand covering her mouth.

“What the hell is your problem? It’s just gone twelve, Lottie! I thought something had happened!” I rebuked her, chest heaving as I dropped the heavy bookend I’d managed to pick up somewhere on my way over down onto her desk. “Shit.”

Her eyes were wider than I’d ever seen them though when I finally did get around to catching my breath and chanced another glance back at her.

“I was literally just about to fall asleep.” Which really meant that I’d been getting into bed to scroll through my phone or read a book when I’d heard her shout. “Then you screamed as though Freddy Krueger was stood at your window.”

“Elia.” 

I blinked, Lottie rarely did that, used my entire name and not the usual shortened version or whatever other epithet that came to mind– and truly, there was a large variety, the shit I’d heard this kid come out with was insane. But I shook my head at the thought and quirked a brow at her. “What? Did someone die?”

“No,” She answered me, dropping her hand away from her face even though her jaw was still gaping, “But I just might.”

Rolling my eyes at the theatrics, I exhaled and walked over to slump on the end of her bed, figuring that something had happened between her and one of her friends, or maybe some lad she might’ve been speaking to. “And it deserved a scream like that? Honestly Lotts, just be thankful this place doesn’t have any neighbours listening in through the walls.” I told her, thinking back to my own adolescent years and the woman in the flat beside ours, “We’d have someone knocking at the door in under a half hour.”

It was her turn to roll her eyes then as she scoffed at me– like I was the one being dramatic here– before she then shook her head and shuffled hurriedly over the mattress to sit closer. “No Lia, just listen, look.”

Confused, I sighed and tilted my head when Lottie moved to shove her mobile in my face. I squinted at the sudden contrast, showing off my age and the horrific tragedy that was my eyesight, and tried to make sense of whatever it was that she was so hellbent on showing me. 

From what I could first make out, it was just a Twitter thread, but then Lotts then clicked on the main video at the top. I waited as the clip buffered for a second, then a familiar face panned into focus and I felt my brow furrow. I peered over at Lottie for a split second before her eyes were widening in retort and she gestured her chin back towards the screen.

I narrowed my own eyes in turn, but watched on.

It had to be a coincidence, I reasoned. That of all people it was him that Lottie was currently showing me.

“Well, aren’t we in for a show tonight! Eminem is in the house, people!” An interviewer started, she was a tall, leggy blonde who held a too big microphone too close to her chin. “How are you feeling?”

I shouldn’t have been as surprised as I was to see him on the VMA’s carpet, not after the comeback he’d made late last year with LP 2, but I was, eyes caught on the bleached buzz cut he’d since reverted back to for the album’s release. Fuck, I’d be so pissed if it came out that he was performing tonight and I’d gone ahead and missed it.

Lottie thumped my shoulder, hard, realising fairly quickly that I hadn’t really been listening, and so I scowled in retort but gritted my teeth to keep from thumping her right back. She might’ve been my sister, but I had well over a decade on the kid and was marginally her guardian, just not in writing.

The rapper had seemingly just finished commenting on a question the tall blonde had asked him and so I forced myself to pay closer attention, brain whirling as I wondered what could have possibly been so important that it had Lottie screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night.

“I feel that!” The woman practically beamed at the rapper, head nodding along to whatever he’d just said, “But it’s good to hear that you’re enjoying being back. In truth, I wasn’t sure I’d catch you here tonight, there’s been a lot of buzz surrounding you at the moment and not just because of the album!”

My heart stuttered in my chest. Actually, I was pretty sure it had gone and fallen out of my arse, especially when the interviewer continued to press on the topic and it appeared as though the man in question understood exactly what she was getting at. His stoic facade cracked just a tad and– there! A smirk. An ever so slight crook of his mouth. I shot a startled glance over at Lottie but her gaze was fixated on the screen.

“I mean, have you seen it?” The interviewer prompted whilst he simply stood there, fisted hands clasped before him. No sign of the split second curve he’d just had on his lips. “The whole world’s been wondering about your thoughts on the singer!”

And there it was.

“I can’t,” I started to say, turning away from the phone just as a rush of nausea flooded through me, but Lottie held strong, hand coming up to catch my shoulder so that she could position her phone back in my eyeline. “Lottie–” I tried. Please.

“Just listen.” She persisted, face so serious.

Immediately I wanted to rescind my earlier statement. This was now my most mortifying moment. In fact, I wanted to hide in the nearest cupboard and never come out again. How the fuck was I going to show my face in public, not to mention at the next event, after this?

I swallowed thickly, entirely unprepared to hear a word he had to say about me. I mean, who would be? This man was leagues above a majority of the industry, me included. Never had I ever even thought that he could hear my name in passing, let alone listen to one of my songs playing in some shop he was coincidentally in or a random radio station. But here he now was, rolling his lips as he pondered over a question which concerned that stupid fucking video. 

“I hate you.” I whispered at Lottie, mostly in hopes to cover up whatever he was about to say, but also because I was embarrassed beyond belief. And this was all her fault.

In the time spent since the drunken video had first gone up and now, I had yet to even think about him ever seeing it. Because the idea was that far fetched. But this was me, so of course he had.

“I’ve heard it.” Marshall confirmed, his head dipped in a barely there nod. My throat cinched. I wondered briefly how quickly I’d be able to tie myself a noose.

“And?” The woman prodded and internally I cursed her future bloodline, hoping that she'd somehow spawn the next antichrist or that her grandchild would become a shit-headed politician.

The man in question merely hummed, hollowing out his cheeks. “I was surprised, I have to admit. But she’s good, even when wasted.”

“I wasn’t fucking wasted!” 

I hadn't even realised I’d spoken out loud until Lottie snorted on a chuckle. I turned towards her, brows raised high, “What? I wasn’t. You were there!”

I rolled my eyes when she didn’t deign me with some sort of assent but my head snapped back over to where she still gripped the phone when I heard him speak again, his voice echoing throughout the quiet bedroom.

“Then again, her shit goes hard. So it shouldn’t be too much of a surprise.”

That heart of mine that I kept on talking about? Yeah, I had zero clue as to what the fuck was going on with it now, only that my chest was wound as tight as it possibly could be and my eyes stung as I withheld the urge to even blink.

“You’re a fan?” The woman asked him, appearing genuinely surprised by the notion, even though it sounded more like a declaration rather than the question it was.

Marshall hummed, sparing a brief glance over his shoulder when a group shuffled on past them, disrupting the interview. It didn’t deter the woman though and I couldn’t blame her, no matter how much it pained me.

“So, could this mean we’ll be seeing a new featured artist on whatever you put out next?”

I made some sort of inhuman sound at that, but barely moved a muscle. And then I all but shutdown when the rapper's wide eyes flickered over to peer straight into the camera’s lens, “I mean, if she’s down.”

The next scream that was emitted once again came from Lottie, but I couldn’t think to scold her for it, not when I was hardly even functioning and wanted to implode myself. 

The girl toppled over onto me, shaking my shoulders whilst she squealed unabashedly. “If. She’s. Down!” She repeated, squealing with excitement, “El, this is insane! How are you not screaming too?”

The air I forced from my lungs came out in a breathless chuckle as I clung to the forearm that was still wrapped around my collar. In truth, I didn’t know how the hell I was supposed to react. 

“Figure you’ve screamed enough for the both of us.” I replied faintly, not really thinking but somehow managing to carry on, mostly out of sheer shock. I glanced her way, “I feel a bit sick.”

Lottie just shook me harder and when we eventually went falling down onto the duvet in a mess of limbs I wondered what I was going to do with the knowledge that I’d just been given. God. He knew who I was. The shock of it was almost like reliving my first time on stage all over again.

That night I ended up listening to Lottie rant on and on for a good while after whilst she scrolled through her Twitter feed and the rest of the internet. Mila eventually intervened, calling after having seen it too, and was as smug as ever. “Told you.” She’d said the second I’d hit the answer button and I hadn’t had the heart to play it off or act as though I hadn’t seen it either. 

After the interview eventually finished trending and stopped being posted here, there, and everywhere, I was left with a flow of new followers but also a nightmare of opinions spouting from every corner of the planet on any comment section I had to offer. I forced myself to come off most apps I had downloaded after that and resorted to gaining my daily entertainment, and any real news, from Lottie. Which seemed sad, in retrospect, but honestly? It was more than a little self-serving and I’d even managed to get a shit load of stuff done.

I worked on a couple new songs, sticking to what I did best, but my mind did end up drifting away every so often, back to a conversation I’d had with Mila and Travis at the label a couple days after the media storm had passed. It seemed they all wanted me to try implementing a few new concepts into the music I was currently working on before we started to draw up ideas for the next album. Travis reasoned that even attempting to add a couple freestyles into the motions whilst I went about writing would do me wonders later on. 

I just felt uncomfortable with it all, really. I’d never been a rapper. I mean, I loved it. It was mainly what I’d been brought up on, having grown up in an area where every kid on the estate was either attempting to become the next big thing or just blaring the biggest hits out of their car stereos. But that was just it. I listened and sang along, had even built up an extensive collection which I was immensely proud of, but the label were now aiming for this next album to make it onto a Grammy nominations list. It was all they had been fretting over since I’d somehow managed to chart the last one– although a single number one and an almost throw away making it to number seven didn’t make me all that hopeful. 

Even so, it forced me to wonder how it would all work if I started to switch things up now. I could appreciate all genres but I didn’t wanna become the next hopper just to appease the people yessing me and then fall off.

The entire concept had me confused and so I had taken to keeping my head down for a while longer.

Lottie had headed back to mum’s earlier that morning, seeing as I was due to make an appearance in Paris for Fashion Week, attending the Vogue show alongside Vivienne Westwood. An utter dream, yes, but also still an incredibly daunting reality. Even so, it was something I couldn’t quite worm my way out of even if I had wanted to– see, with that contract there still came clauses.

I’d been prepping for my upcoming early morning flight most of the day, showering later on than anticipated just so that I could pack my case and eat before I eventually climbed into bed. Hoping to somehow get a couple hours kip.

I’d thrown on a robe and kept the speakers blaring once I’d eventually jumped out from under the spray, wet hair curling at the ends as I worked on throwing something quick together in my kitchen.

It wasn't long before I went and took the bowl I’d just made out into the living room with me, simply so that I could curl up on the settee and wrap up the few emails I’d been working on earlier. I was just nodding along and humming to the next song that played through the overhead speakers when my phone started to buzz against my ankle, shooting a funny feeling up through the bone. I was quick to pick it up, wrinkling my nose at the feel and not paying much mind to the caller, figuring it had to be either Mila or Lottie.

“Hello?”

There was a short pause as I shifted the phone against my ear before a voice eventually sounded, “This Elia?”

Frowning, I casted a quick glance at the phone’s screen to find a number with an unfamiliar area code staring back at me. I let my gaze stray on over towards a clock I had hanging on the far wall only to find that it had just gone eight. 

I fumbled for a moment, “Um. It is, can I ask who’s calling?”

A low cough rumbled through the line before the same voice spoke again, I shuffled to set my laptop off to the side on the sofa, brow furrowed. “It’s Em– Marshall.”

Suddenly my head felt so very empty and my mouth was working around words that couldn't seem to find their way out. Em. The Em?? Fucking, Em?

I’d obviously been quiet a beat too long, drowning in the sudden panic that had shrouded me, because he spoke up again, “That Nas playin’?”

I shot a startled glance over my shoulder to where the fancy sound system was installed, the biggest reason I’d gone and purchased the home, in truth, and was immediately reminded of the music I had piercing through the air. Clumsily, I rolled off of the corner of the settee so that I could stumble over to turn the thing off, doing exactly that before I was forced to blink at the sudden silence that greeted me.

I winced and was quick to turn the music back on, keeping it low. All the while I still held my phone close to my chest.

“Uh, yeah. Hi!” I blundered helplessly after a moment, carding a hand through my damp hair as I stared at the empty wall before me stupidly. I wasn’t sure what to say, let alone do. I could sort of wrap my head around the interview, his brief mention of me. But a fucking phone call? It was on another level.

He chuckled though, enough so that I felt myself flush bashfully at my obvious awkwardness and forced my body to move back towards the sofa, if only so that I didn’t have to stand on shaky legs anymore. 

“Hi.” He mimicked, voice low albeit a tad amused.

I smiled. Unable to do anything but, in all honesty, as I lowered myself down onto the cushions, vaguely aware that I should probably be saying something else now that he’d gone and replied, but was simply more than a little caught off guard by everything. 

“Sorry, I– Well, I didn’t expect your call. Or anyones really.” I murmured, trying my best to shake off the nerves that were apparently wreaking havoc on my brain to mouth filter. “I just jumped out of the shower, had yet to turn off the stereo. Sorry.” How many times had I just apologised? I wanted to scream.

“You’re good.” He assured me, voice unlike what I probably would have expected and so I blinked once more at the sound of it, reminded that it was actually him I was talking to. But all that was fluttering through my head was ‘what the fuck are you doing calling me?’ “Nice choice, I gotta say. This an alright time for you to talk? I don’t wanna disturb you much.”

My eyes widened at both the compliment in song choice and well, him. Then withheld another sudden urge to scream, the hand not holding my phone clenching into a tight fist against my chest. “No, no, of course not. I mean, you’re fine! Not disturbing me at all.”

His next reply sounded more than just a little mirthful, “Sure ‘bout that?”

I willed myself to relax and took an inconspicuous breath as I pulled my legs back up under me. “I’m sure.” I told him, laughing lightly at myself for being so socially inept– or maybe it was just this entire scenario I’d been shoved into. “How’d you even get my number anyway?” 

I hadn’t meant for it to sound so forceful or abrupt, but it had been yet another question my sluggish brain hadn’t been able to find an answer to. 

“Mila?” He answered me, and I blinked stupidly at the name. “We had a mutual contact, figured I’d chance askin’ her instead of gettin’ lost in your DM’s. That cool? She said she’d let you know.”

The conniving cow, I thought to myself, though I wouldn’t have put it past her to have reasoned with herself that I would’ve probably freaked out if she had told me beforehand, before then having proceeded to just let my phone ring out whilst I stared pitifully at it. She knew me all too well. 

“She did not.” I replied through a baited breath, “But no, yeah. You’re alright, just caught me off guard is all. You’re probably the last person I expected to call, if I’m being honest here..”

When I heard him laugh once more I grinned, all too pleased with myself. It was a low gruff sound, not deep enough to be sarcastic or ingenuine, but rather warm. It surprised me.

“Oh yeah? Even after everything that’s gone down lately?”

My eyes slipped closed at the instantaneous reminder and I winced. The video. Honestly, in the whirlwind that wasn’t just my life at the moment, but this phone call too, I could have almost forgotten about it.

“I still can’t believe you saw that.”

Marshall let go of another amused huff that I figured to be a chuckle, breathing in deep enough that he forced me to wait on his next words. “I don’t lie. I meant what I said. But tell me, how many drinks d’you have in you?”

I curled my tongue against the back of my teeth in hopes to keep from grinning too hard, feeling a slight sting at the tip. “I was tipsy.” I argued pointlessly, knowing it would be a tireless venture, “I’d only had a couple.”

He hummed, seemingly not convinced.

“It was years ago, too!” I felt the need to tack on, the rosy hue the alcohol had given my cheeks sprung to mind and made me wonder. My face wrinkled as I dragged a helpless hand across it. “Who even sent it to you?”

“A couple people, actually.” Marshall ended up revealing and his words sounded playful enough that I could almost picture the curl of his mouth. “My daughter was one.”

Without thinking my hand flew up towards my mouth and I shook my head as I let it rest against my palm. “You’re not being serious.”

“Dre too.”

I let go of a hissed curse and crumpled a little bit in my seat before laughing stupidly at myself. If I couldn’t talk myself out of this then I supposed I would just have to get over it. I hoped thinking sensibly would allow me to actually follow through on that sentiment, but I very much doubted it.

Marshall laughed again, slow and easy almost as though he’d shared it with me a hundred times before. “I wasn’t kiddin’ neither. ’s why I called.”

Pulling my head from out of my hands, I wet my lower lip, mind promptly flashing back to the clip Lottie had shown me. “What’s that meant to mean?” I asked him, treading cautiously. 

“Listen.” He began, pausing only briefly to inhale before he then added, “I’m workin’ on another album–”

“No.” I interrupted, eyes suddenly wide and alert, “Already?”

A tittered snort followed the disruption but my mind was already reeling. 

“You’re not fucking with me?”

In all honesty I had prepared myself to wait a couple more years for another drop, hoping for him to feature or for someone to send for him if only so that he’d make a track in reply. I’d been obsessed with his recent work, even going as far as to add it onto the tour bus playlist late last year. It had actually been played so much the roadies and the band had threatened to rip the system out. But a new album? Fuck. I hadn’t expected it.

“Who else knows?”

There was a slight click on the other side of the line. Or scuffle. “As of right now? Like six people.”

I swallowed down the understanding that then hit me, but my stomach lurched at the very thought of it. “And I’m one?” I chuckled, holding back the hysterical laughter I felt bubble as my hand fell over my heart, “Wow, I feel honoured, Mathers.” It was teasing, the rib I meant, though my eyes still widened when I realised what I’d gone and said, not wanting him to take it the wrong way. 

I needn’t have worried. 

“As you fuckin’ should be.”

I gave a real laugh at that, almost a full-belly type shit. But could you really blame me? 

I was still smiling as I went to retort, humming with it, “God, you really just went and sprung that shit on me.”

“Hold you to keepin’ it on the low for now.” Marshall said, reminding me how paranoid the press and Hollywood had made him out to be in the past. I wondered how much truth there was in the sentiment. I mean, the man was almost a recluse– not that I could blame him, I was pulled from the same sort of cloth there– but to put a secret like that in my hands? It had to take some amount of faith.

I nodded seriously, even though he couldn’t see the gesture. Seemed he could hear the sincerity in my answer though, “‘Course.” I told him and then chewed on my lower lip for a second before a soft snicker escaped me. “That the only reason you called though? I mean, as honoured as I am to be one of the infamous six, I’m surprised you just phoned to let me in on the know. Have I just been roped into some sort of celeb elitist group? Weird initiation.”

His huffed laugh was breathy and made my mouth twitch that little bit more. 

“Nah. You always this weird though?” Marshall wondered and I bared my teeth in a light grimace, figuring I’d gone too far with that one. Or maybe.. I'd just hit the mark? I snorted lightly at the thought.

“It was an honest question! I’ve heard horror stories.” And wasn’t that the truth, events and parties weren’t all about the awards and just getting trollied. Some of those fuckers were as strange as people could come.

The man clucked his tongue, although I could hear the slight smile in his sarky response. “Uhuh. Sorry to disappoint but nah, initiation starts in the belly of LA. Gotta dissect a virgin and drink Ciroc out of their intestines. Funnel that shit down.”

The snort I gave in turn was ugly and loud enough that it forced a hand to fly up and cover my mouth, but it didn’t appear to bother the rapper none, who chuckled before clearing his throat.

“Change this shit to Facetime.” He said not a second after, swiftly cutting short my absurd amusement. “Then we can talk about the album.”

I fumbled for a moment. “I look a mess.”

“Good thing this ain’t a fuckin’ fashion show then.” He only pressed, “You think I give a shit what you look like right now?”

That struck an odd chord in me for some reason, but I didn’t want to linger much on the feeling. “No. But I do, dickhead. It’s half eight at night, I have sudocrem on my face and I look like a dog off of Lady and the Tramp.”

I was so flustered by the very thought of acquiescing to the man’s demand that I didn’t even think much of the name I’d gone and called him. 

“Again, do I give a shit? And what did you just call me?”

I paused, reeling back to whatever it was I’d just spouted at him. Upon rehashing my words I felt my tongue press between my lips to keep from laughing loudly, if Mila or Lottie had been there I’d already be strung up by a pair of metaphorical balls. 

“You heard me fine.” I brushed it off, if he wanted to call me out of the blue and act all chummy then chummy was what he’d get.

Besides it wasn’t like I’d meant the term maliciously, I used that type of endearment with everybody. Something my manager had tried and failed to force out of me time and time again.

“But back to this whole ‘seeing my mug thing’. Not happening, mate. Why couldn’t you have called like, six hours ago? I looked like an actual person then.”

“Dickhead.” He muttered beneath his breath, barely even loud enough for me to have heard him and I could only guess that he was shaking his head with it, hopefully somewhat amused. “You ain’t an actual person then?” He said in reply, forgoing the name calling for now, “Figures, you give off lizard vibes.”

“Fuck you!” My laugh was sudden, jaw having dropped a tad at the quip. “Lizard vibes, the fuck are you then? And yes, an actual person! You can’t just call people, drop a bomb, and then demand things!”

“Shit typically works.” He quipped all too quickly that it had me shaking my head around another quiet smile of my own. “Just entertain me though, for a moment.”

My head fell back against the arm of the sofa, eyes casted towards the high ceiling which loomed above. I couldn’t quite believe I was actually considering it.

He didn’t even have to goad me before I relented. I huffed, blowing a strand of hair from out of my face as I sat back up, “Fine. Just gimme a sec.” 

He hummed.

Elbowing my way off the settee I skidded over to the closest mirror, dragged a hand through my mostly dried hair and made sure that I didn’t have racoon eyes from any lingering mascara I’d had on before my shower. The patches of sudocrem would have to stay though, I deemed, seeing as he already knew about those. 

I gave up on the preening and sighed as I fell back onto the sofa, thankful for the dim lights the living room offered in that moment. It was just as I was switching the call though that a thought hit me, making me question if the reason he’d asked me to start the Facetime was due to him wanting to give me the option to turn it down or simply because he had no idea how to do it himself. “Still there, old man?”

A scoff echoed into the room before my phone screen stuttered and I was left staring at the sharp lines of his face. It wasn’t like I hadn’t actually believed it was him I was talking to, but seeing the man was another thing altogether. He was a real person and that idea alone had me reeling. 

I wrinkled my nose almost shyly around a smile when that sharp gaze of his slid away from something behind the camera to meet mine. He tilted his head to look me over, the hood of his jumper moving with the motion. 

“I was right about the lizard thing.” Was the only greeting he offered me, jutting his chin out as he feigned all seriousness. 

My mouth dropped open upon hearing him and my tongue quickly flicked out towards a canine to keep from biting back at him. There was humour written in the gesture though, even as I moved to narrow my eyes. “He’s got jokes! Reused ones, I might add, but jokes nonetheless.” I snarked, lifting my eyebrows at him in exaggeration, “Hilarious.”

His mouth curled very, very briefly, but I was quick to work out that it was all in the eyes with him. They held a certain amount of mirth as they flickered over my face. I wondered what he saw. 

“Suits you though. Even with all the…” He waved a hand over his own face, probably referencing the white dots I had littered in a few places.

With a shake of my head I raised a hand to my chest, feigning a fond appreciation for the sardonic comment. “Is that the famous charm the world’s heard so much about then? Really know how to make a girl feel special, Mathers.”

His eyes slitted but still shone with a slight glaze, he hummed deeply in retort. “Best believe it. Why d’you think I’ve gotten divorced twice?”

A low whistle escaped me before I then laughed, eyes squinting with the strength of it. “Figured you might just have a kink for courtrooms.” 

His tongue swept into his cheek at my boldness, fighting back a real smile as he glanced away and then back again. “I’m down bad for a good Judge. Spank me vibes, you know?”

I chuckled outwardly at that, amused by his quick witted replies. But that in itself didn’t surprise me, it was well known just how hilarious the man could be, his stoic demeanour only prodding that revelation further. 

That sternness his face seemed to consistently hold softened though in that next moment and I watched on as he shuffled a little closer to the camera, sat somewhere indoors with enough natural light that he could have only been in his kitchen. It hit me then how wild this whole thing suddenly was. “What’s with the last name anyway?”

I blinked, caught off guard by his ask. “Um,” I fumbled, a slight wrinkle forming between my brow, “What do you mean, me calling you Mathers?”

He hummed and I had to think about it for a second. Ultimately I ended up gifting him a shrug, “Don’t know. Just feels strange to call you Eminem or whatever.” I laughed lightly at myself, hand falling to my knee to toy with a loose thread on the hem of my robe. “What do people usually call you?”

It was his turn to shrug then, his being a singular and fluid motion whereas mine had been more thoughtless. He was watching again though, the wide eyes I was so used to seeing in old interviews where he was always playing a part were now gentler, narrowed sure, but softer and slightly wrinkled at the very edges.

I tugged on the frayed thread, wrapping it around my finger enough to whiten the skin before I had to let it go again. “Is Em okay? Or just Marshall maybe?” I queried, watching him too.

“Whatever you want.” He murmured and it was then that I noticed he’d propped his phone up somewhere in front of him because a pair of hands came to rest at the bottom of the screen just as he pressed further into the counter he was sat at.

I wrung my lips to one side, teeth biting into the inside of my cheek enough to keep from smiling much more than I already was. “Most people call me El or Lia. Elia just started to feel unnatural away from, you know, everyone else.”

It was the worlds now, as well as one of few reasons I had for the stigma I felt around my own name. 

The man jerked his head in a short nod in response whilst his fingers intertwined against a marble countertop. “So we should just slide that into the writin’ credits then? Or you finally gone take me up on that offer of a feature?”

You know that odd feeling you get when you’re on the tube or a plane and so suddenly your ears just pop and there's this ringing sound that floods the single sense? It just happens, out of nowhere, and you blink. So all you can immediately focus on is the sound. The odd feeling of it driving waves deeper and deeper into your skull. And the only way you can recover is by holding your own breath?

That was what that question felt like to me. 

“What?”

His eyes were alight, akin to a low flame of flickering amusement and perhaps hope. “You deaf now too? Know you heard me.”

Of course I fucking heard him but that didn’t mean I understood. “This is for real?”

Finally, he let go of a dulcet chuckle, almost a ringing sound in and of itself. “You gone make me repeat it? You in, or not?”

“How is that even a question?” I breathed back to him, my hand shaking against the hem of my robe. “Yes! God, if I ever say to no to an ask like that you better fucking shoot me. What the fuck, Marshall?”

That chuckle again.

It was unlike anything else, the only sound I could hear around the blood rushing between my ears. Stupidly, I pinched my thigh and released a stuttered breath when the twist of skin radiated a short snap of pain up my leg.

“That the go ahead then?”

I must’ve looked so incredibly starstruck but I couldn’t even bring myself to care, this was unreal. I nodded, almost frantically at him. “Of course that’s the fucking go ahead! Are you sure about this? I mean, I don’t know how much help I’ll be. I mostly write radio shit.”

“Your earlier stuff ain’t.” Em shot back, the quip startling me enough to snap my jaw shut because not a lot of people ever dug that deep. But he continued on before I could think to hone in on the slip, “‘sides, your lyrics are what I fuck with. That shit makes you think, has you lingerin’. Playing with words is the aim, I want people thinkin’, leachin’ onto each syllable and every phrase. You do that.”

The air in my lungs lurched.

I could only offer him one reply, “When do we start?”

[talesofesther]

𝔈𝔠𝔥𝔬𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔞 𝔉𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔢

↳ 𝐂𝐡 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧: 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

Aemond Targaryen x Reader/fem!OC

Series Summary: You made a promise to Aemond once, when you were young and naive, and the only friend he'd ever known; yet you abandoned him before you could fulfill it. Between broken bonds, a betrothal, and flames that still burn deep within you; this is the story of how you fell apart and found each other again.

A/N: This chapter has been long awaited for me ever since I thought of this series, hope you enjoy it. Please let me know what you think. The song that inspired it was this one. <3

Word count: 4,3k

Masterlist | Previous chapter

The Great Hall of the Red Keep was bustling with people; Princes, Princesses, Lords, Ladies, and all nobility in between. All gathered for the feast in celebration of Queen Rhaenyra's new rule. The hall's great oak-and-bronze doors remained open, as did the curtains of the high windows, allowing the hazy moonlight to shine through.

Hundreds of guests sat at the long tables on each side of the Hall, and the Targaryens had their seats on their own table—adorned with a banquet of meals for the night—in front of the Iron Throne. A group of musicians entertained the feast, and the center of the Hall remained free for the dance yet to happen.

After exchanging pleasantries with many boring nobles, and having a glass or two of wine to take you through it, you had taken a step aside to breathe. You leaned back against one of the walls of the Great Hall, watching from a safe and secluded distance as the guests relished in their time within the Red Keep. Plenty of them seemed to teeter on the edge of drunkness already—speaking about their lands and affairs a little louder than they should.

An amused smirk came to you, never having been fond of the royal court, but the drama that came with it would always be mildly entertaining. Alas, the corset of your gown had started constricting your breathing about an hour ago and the expensive fabric of the skirt began itching on your skin. Truthfully, this feast couldn't end soon enough.

"And what's a fine lady such as yourself-" A familiar voice caught your attention quite suddenly, and you watched with narrowed eyes as Aegon approached you with a sly smile and a golden chalice in his hand. "-Doing here all by herself?" The first Prince finished slowly.

Aegon eyed you up and down, causing you to straighten your posture. Aegon's cheeks were flushed, his silver curls were messy, pupils blown, and smile all too loose—unsurprisingly, he was drunk. He stumbled up to you, resting his shoulder on the stone wall close enough for you to smell the wine on his breath.

"Shouldn't you have a certain one-eyed someone keeping you company?" Aegon traced the rim of his chalice with his thumb, half-lidded eyes gleaming under the torch lights. "If you were mine, I would never let you out of my sight," he whispered.

With the side of your eye, you glanced in the direction you knew Aemond to be; still seated beside his mother at the table, with a vacant seat beside him—yours. As you looked at him, you caught a glimpse of him quickly turning his head forward again, averting his gaze.

You took a long and steadying breath, holding it in your lungs for a beat before allowing it to fall from your lips. This was no place to cause a scene—the many voices blending with one another around you and the musicians' tune reminded you as much—even if Prince Aegon seemed eager to taunt you for it.

"Hello to you too, Aegon," you tried a smile, leaning your head to the side as you looked at him, "Are you enjoying yourself tonight?"

"Oh much," he raised his eyebrows, never losing the smirk. "Though I understand if you aren't, we both know my poor brother is hardly the most entertaining to have as one's company." The Prince threw a quick glance Aemond's way as well. He walked closer to you, boldness born from the wine in his system; "I don't blame you… For going away."

You leveled him with a glare when he invaded your space, eyes turning as sharp as a dragon's. "Aemond is one of the few people here worth having around." And you weren't daft, you knew he'd hinted at the years you'd spent away, at Dragonstone. You leaned closer to him, voice low and steady; "And I haven't left, nor do I plan to."

"I was hoping you wouldn't." Aegon expressed in the same breath, one corner of his lips still raised, yet his gaze drifted lower on your face for a moment. "That was quite a show you pulled with my brother at the training yard," he held a pause, eyeing you with amusement, "The day before last."

You hummed, raising a brow.

"Bold," Aegon hushed, twirling the wine on his chalice.

"You were there, then?" You didn't remember seeing Aegon during the rainy day of your sparring with Aemond. But you weren't necessarily paying attention.

"For a bit." The first Prince shrugged. He took a long sip of his wine. "But even if I weren't, all the gossip about it would've been enough."

You refrained from rolling your eyes, glancing aside with pursed lips. No wonder some of the lesser nobles at court had been giving you poorly concealed stares lately, more than you were already used to; you could almost feel their whispers bouncing off your skin at times, another reason for you to prefer the company of your dragon on most days. "People talk too much, unnecessarily so." You focused back to Aegon, only to notice he'd come closer.

"Congratulations on the betrothal, by the way." He spoke only for you, as if it was still a secret, "I was most pleased to hear you'll be joining the family."

You scoffed. The only thing between you and him was the chalice of wine Aegon still had in his hand, and you were lucky most people had diverted their attention to the dance that had just begun in the center of the Great Hall. "I thank you, my Prince," you spoke pointedly, more in jest than anything else.

A low chuckle came from Aegon, he had his lips parted, tongue between his teeth; "Know that, if you ever grow bored of my dear brother… My door is always unlocked for you." It was all sultry and suggestive, like he knew he went over the line and was enjoying every minute of it, almost as if instigating a reaction; "Gods know you're too good for-"

And Aegon earned his prize when you cut him off by taking a fistful of his robes and forcefully turning him around, slamming his back onto the stone wall. A grunt escaped the Prince, the wine of his chalice spilling onto his fingers in a deep burgundy stain.

"Have a care on how you speak of my betrothed, Aegon." You all but growled at him, nearly ripping the fabric of his clothes with how tight you bunched it in your hands. "Or, may the gods help me, I ought to turn this feast into a funeral."

"Ah, so fierce." The first Prince's words were something breathless and bordering on needy, coming with a smirk and an eager chuckle from the back of his throat.

You shook your head at him, berating yourself for allowing him to get under your skin, and the look on your face only invited Aegon to lean closer, despite your hold on him. And if he leans closer still, his nose might touch yours. You wondered if that's what he wanted all along. He kept his hands to himself, but there was something all too telling about how he didn't try to get you off him.

"I have-" He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, gaze trailing down on your face, "Missed that fire of yours."

You raised a brow at Aegon. And amidst the music, the smell of scented candles, and the loud voices of the nobles; you leaned closer, innocent tilt to your lips while you held his gaze until you couldn't anymore, until those same lips brushed against the shell of his ear. "Go out, Aegon," you whispered to him, feeling a tingle of satisfaction when you heard him groan, "To the balconies." Pulling back, you took hold of both his cheeks with one hand. A harsh grip that made him wince.

"You're too far gone on your cups. Go and get some fresh air, before you force me to ruin everyone's night," You hissed between your teeth, pushing the first Prince aside as he pouted on your hold.

Aegon lingered only for a moment longer, from the corner of your eyes you could notice him bringing one hand to his face. "Yes ma'am." He downed the last of his drink, and with a clumsy curtsy to you, he was finally walking away.

The last thing you needed was to give the ladies at court more reasons to gossip about you, but Aegon had been a rock in your shoe ever since the days you'd run after him with a sword whenever he pranked his younger brother when you were children. He'd been insufferable then and you were less than pleased to know he'd apparently grown bolder. But then, so had you.

You turned back to look at Aemond and a long sigh of relief left your lungs when you saw him enthralled in a conversation with his mother, still seated at the table—good, there was no need for him to trouble himself with his brother tonight. You smoothed down the fabric of your gown and made your way back to your seat beside your betrothed.

Daemon caught your eye as you sat back down, he gave you a small smile, which you returned. The rogue Prince then extended a hand to his wife, the Queen. And you watched as she took it with a bashful smile before being led to the center of the Great Hall—they fell into a rhythm easily, following the melody as they danced.

It didn't take long for Aemond's attention to divert back to you when he felt your presence return to his side. He had a strong grip on his chalice of wine, knuckles white, but it loosened when you met his stare with a tight-lipped smile.

The Prince had been incessantly tapping his fingers on the table for the past fifteen minutes. Partly because he'd seen you with Aegon, partly because he was all too aware of the couples dancing in front of him.

The musicians' song was a slow one, dominated by a soft violin tune. The dance being shared looked nothing short of intimate, every Lord within the Keep had taken his Lady's hand when the melody began.

Distant telltales of the pain behind Aemond's eyepatch lingered. He worried that the headache might return at any point in the night. A few loud voices here and there had already made him wince and grit his teeth. He'd refrained from eating too much; the pain had been bothering him all day, making him less than inclined to put food in his stomach. But there was a nagging in his chest, like longing mixed with something bitter that wouldn't go away, and it grew stronger when the Prince spotted you with his brother.

You were his, after all—the one thing he couldn't allow Aegon to take from him.

Aemond cleared his throat, turning to face you. He was not meant to be a husband, for how could he ever be a good one? There was no gentleness in his life, the only love he'd ever known had been conditional; he didn't know how to do it. Aemond extended his hand to you, anyway.

"My lady," Aemond's voice was timid and hushed. He only looked up at you after a beat of hesitation. "Would you do me the honor?”

Within the most vulnerable parts of his heart, the Prince still hoped to win your affections, even if sometimes he thought himself a fool for it—you and he were stuck in a betrothal born out of duty, after all. With seven years cutting through what you once were. During these very moments with you that Aemond treasured so much, he couldn't help but feel a chill in his stomach.

The question caught you off guard even if it shouldn't have. Every Lord and their Lady-wife participated in the dance, so it would only be proper for you and your betrothed to join, as well. Aemond was performing his duty, that's all. But your mouth turned dry, and you struggled to find words. "The- the honor would be mine, my Prince."

You placed your hand upon Aemond's, his fingers closing around yours all too carefully, and he led you to the center of the Great Hall. "Was my brother bothering you, my Lady?" He couldn't keep himself from asking.

Aemond was more than capable of guiding you through this dance with his eye closed, and yet he faltered, only placing his other hand at your waist when you gently took hold of his arm and secured it there. Once he felt the curves of your body under his hand, however, his hold became steady and strong—nigh possessive. It sent goosebumps down your spine that you tried to mask.

"I'm afraid I'm well used to your brother's antics." You analyzed your surroundings, feeling oddly exposed even if you were amidst many other nobles. You kept your hold on one of Aemond's hands, placing your other hand on his shoulder. With your chest close to his, your breath ran shallow. "Nothing I haven't dealt with before, luckily he remains easy." With a shrug, you shifted your gaze forward, meeting the eye of your betrothed.

Aemond's attention on you shifted, he peered around as well. Maids whispered in each other's ears, noble ladies looked upon his hand holding you with a look akin to scandal, and Lords followed the sway of your hair hungrily. Everyone was looking. Everyone whispering about the second Prince's new betrothed.

"Hey." You stole back his attention, and he felt his destructive thoughts quieting down. The smile you wore was soft and kind, and it was for him.

"Focus on me," you breathed. And Aemond gladly would.

There was a small curl of your hair that had caught on one of your earrings. Aemond's eye slowly traveled your face until he saw it. The Prince raised his hand for a moment, only so he could delicately pull it free—his touch so careful you barely felt it when the tip of his fingers grazed your cheek—and then his hand settled back on your waist. You held your breath the entire time.

"I remember well." Aemond had the ghost of a smile that he tried to hide. "Aegon has always been intimidated by you." The Prince twirled you then, a steady motion that got your gown dancing around your frame, and then brought you right back into his arms.

The two of you fell into a rhythm together, as easy as breathing. Your bodies moved in synch with each other, as if you knew the movement the other would make before it even happened. At one point your fingers intertwined with Aemond's, fitting between one another as if they belonged. Your swaying along the expanse of the Great Hall slowed down to something more intimate, even more so than the soft melody of the musicians.

A trembled breath left Aemond's lips, his eye searched your face for something—and he must've found it, because you felt his hand at your waist close more firmly around you, the tips of his fingers traced your spine and he pulled you closer to himself. You in turn moved your hold on his shoulder to the back of his neck, hand disappearing beneath his long hair.

Aemond seemed caught in a trance, the color of his iris barely visible, only a small ring around the blown pupil. His lips were parted, something a little unsure, nervous. But he was close, so close. You could count each faded freckle, each twist and turn of the scar on his cheek.

There was something entirely too magical about Aemond. Too princely, as cliche as that may be. His pin-straight silver hair framed his face, you couldn't help but notice how wisps of it escaped over the strap of his eyepatch as well—once again you stopped yourself from reaching over, from tucking it behind his ear and allowing your touch to wander. He belonged in a castle, he belonged in royalty, you decided. For seeing Aemond under the fire of the chandelier as his careful hands guided you through a slow dance—bodies close, all intimate and tender—was bewitching.

You couldn't know who did it. Perhaps you met together in the middle. But you and Aemond swayed to a soft melody, hands interlocked, as your foreheads came to rest against one another. His nose bumped yours and you could see through your lashes how he closed his eye and leaned closer still.

And Aemond breathed you in, inebriated in the feeling of you. Your perfume was all-encompassing, your touch as warm as dragonfire, your breath fanning over his lips; he wanted you in his arms forevermore. The feeling all too foreign to him, yet he couldn't have enough of it.

Could duty ever evoke such a moment?

Was the question you distantly asked yourself. Right now, hands shaking for being a breath away from touching his lips with yours; you couldn't know the answer.

What felt like hours, lasted maybe a minute or two. Aemond pulled away, ever so slowly, almost as if it pained him to do so, and so you did the same. The look on your Prince's face was nearly unreadable, but not for the lack of emotion, rather for the overflowing of it. Aemond's eye glinted under the firelight. He looked very pale and very nervous, and a little… hopeful.

You were sure your face mirrored his.

"Why-" Your voice stumbled, a little breathless "Why is that, do you think?" You squeezed Aemond's hand out of instinct.

Your words gave him pause. Aemond opened and closed his mouth as he willed his hazy mind to catch up and remember what it was you were speaking about. A difficult task, all he could focus on was you—your perfume, your closeness, the outlines of your face highlighted in golden hues—you. "I uh-" He gulped, glancing away for a beat and two, to allow himself some respite, "You have an effect on people."

Blinking at his response, you were about to ask what he meant by it when Aemond ducked his head with a sharp intake of air. His brows scrunched and he let go of your waist to bring his hand to his face, over his eyepatch.

Aemond gave an involuntary grunt when his eye socket started throbbing, instantly bringing back the heavy headache surrounding his scar. it came suddenly, the once dull pain he'd managed to keep on the back of his mind now had each of his nerve endings burning. At the same time that the pain kept him from opening his one good eye, the skin around his scar felt numb and warm to the touch. It was the last thing the Prince wanted, his heart bled in his chest at the thought of ruining your night with his burden.

"Aemond?" Your gentle voice came almost like a soothing kiss over his pain. "Is something wrong? Are you alright?" You worried.

"Yes," Aemond forced out, heavy blinks getting his eye open again even if his sight blurred at the edges and blended with the warm lighting of the Hall. The Prince felt nauseous at the nearly unbearable pain, he could feel his face twitching and turned his head aside and away from your increasingly concerned gaze. "All is… well."

Only a fool would believe him. Aemond had turned tense, his face constricted in a weird way while he nearly crushed your fingers with his grip. "Are you… certain?" Yet you knew better than to call him out blatantly. If Aemond wanted to keep something to himself, he would, no matter what you did.

A breath stumbled past his lips, and Aemond cleared his throat, stalling his answer.

"Why don't we-" You paused, regarding him with unbridled worry and a heavy heart, "Why don't we step aside for a while? I can grab us something to drink."

Aemond nodded. "Okay." His voice was quieter than he'd wanted it to be.

You didn't let go of his hand as you dragged him aside, away from the commotion. You were not sure of what he was feeling, but you were almost certain that it was the same thing that had bothered him during the coronation ceremony. It wasn't your place to demand answers, not yet, but you wished he'd be truthful with you. You wished he'd allow himself to be helped.

Aemond's hold of your hand was a tight one, you weren't sure he even realized he did it. You held his hand between both of yours when you stopped just beside the long wooden table you'd been seated before. Running your thumb over his knuckles, hoping to calm him. It didn't do much.

"Forgive me, I-" The Prince refrained from looking you in the eyes, shame weighed heavy in his stomach. His lower lip wobbled with each of the heavy breaths he took. Clouded by pain, Aemond's mind conjured up punishing questions; what if this makes you leave his side again? What if you decide that someone as imperfect as he is not deserving of you?

"Don't fret," you spoke in the same beat, bringing him back to you—always bringing him back. "I was already going to suggest we stop for a glass of wine."

Pursing his lips, Aemond gulped. He mourned the wish of dancing with you until the first rays of sun peeked over the horizon. Aemond's nostrils flared with anger—if he weren't so weak, if he hadn't had his eye cut out, if he wasn't so damaged; he wouldn't have to end your night so suddenly.

"I'll be back in just a minute, alright?" You tried finding his gaze, leaning slightly closer, but couldn't.

Aemond grew restless at the idea of letting go of your hand, like it was a lifeline keeping him afloat—the thought of you leaving him again scared him more than he'd ever want to admit, it made his heart jump into his mouth, and turned his insides as cold as the north's winter. The past seven years might've left a deeper scar than the one on his face. But he did so anyway. It wasn't your burden to bear. He managed a crooked smile for you, the silver strands of his hair bouncing gently as he nodded.

The Prince watched your retreating figure, his eye following you as you reached the long table amidst the crowd and filled one chalice with wine and the other with water. There was something alluring about the way the light of the candles bounced off the embellishments of your dress, how it made your skin glow. Aemond wanted to keep that image of you with him forever, sewn neatly on the tapestries of his mind. He wished to remember this night like this; dancing with you under the golden lights, your hand in his, your eyes on him, your smile for him. And not by the pain that now left a nauseating twist to his barely filled stomach, that blurred his sight at the edges and tarnished the image of you.

Aemond wanted to keep the precious memory for what it was. And so he turned around, and left.

You held the two chalices in your hands. One with wine for you, and the other with water for Aemond. He seemed distressed, that much was clear, you'd noticed the skin around his scar spasming at the same time he'd wince—you'd figured wine wouldn't help with that.

However, a Lord with a fat belly that you didn't know the name of, thought now would be the perfect time to tell you about his lands and fortunes back home. You remained polite as his annoying voice rang into your ears, smiling rather awkwardly while slowly taking a few steps away.

"That is delightful, my Lord. Surely your vineyards are a sight to behold. But I really must-"

"Do fly to our land sometime, my lady. I have all the means necessary to build a formidable Dragonpit." The old Lord gloated, stuffing his chest where his brown beard lay.

"I uh-" Something between a chuckle and a groan escaped you, "I will… keep that in mind. But now I really should be going back to my husband." The word left your mouth before you could think better of it. And you surprised yourself by liking the shape of it on your tongue, when the person behind the title was Aemond.

The Lord, however, deflated in his pride after you spoke. He grumbled something under his breath before saying, "Be well, fair lady."

You didn't waste another second before turning on your heels and sped walking to the other side of the Great Hall, a huff of relief falling past your lips. You stopped at the same spot you'd left your Prince, but there was no sign of him. Turning your head left, and then right, and then back and again. You couldn't spot him.

There was a deep frown crinkling your features and a strange sense of emptiness inside your chest. You spotted Jace then, popping an olive into his mouth as he took a break from his dance with Baela.

"Jace," you called, stepping up to him. The young Prince turned to you with his mouth full but still sporting a smile. "Hey, have you seen Aemond? I lost sight of him." You looked over the bustling Hall again for good measure, but to no avail.

"Oh yeah, I did actually," Jace spoke after he'd swallowed his food, he gestured to the main oak-and-bronze doors, "He left."

You blinked, mouth agape as you looked from Jace, to the doors, and back to Jace. "What- what do you mean?" No—you tried believing—Aemond wouldn't simply leave your side without any regard, he was your partner for the night, your betrothed.

The Velaryon boy shrugged. His features were sympathetic, if a little lost. "He just left."

You nodded hesitantly, pointer finger tapping the rim of one of the chalices.

He just left.

What if duty was all there was, after all?

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Next chapter will be out soon.

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Thank you for reading this chapter. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

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[richeeduvie]

Birds of a Feather || PART TWO

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

TWO: Take It From The Top Darkish!Aaron Hotchner x Reader

-- PART ONE -- RICHEEDUVIE'S MASTERLIST --

How you got onto the team. When it was over for him, and as tragedies and love stories go, it's always at the beginning. Aaron knew it even then, the way he was thinking about this woman who he just met - the way his head twisted slight attraction into...not so much more. Aaron can always convince himself, for the sake of you and team and his mind, that it's nothing at all.

But this is only the beginning, even then, he knew it was going to get worse as the months went on.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

5K WORDS

WARNING: Same as Part One. Slow burn? Mentions of death, violence, things of a graphic nature. Criminal minds stuff. pre-Jealous, possessive, and overprotective Hotchner. Entitled behavior. Toxic thought process, not behavior and relationships yet. OC!Hotch sorta cause I don't think he'd turn into this crazy of a person, but reader's just that hot lol. More tags to come maybe cause Hotch is only going to get worse. Maybe reader POV next part?

BCS AND SUCC SUCC GIRLIES I'M SORRY MY MOM IS MAKING ME REWATCH CRIMINAL MINDS AND SHE'S JUST GOTTEN SURGERY, YOU CAN'T BLAME A WOMAN WHO HAS GOTTEN SURGERY...You should be thinking Hotch Daddy any writing motivates me to write about Princesa chugging Lalo's cock down her throat, or a mewling Roman.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

Six Months Earlier. Following The Day You Met The Team.

As you got around to reading about him, Hotch got around to reading about you in his hotel room, just an hour and a half away from his actual home. It was easier to ignore the way you looked in the station, the bright ray of life that was searing in your smile. It was also too easy to ignore how ridiculous it is to feel that way about a person, a young woman he just met. 

But the others saw it too. 

It didn’t take an FBI profiler to know that you have a habit of…brightening the world around you. When he didn’t know you all that well, it was a fact. Barely interesting at most. There isn’t a need for, and yes, it’s a juvenile description, but a bubbly person…bubbling when three women are dead and there’s supposed to be two more on the way. But it doesn’t take away from anything, the same way Garcia’s demeanor never takes away the fact that she gets the job done every time. 

It didn't take FBI agents to see what you were. Young, bright, and extremely talented when it came to your work. An ebullient woman at her most nervous. You were there helping them and in that, he saw his team become bright themselves under the way you spoke. Even when you curse a bit too much under your breath, the one thing they would learn goes against your wholesomeness, things like that and your general self-deprecation, your inward agitation, they all found it endearing. 

Aaron would not. He would not find anything platonically endearing as much as he did not find those sorts of things attractively endearing. But maybe now, it’s those things he takes as reason to see you as a person to protect, to shelter. 

In the six months he’s had you on the team, you’ve proven you’re more than capable of protecting yourself, that a bubbly, kind personality doesn’t mean defenselessness. With time passing, Aaron has slowly cared less and less about attempting not to see you as the opposite for his own selfish reasons. 

But if they’re there, he doesn’t know what the reasons are. If he can’t, isn’t it more likely for you to be more defenseless and in need of safety than you seem? But it shouldn’t matter, either way. He won’t do anything with it. 

Won’t act on anything. 

A profile (which is what people call them actually, he's sure) in the New Yorker is objectively impressive. Aaron can't beat around that. 

It was bare when it came to the personal aspects of your life, nothing much outside of your self-subsistent career. At the time, it felt disrespectful of a talented, well-meaning and investigative stranger to press thought onto the parts that detailed questions and paragraphs of your familial issues with your previous partner, family in general - bits of it went into questioning on how it affected your career, your desire to help people, even your obvious and innate skill on empathic investigation. Aaron wished he could say there was no reason to ask those questions. With morals? There was every reason not to go there, but in his career, he makes those relations day after day. 

No, he did not press on it. 

Name, age. A more detailed version of what you gave when you met the team. He did not press thought onto the little personal aspects that were given.  

‘In scribblings on blogs and smaller articles, there’s always the implication that the reason why Girl Sherlock is so motivated within her work is that said motivation is a result of her past issues surrounding her family, particularly with her father and ex-boyfriend, Anthony. When pushed on this, the young investigator makes sure to make no comment of substance.’ 

“There’s nothing there that would help people realize who I am and why I do what I do.” 

‘Out of respect, I do not ask further. Out of the need for the truth, more in-depth research done after the actual interview leads to records of her parent’s divorce papers. Family-wise, there is not much information that can be found besides the separation of the mother and father. But, it’s the multiple domestic violence charges against Anthony Bogosian that bring concern. There was no conviction. Though the assumption is that the general audience of her work as well as this profile is an audience not made up of private profilers, it doesn’t take much to assume that if Girl Sherlock was the recipient of abuse, it would explain why she especially takes to cases of a domestic nature.’ 

The actual day, the first one with you went smoothly. There would not be a chance where the team didn’t make a comment on you the moment you left the room. 

“I lost my red-bottom heel at a bar called Charm’s Chamber when I was twenty-six.” 

“I’m not that much older, but when I was twent-” 

“We know which degree you finished earning while at the BAU when you were her age, Reid.” 

Reid went silent after Emily’s needed interruption. 

“Three serial killers. Or…what she thought was three at first, doing all that? Bringing this here?” Derek’s leanback was a gesture to the table, the files. “It’s crazy, and were these all cases the FBI rejected?” 

Aaron saw the way J.J’s eyes and its blue shift were a flinch in a way. He didn’t blink as he stood to look at the board. “There were cases I thought took priority, I mean…I remember the Wyoming Skinner but we had-I mean…I don’t know how we, I didn’t go back on it-” 

“It’s not your fault, don’t dwell on it.” 

He could imagine J.J looking at him. “Yeah, J.J. I didn’t mean to call you out. It’s not your fault there’s too many psychos across the states, we’ve seen it. But I don’t know how I haven’t heard of her, a private investigator can have their hits, I know some who were former feds but this? I was reading up on her-” 

“Me too.” 

“I already knew.” 

“It’s crazy, man. It’s a real help anyway. But a big accusation, one killer with three northern state personas - with different signatures. But she explained.” 

That you did. Well and nervous. Aaron could see how you took Rossi’s word, but the bite of your lips, the slow-down of your fingers tapping unevenly on the table. 

“You can take it slow.” 

Rossi’s compassion for his team has always worked better than his spitefulness towards an unsub.

He turned away from the board. Then they were looking at you just outside of the station, on the ground squatting in search of a hairclip. 

“She explained.” 

He still doesn’t understand how you could’ve been so caught up in looking for it. And Aaron didn’t know the team thought he was going to say more. 

“...Hotch?” 

He turned away. 

They were all just looking at him. 

“But Morgan’s right, it is a big accusation. I think we’ll have to find more substantial evidence that can prove it could be the same unsub. I already have Garcia working on similar cases in Ohio and Montana in general, more vague research. We have to start big.” 

He turned back, your hair was falling over. He didn’t sigh, but he felt like he should’ve. You were getting your hands dirty.

“Should somebody help her?” 

It was Morgan again. 

“I’ll go, I’ve been meaning to ask her what she meant when she described her investigative method as ‘interpreting the evidence’.” 

Reid went quickly, leaving his messenger bag behind. Aaron turned back to the group, he watched Emily and she shuffled through the files. 

“Well, even though I think she meant her method was a glorified version of profiling, it’s all impressive. I mean…this is, I don’t mean to fawn…we’ve had good men and women in stations all over who knew how to do their job and do it more than well but she’s done all of this alone and she does it as if it’s a door-to-door salesman sort of deal.” 

Emily put that slight and dragging emphasis on every sixth to seventh word as she leaned over the table. 

He remembers thinking then, that maybe he did press a little. Aaron thought that Garcia most definitely could’ve done a better job finding out about your life than that New Yorker journalist could’ve done about you. 

“It’s obvious she’s very skilled. But we haven’t seen her out in the field.” 

There was silence that he didn’t know meant something, Rossi’s eyes meeting Morgan’s. J.J’s meeting Prentiss’s.

“Out in the field? I don’t think she’s even been out in the field, she’s a talented investigator with what looks to be a budget of seventy dollars, not an official agent in training.” 

Aaron pressed his middle finger to the tip of his thumb, eyes unblinking at Rossi leaned back in his chair. 

“Are we taking her out for investigational interviews…or to wherever the unsub drops the next victim if he has a chance?” 

They were all staring at him. Again. To him. 

“If she came out from San Diego to be here and if she’s been allowed on three cases where victims were being skinned, decapitated, brutalized, then there shouldn’t be the assumption she can’t handle what we’ll find here. She’s come here to make a stretched accusation, she’ll make herself useful. 

It came out harsher than expected. Not in tone, every word is punctual, calm as Aaron makes them, maybe slightly lower. But the words themselves were nearly demeaning. He didn’t know why. There was nothing about your cheerful, bloomed nature that he came to resent yet. Maybe it was how Hotch himself came to be, a man already cold and colder and closed off due to everything and everything, so a beautiful woman who smiled too much, who managed to get Doctor Spencer Reid on the concrete was someone his brain immediately chose to be more cautious around. Showing any other personality that wasn’t stoic, but not unkind would not be suitable. 

Maybe his subconscious was already trying to save himself from the beginning. 

“There goes his germophobia.” 

“It doesn’t take a lot to get a man doing something he’d never think to do for a woman he thinks is pretty.” 

Prentiss scoffed, arms crossed with a stare on Morgan. “He’s known her for twenty minutes.” 

“It usually takes less.” 

The women of the team shook their heads, a humorous and semi-truth from Rossi that Hotch guessed they agreed with, but Prentiss’s head gestured towards the station’s door. “She’s…bubbly. With the mouth of a sailor.” 

His exact description. He followed her stare to the doorway, Reid was there. He couldn’t fault the younger agent on his team for thinking you were pretty. It was amusing as well, to see Reid with his knees digging into the concrete. Good exercise for him, really - and it was even more amusing to see him so readily open…almost in admiration for Girl Sherlock. 

When Hotch thinks of this memory, it’s near-guilt. What he felt at the sight of you and you and Spencer was humorous amusement, it didn't feel that way. 

There’s less near-guilt when he feels like he should blame you. 

“Let’s move before she loses something else.” 

Aaron didn’t mean it as a joke, but with the way he saw the team react, it’s like he did - which usually when he does, they always act as if it’s the first time he’s ever made one. But they went, Rossi pulling on Reid’s ear on the way out. 

A smile from you to each profiled passing by, a clip now in your hair. 

Why couldn’t he look away?

A smile up at him. 

“Are you willing to come with us to the dumpsite?” 

Eyes widening and the smile up at him. A pretty girl who has nothing to smile about, but it was exciting to you, he guesses. Aaron can’t remember if it was ever exciting to him, the means of the job were always just a duty, even when he was younger. 

“Yes, I’d be honored - or…not…it’s dumpsite so not particularly excited that it’s happening, but-” 

“You’ll take the car with me and Rossi.” 

You nodded. “Yes, sir.” 

And like the stereotypical mimicry that exists when you stand in front of someone so open - objectively attractive, he nodded too. 

His eyes flickered. 

“Hotch…or Hotchner will do. But if you’re used to sir, I can’t stop you.” 

That was the first time he talked to you outside of when you met him. It was met with another smile. 

“No figure of authority has ever been able to stop me.” 

Hotch was sure you meant that to be a joke, and he gave it to you. It was funny. You’re a funny girl. You know how to light the room up even without an intentional joke, which you might find a negative - when your cursing or stumbled ramblings end in someone else’s laughter. But it’s not, it could never be. He’s sorry enough that he doesn’t give in more often, nothing more than a small, sly smile. 

Like the one he gave then.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

Aaron flexed his hand in the hotel bed, it was 2:12am. In a few days, you were found to be right about the killers being a singular monster. One for no particular reason other than a dangerous mix of sadism and psychopathy. A man born in Montana who traveled the northern states for his job, and with each state - five women were to be killed. In all the Northern U.S states. Every single one. 

There was difficulty in finding him to be that one unsub because in his words….in his words, 

“I wanted to, I could. I did.” 

Michael Bakalova. The Akron Phantom, the Wyoming Skinner, the Northwind Killer. When the news broke of his capture, the outlets named him the North American Butcher. Those were names Hotch didn’t want to remember, he was to go against the news cycle and the grain and remember his victims because he knows there’s more outside of what they found. But he thought of Michael Bakalova and what he said when they caught him. 

Those women weren’t surrogates, not one was a target of his rage for a reason other than he wanted to, he could. He did. But in the brutality, there wasn’t any rage, no. 

Pure satisfaction, bliss. It’s what Aaron couldn’t find even after they caught him. But they found that sort of reaction in the kills with you at the station, team in a circle. Penelope on the screen. 

“I see we’re just letting any cutie waltz right into a case, huh?” 

“Garcia.” 

“Sorry, sorry, Boss! I’m Penelope.” 

“What did you find?” 

Aaron doesn’t know when he doesn’t have his arms crossed or straight at his sides. But you were there before you went to look for that clip of yours and your eyes would meet his. And Aaron…he’s lucky enough that he feels that it’s absurd that he prides himself in the way he doesn’t bash and turn away like a schoolboy. That pride acknowledges there’s something in his hands and chest when he looks at you, and feels it’s absurd is self-awareness. 

You always turn away first. He won’t ever be the first one to look away. 

“I like your pink pen edging into view.”

“She has a similar one.” 

They looked to him. You looked to him, eyes wide and bright. That’s all you, you can’t force that type of light to shine. Heaven knows he tried with Haley, for her. To let up on his serious nature, it was easier earlier in their relationship, it’s easy with Jack. But you make figurative gleaming seem like there’s nothing to it. 

But sometimes, in the dark, Aaron thinks about you and realizes that the light can’t be figurative, that he sees it on your skin and through your clothes. In your smile, it’s why he can’t look away. 

“...I didn’t pull that one out.” 

The fluffy blue pen that hid in your bag, Aaron could make the deduction that you, already nervous and having presumably little experience with federal agencies and this area of professionalism, that that pen would not be suitable, it would demean you by looks alone. And he doesn’t know why…to put it objectively, called you out. 

“It’s peeking out of your bag.” 

But Garcia’s presence let you know a pen that’s fluffy is more than okay. And…Aaron wanted that out of his presence too, though he still thinks that’s unnatural. It’s not possible when you’re you in the saw and he’s him in crossed arms. 

“Sir…I don’t know how to respond to that, because that has never happened before - so yes, what I’ve found-” 

Moth to a flame, bird into the sun. Something he’ll forget he thought about himself to convince himself that there are no feelings. There is nothing different about you. 

Michael Bakalova and his names and names made Aaron’s chest break back against his lungs every time he took a breath, it made him feel like he would drown in the sheets - but then he’d flex his hand and unfortunately, a breath would let up when the movement would trigger the memory of helping you over a step. 

“Thank you, Sir Hotchner.” 

It wasn’t a joke, you brought your voice to a lower tone. You meant to call him that with maturity. 

Amusing girl. 

Soft hands, kind squeezes so carefully that Aaron can assume that you think you’ll somehow hurt him. That’s not possible. Not just because you’re you, but he’s him…

What could you do that’d hurt him? Nothing, he’s sure. Maybe if he could think of things, he wouldn’t view you as defenseless as he does. But Aaron knows he’s wrong in that too. 

They couldn’t have done it without you. Ignoring the unfortunate name Girl Sherlock, you were extremely talented. Are. But then, to see you in your element and in the field. You were natural within the investigative questioning when it came to people relevant to the victims. The questions and insights you had at the dumpsites (Talent and passion didn’t defeat the fact they needed Michael Bakalova to kill another victim while they were on the case to find him, it never does). 

You were amazing. And the sun shined down on you well. You take light in well. 

“You can take off that coat.” 

He didn’t see the way Rossi’s head tilted his way, eyes slightly smaller. A thought growing in smugness. You smiled.

Aaron looked at the grass under his shoe, there was mud on leather. There was dirt on your knees. Why are you getting yourself dirty when you don’t have to? What’s so important about a clip that you brown the softness of your hands? Where did you learn that that was okay? That it was okay to take the help of strangers? Reid, a good, overzealous and well-meaning stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. 

He stared right into you, unsmiling. His suggestion was genuine and unhumorous, but you brightened under the sun nonetheless. 

“It’s cold. That’s Virginia's fault. Not mine. But thank you. And this, obviously it’s miles - across state lines but I’m telling you, if you look at the dumpsites in Wyoming, Ohio, and Montana. It’s nearly the same. Country-like backroads. They’re all distant from each other, but it’s an area he feels comfortable in. That couldn’t be just chance.” 

“But change in signature, that means we need to make up for that assumption with more evidence.” 

His head followed yours as you looked around. 

“It has breaks in between, there’s no physical evidence to say he’s just picking a method of kill and torture to have fun with it…but it’s not like it’s different with each victim. Five decapitated one state, five skinned in another.” 

You were looking towards a tree, and it would’ve only been you to know that that tree made a difference, you were there three states before. 

“What is it?” 

“..I’ll be back.” 

He remembers the way he and Rossi looked at each other while you were off with a confused-looking police officer. 

“So this is what Arthur Conan Doyle was going on about.” 

“Dave.” 

“Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Sorry, Sir Hotchner.” 

Aaron nearly glared. Rossi and him slowly made their way towards you. 

“Think of it, we’re Scotland Yard. Have you talked to her officially? Besides when she greeted us and when you asked her to come with us.” 

“What do you think there is to talk to her about? Officially and alone?” 

“I don’t know, I think she’s an interesting case. I like her, she’d be a good fit. Reid can give you a detailed recommendation, apparently.” 

“It’s a lot, and she’s just a consultant. We’ve had those before, she is…unique. It’s admirable, but it’s a stretched suggestion.” 

“You’ve used that word twice today, and I do understand. But I don’t know why you would say it as if you haven’t been observing her like this case is her pre-BAU assessment.” 

Aaron stepped over a leaf. “Have you taken to her, David?” 

“...Wouldn’t hurt to have another nice newbie agent around. Work on the lectures and lessons through someone who needs it.” 

“You mean a fan?” 

“Oh, she knows you too. Remember?” 

He wouldn’t indulge Rossi with a slight smile and softening on a brow with that one as they met up with you. 

“Before I ramble on again, I apologize for the rambling and the murder exposition vomit back at the station. I don’t mean to toot my own horn - or use the word toot but I am proud of my work…but you guys are the agents, I could’ve just thrown you the papers and you would’ve gotten here with me.” 

“Nevermind that, kid. We’ve had worse. Speaking of which, if Reid comes at you again with his tangents, don’t be afraid to tell him to stop. Or walk away.” 

Aaron remembered Reid’s ramblings, ones that were fascinating, not in topic - but to see Spencer believe you’d be interested in what he had to say, another person around his age with interests he knew…from your online, blogging persona. The team saw you. 

“Nightmare on Elm Street was actually inspired by Wes Craven reading the news. Throughout 1981, the Los Angeles Times ran a series of articles about otherwise healthy Laotian refugees who had mysteriously died in their sleep, apparently after experiencing violent nightmares-” 

“Reid.” 

He saw you. 

Of course, he didn’t give you a gun and let you on a chase through streets for a serial killer even though he’s sure Rossi would’ve let you if given the chance. 

He didn’t let you anywhere near Michael when it came down to catching him. And that was right, what he said gave him reason to let you on a plane back to San Diego, despite the team’s (Rossi’s knowing eyes, Reid not so obvious obvious platonic gushings over you) want to let you have at the BAU, despite Hotch himself knowing if he give someone a chance, it’d be you. But Hotch tries to forget about what he said, because he didn’t let you go home to San Diego. And he’s finding himself more of a fool every time he convinces himself that it was for the team. 

It was for the team. 

But the one who brought the case together for the team sat at the police station, waiting patiently to see if the case she worked so hard on for months, through victims and victim’s parents, loved ones. 

“It’s over?” 

He nodded. 

“It’s over.”

And in the fluorescent lights of the station, he saw your smile as he did and has and will a thousand times over. But it wasn't genuine. The cases you worked so hard on, the passion you put in to bring families closure - not out of government duty with a team that’s family, but instead alone…there was no closure for you. You weren’t satisfied. 

You were like them at the end of every other case. 

“I have to stop through Wyoming. And Ohio. And Montana. I need to tell those families in person, they’ve probably already caught the news but…I think it’ll do good. Or maybe it’s selfishness, because I know I have to.” 

His head lowered slightly. “It’s not selfish. Those families came to you, you became attached to their closure. You deserve to let that in with them as much as families do.” 

You nodded, but then you disagreed. “Maybe a little less than them?” 

Aaron took a pause. You asked like he would change his mind on what he just said. 

Amusing. Taunting. Teasing. 

Maybe he was thinking your smile was cheekier than it was, because what would it mean that you would do that to him? That you liked him then? No, not you. Not a young, beautiful woman who sees he doesn’t smile or laugh because it’s not the job, it’s not just him and he won’t indulge you. Not when you just met him and you know he’s a widower with a six year old son. 

It’s that, or it’s just that you were having your fun. He wouldn’t appreciate that. 

Not at all. 

He didn't think of his slight smile through then. He couldn’t, you were in front of him - he wasn’t in bed flexing a hand. 

“Maybe a little less, then.” 

And there was silence between the both of you, but the world around kept itself busy because the team was all over, exhausted. There was still paperwork to do, reporters everywhere. But Hotch can’t remember how it just got to be the two of you. 

He pressed his middle finger into his thumb, trying to mimic a heartbeat because it was fatuous, the way his heart sped up. 

You’re just a talented woman that would make a great profiler. But he would have to think logically. He did in the moment. Maybe it’s an exaggeration to say he knew from the start that you would be on his team, there were slew of issues to expand on. One, the fact that you weren’t an FBI agent. You (according to your New Yorker profile) had no law enforcement experience to begin with. You didn’t live in Virginia. You were twenty-six. Reid was barely thirty but he had five degrees or so to make up for it. And heart. 

You had heart. He could see it, smile or not. 

Aaron remembers making the choice to turn his head away from you. 

“So…is the BAU hiring?” 

It snapped back. So quickly to the point where it caught your smile dropping. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, that was-that was a joke-” 

“Let’s get you back to the hotel.”

“...Really, I-” 

“It’s alright. Let’s go back.” 

And his hand just hovered over your back. It’s not like he’d feel the way your back curved under the coat you wore for the whole case. Hotch didn’t, still doesn’t want to realize that he would’ve let his hand touch, actually touch if it was anyone else - but with you, this woman with her hair behind her ears - the one who waited patiently at the station and watched aimfully as Michael Bakalova passed her and into a cell. It felt like it would’ve been disrespectful. 

The thoughts towards you aim differently than everyone else, even then. His touch would make his heart beat quicker and he would think about the one moment where he did touch you. Over and over in his hotel room, then in his own bed. 

And it was as if the thoughts would’ve shifted further down if he did touch the small of your back. 

But Aaron should’ve, because it didn’t matter anyway. The thoughts shifted down nonetheless, and they do with every passing night and smile. Your smiles have to be natural, effortless - unknowing and naive to what it does to him, which wouldn’t be your fault, his face and stern lines never give way. 

But if the smiles aren’t, the giggles, the head tilts, if they are not naive and defenseless and in need of protection and are instead purposeful flirtations, moments where you revel in making him suffer and harden…Aaron will not appreciate it at all. He will not tolerate that sort of behavior. That won’t get past him. 

And he wouldn’t put punishing you past him. 

“Thank you, Sir.” 

Then you smiled at him. 

He led you up to your hotel room, a fortunate coincidence that you took the same hotel the tema did, Aaron didn’t have the means or awareness to think those kinds of thoughts. 

He was trying to remember when he saw a face he couldn’t stop staring at. Maybe never, but hopefully not never. Maybe Jack. and for the sake of Haley, for the sake that at that moment, you were supposed to be just a woman, hopefully not never. 

“Have a nice night.” 

“You too, Sir.” 

Nice wasn’t what he would describe the night he had before they left for Quantico. You, Aaron, both were lucky they didn’t have to catch the plane. He closed his eyes, opened them - stared into the ceiling with one hand flexing and fingers tapping together, the other hand lying flat on his stomach. 

What were you wearing to bed that night? 

He thought something along the lines of that before he dug his nails into his palm with the curl of his fists. 

What was the point of not touching you if it meant he would think those kinds of things? He tried. 

He thought that. Michael Bakalova. 

“I wanted to, I could. I did.” 

He pressed his hand into his forehead. Aaron needed to think of anything else and quickly. 

2:44am. 

The team was right, he was right against the surface logic and challenges that would ensue the minute he would put you with the BAU. You would be an asset to this team. You were an amazing consultant. You would be an even better agent. Of course, that would be if you wanted to join in the first place. 

That not being the case would only be the case if you were just having fun - flirtations and head tilts. He said he wouldn’t tolerate that. You were to join the team, there was no doubt about it. 

He knocked on your door in the morning and dreamt about opening it in silence in the night.

[vettelsvee]

MY TORTURED DRIVERS DEPARTMENT REPUTATION'S VERSION

a formula 1 short stories compilation about my favourite drivers based on each taylor swift song from reputation

taglist: [@celemilii @theseerbetweenus @anniee-mr @stelena-klayley @lozzamez3 @0710khj @afterg1ows @vincentvanshoe @coco-loco-nut @minkyungseokie @lemon-lav @stinkyjax @seokjinkismet @c-losur3 @annewithaneofthegreengable @khaylin27] thanks to all of you who wanted to be tagged! don't forget you can join my taglist by commenting or telling me through dm <3

© VETTELSVEE (2024). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

TACK 1 ...READY FOR IT | charles leclerc x reader ⋆ smau Y/N finally decides she's ready to start a relationship with Charles even people just hate her so much for her past dating other F1 drivers.

TRACK 2 END GAME | george russell x reader Y/N, after dating too many guys for fun, is finally ready to settle down her mind by starting dating George, her brother’s best friend.

TRACK 3 I DID SOMETHING BAD | fernando alonso x reader ⋆ smut Fernando has a night one stand with Y/N De la Rosa, his friend Pedro’s daughter. He knows that’s bad, but why the forbidden feels so good?

TRACK 4 DON'T BLAME ME | oscar piastri x reader Y/N is scared to start a relationship with Oscar not only because she’s broken more hearts than she can remember, but also because everyone told her she’s not good enough for the McLaren driver.

TRACK 5 DELICATE | max verstappen x reader Y/N started dating Max and, since the first minute, their relationship has been public. She’s so in love, she’s so happy to be with someone as nice as Verstappen, but she’s also so insecure and vulnerable about what others think about them.

TRACK 6 LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO | lando norris x actress!reader After breaking up with his boyfriend of three years, Y/N decides to move forward and show people that she wasn’t the villain of her and Lando’s story.

TRACK 7 SO IT GOES... | charles leclerc x reader ⋆ smut After having one of the worst fights of their relationship due to some photos that were leaked and the thoughts of the media and fans of Y/N cheating on Charles, the couple decides to solve problems in a not so talkative way.

TRACK 8 GORGEOUS | sebastian vettel x musician fem oc Sebastian decides to spend a weekend by himself next to Alessia Cavalli, the girl he might be falling in love with after his wife, Hanna, cheated on him. Sebastian is captivated by Alessia, but he can’t just express his feelings: not only the media will become obsessed with them, but also Hanna and the rest of Seb’s family. So, for now, not only Vettel, but also Cavalli, will have to be friends even tough they think about each other they’re gorgeous.

TRACK 9 GETAWAY CAR | george russell x reader After having a relationship with his teammate, Lewis Hamilton, and having broken up with him after many years dating, Y/N just need George as a getaway car.

TRACK 10 KING OF MY HEART | lewis hamilton x reader Y/N was happy to be single until she met Lewis in one of the Louis Vuitton events.

TRACK 11 DANCING WITH OUR HANDS TIED | oscar piastri x reader Oscar really wanted to spend the rest of his life with his best friend. Y/N wanted to be honest with Oscar and tell him she was truly, madly, deeply, in love with him. However, things turn out to be different and they decide to hide their feelings because they know things will get worse if they're honest to each other.

TRACK 12 DRESS | sebastian vettel x singer fem!oc ⋆ smut Sebastian asks Diana, the girl who used to be her best friend and girlfriend, to go with him to FIA Prize Giving 2018. Diana, who’s a famous singer, decides to wear a dress only for Seb, the guy she still has feelings for and also the father of her daughter, to take it off. Will Seb still have the same feelings for Diana?

TRACK 13 THIS IS WHY WE CAN'T HAVE NICE THINGS | oscar piastri x reader After a meal with Mick's family and friends, Y/N finds out that the toxicity she was dealing with in her relationship with Schumacher wasn't just a thought she had but a reality she was living.

TRACK 14 CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT | sebastian vettel x reader After the loss of her mother due to Alzheimer, Y/N meets Sebastian in a therapy group, who seems to be his savior when her life was falling down to pieces.

TRACK 15 NEW YEAR'S DAY | carlos sainz x reader A proposal on New Year's Day is what Carlos' girlfriend wouldn't have expected after dating for almost nine years with the Spanish guy