#god does this muses my Jacket again

[nnight-dances]

ONE KISS, ONE LOVE

PAIRING: park wonbin x fem!reader

GENRE: fluff, hurt/comfort, suggestive dialogue but nothing explicit

TROPES: established relationship!au, idol!wonbin, age gap vibes but no real mention, reader babies wonbin like he deserves to be, texts at the end, just sickening sweet stuff

WATCH: wonbin's night routine

NOTE: inspired by the video above! once again, these wonbin fics write themselves ... he might be my favorite boy to write rn or maybe that's just my way of coping!! anyway don't be surprised if i just start spamming u with the wonbin fics i just have too many good ideas. but they're all gonna be set in this same established relationship style, he's just so bf coded lol... anyway, enjoy <3

you've been in bed for a good twenty, clad in cream pyjamas and skincare intact, when you hear the frontdoor open – signalling your boyfriend, wonbin's arrival. you pause the video you're watching on your phone and sit up to greet him, "bin? welcome home." his heavy footsteps stop where his figure finally comes into your view.

wonbin looks wiped out, no doubt, eyes shadowed by his somnolent lashes. he stares at you for a moment before humming, the sound halfway between a thank god you're here and i could die right now. he peels his layers off with speed, black leather jacket hung up on the tree-shaped rack near your closet and his other outerwear finding its place on the small cabinet next to it.

you watch fondly as even in his fatigue, he patiently makes sure no outside clothes pollute the bed. as soon as he's in nothing but his white tee and boxers though, he jumps onto you, deflating the air out of you like a body pillow.

"hello," he mumbles, face disappearing into your chest where he snuggles closer. 

"hi, love," you welcome him warmly, fingers carding through his hair as a force of habit. you breathe against his limp body, letting him unwind on top of you as he often does. it's a silent activity, a night routine of sorts for wonbin on his longest days. he'd trudge home and settle close to you, wordlessly like a cat looking for soothing. 

sometimes, you talked to him about your day and he'd hum along, eyes on yours telling all you needed to hear. other times, you would go back to doing whatever you were doing – watching a show, playing a game, or talking to a friend – while he recharged. he even insisted it worked best when you were just doing your own thing.

today, you do neither. setting your phone aside, you occupy yourself with wonbin himself, first meandering through his charcoal hair and then trailing down to his neck, tracing hearts and stars into his skin. you can feel him relaxing under your touch, his face finally coming back into your vision. 

"tired," wonbin says, voice coarser than ever. "need to sleep." 

"i know, baby," you croon, "wanna wash up first?"

he shakes his head adamantly, "no. sleepy."

you laugh softly, "angel, i'm sure you are but you can't sleep with your makeup on, can you?"

"had a few drinks with taro hyung," he murmurs as if that explains his behavior.

"really? you had time after practice?"

"he snuck it into practice. beer after all that sweating was nice."

"wow, look at you," you muse, hand brushing his bangs out of his eyes, "you sound like an old man."

"i am," wonbin pouts, "let the old man go to sleep."

"sorry, love, i can't do that," you say.

"rude."

"say what you will," you sit up fully, pulling your sluggish boyfriend with you. ignoring his groans, you kiss his nose, "wash up, okay? can't have my rockstar breaking out because he was too lazy to wash his face before bed."

he groans again but this time it's an endearment, his kiss on your cheek disguising his smile. "but i can't move, y/n. please."

"i'll help you," you snake out of the sheets, squatting as you heave wonbin out as well. he stands up unwillingly, head wilting like a sad flower. you laugh, pulling him toward the washroom, "will you listen if i do all the work?"

that gets the job done alright because two minutes later, wonbin's settled against the sink with you between his legs. you crane around his tall limbs to reach for his products, having memorized his night skincare by now. 

cleansing balm in hand, you carefully cover every inch of his face, the makeup turning into oil gradually. "okay, babe, now rinse your face for me."

"you said you'd do all the work!" he complains without missing a beat. 

you glare at him, "i can't possibly wash your face without making a mess of both of us."

"sounds like an excuse to me."

sulking, he turns around, washing the balm off. next, you go in with his foam cleanser, gently circling his cheeks and forehead. despite all his earlier declarations, he watches you attentively, his hand loosely clasped around your waist to keep you in place. you have to scold him midway at one point when he gets cheeky and sneaks a hand down your pyjamas, feeling the hem of your panties. 

eventually, you dry his face off with a hand towel. "there," you peck his cheek, "all clean."

when he doesn't let go of your waist, you raise a brow at him. "you only love me when i'm clean," he scowls, "don't you?"

you narrow your eyes at his tantrum, "i think you're forgetting how i'm sacrificing my screen time before bed to clean you up right now."

he looks unconvinced as he tails you out of the bathroom. he's about to throw himself back onto the bed when you stop him by his hand. "change first," you explain, pulling out fresh pyjamas and throwing them at him. 

wonbin stands idly and it's only when he starts raising his arms up that you realize he wants you to do it. you sigh, "bin, you're such a baby today." but you smile as you pull his shirt off, disregarding the way he instantly flexes when he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. slipping his pyjamas on, a piece at a time, you clap when he's done.

"i would make a great mother," you pat yourself on the back.

"you can adopt me if you want," he shrugs and you snicker, "i don't think i need to." 

"you want anything to eat before you sleep?" you ask as if you hadn't quite literally brushed his teeth. "chocolate," he says without any conviction and you roll your eyes at him, watching as he launches himself at the bed.

"quick, come here," wonbin whines. you pad over to your side of the bed and join him, giggling when his body curls around you instantly. his nose finds its indent against your neck this time, cold and fresh. 

for a minute, you think that's all you'll hear out of your boyfriend for the night. but it's just as you're about to reach for your phone when he speaks up again, "sorry if i'm boring."

you're not sure if your ears hear right, "what?"

but his voice is solemn, "...i'm probably kinda boring lately. so i'm sorry."

you turn on your side to face him completely, hand coming to rest against his cheek. "bin, you idiot. you coming home is the best part of my day."

"really? even though i'm too dead to do anything?" he perks up but his eyes gloomy, "we don't even fuck anymore. or go to the movies. or go out at all."

you laugh, "you're making us sound like an old couple on the verge of divorce, baby. you're just busier because of your comeback! i'm so excited and you should be, too."

"i am. but i don't want bore you."

"you don't, though. i'm lucky enough i get to see you at night and take care of you when i can. plus, it's not like you won't have more time after your promotions, right? we can do everything you want then."

wonbin blinks at you, his cool hand finally coming to meet yours where it was still caressing his cheek. he kisses your palm, "thank you. i'm glad."

"of course, love. now, go to sleep or you'll regret it tomorrow," you chirp, rolling over and shutting the lights off quickly.

"...you really would be a great mom," wonbin laughs at your behavior. 

"good night, wonbin."

"good night, mom."

you hit his arm at his brazenness but when he just laughs again, the sound is too sweet for you to even pretend to be mad. so instead, you hug him closer, hand on his bicep and his legs tangled with yours. 

–

bin: I AM FREE AT LAST

bin: FROM THE SHACKLES OF IT

you: …

you: how would ur fans react if i leaked our texts

you: so much for being mysterious

you: "shackles of it" boy have you ever touched a book

bin: okay so you're rude today

bin: i miss y/n mom version

you: ew?? if u have a kink i dont think this is gonna work

bin: because…? 

you: is sungchan still single

bin: i was kidding! haha!

you: ok.

bin: seriously tho let's do smth fun 2nite

you: i get off work late today :(

bin: whatttt you have a life outside of me :0

you: do you WANT me to break up with you???

bin: what i meant was i will be there to pick you up <3

you: wtv man idgaf anymore

bin: noooo

bin: i'll do anything you want don't be mad

you: anything?

bin: well other than leaking our texts ofc

you: i want to live together

bin: ???

bin: we alr do

you: wonbin 

you: baby

you: you just always come over to my place

bin: i sleep there it's my home wdym

you: and you still pay the bills for your place?

bin: i don't make that bag for nothing

you: ok so what if we lived together instead

bin: but i really like your place!!

you: i do too

you: let's make it our place 

bin: shit

bin: i just actually blushed irl

you: :) 

you: is that a yes

bin: i want to marry you

you: okay well let's calm down

bin: did u just reject me

you: i'm telling u that you're gonna regret proposing through text

bin: i love u and i want u to be my wife

bin: omg i just shed a tear at the thought of calling u that

bin: wife…. im changing ur contact name

bin: or should i change it to fiancée? since we havent yet tied the knot

you: park wonbin

you: we are 20 years old

bin: untrue

bin: im 22 

you: i am not marrying you right now

bin: … is there someone else

you: i'm not marrying anyone right now

bin: ok so i'm not husband material

you: you are

bin: i'm not father material? you: no comment

you: but we aren't ready babe

you: let's take it slow k?

you: just move in first

you: we have so many memories to make

bin: you're such a flirt

you: ??? u just asked me to marry you but sure

bin: i'll be moved in by the time you come back home

you: i thought you were picking me up

bin: that was before u asked me to move in

bin: now i have to bring all my stuff over

bin: which side of your closet can i use? bin: also thoughts on letting me keep my rock collection next to your figurines?

you: right side and no

bin: wow u didnt even think about it

you: imagine we get into a fight

bin: i refuse to

you: i'm just saying i would be tempted to throw them rocks at u

bin: you would do that????

you: depending on what u do

bin: why are you expecting me to do anything at all????

you: …experience

bin: wow

you: to be loved is to be known

bin: you can't flatter me now

you: i love you 

bin: …

bin: i love you too

[urhoneycombwitch]

imagine being loved by me

🍯 honey flavour: your love has stood the test of time, thus far, but a party fit for a rockstar brings up some bitter emotions.

🐝 the bees: rockstar!Eddie x jealous!Reader

wc: 8k

cw: drugs and alcohol consumption, mentions of weight gain (eddie’s, in a positive manner), R has panic/anxiety attack, jealousy (talked about and resolved tho), softdom!Reader, softdom!Eddie, oral (E and R receiving), R has breasts + a V and referred to with she/her pronouns, P in V sex, cumming inside w/out protection

foreword: timeline is wobbly and may not align perfectly w canon bc I’m bad at math so shhhh suspend ur disbelief. based on this anon thank you v much anon <3

___

It’s the coldest January Hawkins has seen in ages. Snow banks sit high on the roadsides, air thick with snowflakes, three-AM fog brought in courtesy of the bitter wind chill. 

Under the yellow floodlight of a nearby streetlamp, your boyfriend is sucking down the last of a joint while you stamp your feet against the gravel parking lot.

“C’mon, Eddie,” you whine, crossing the arms of your fleeced puffer jacket, bouncing on your heels to keep the blood flowing. “My toes are gonna get frostbite.”

“A touch dramatic,” Eddie replies, unbothered. The cherry of the joint between his lips burns orange, casting a warm glow over Eddie’s cheekbones, the twinkle of snowflakes caught in his bangs. “I told you to go in without me, princess. Warmer in there.”

“Without you? As if.” You pull the pity card, and it works, ‘cuz it always does- that boy has got to learn how to say no to you, one of these days. 

Not today, though, because Eddie is tamping out the ember on the sole of his boot and crunching up the snowy path to sling an arm around your neck.

“Grub time,” he says against your hair, pressing his cold lips to the side of your forehead as you both make your way into Benny’s Burgers.

The heated air is a welcome relief, and save for a couple of old-timers at a side table, you and Eddie are the only customers in the place. 

Benny greets you both from where he’s flipping patties on the kitchen grill, waving a spatula at the corner booth- “All yours, kiddos. Want the usual?”

You and Eddie call out affirmatives as you sink into opposing seats, unwrapping yourselves from all your winter gear as you go.

“God bless Benny Hammond for expanding his night hours,” you say, piling your green scarf on the tabletop. “This is a good tradition for us, y’know. Post-band practice smoking and coffee- very rock and roll.”

“I concur.” Eddie tosses his knit hat at you playfully. “You, my lady, have the most rock ‘n roll soul I ever did see.”

As Benny approaches with two mugs of steaming coffee, you muse aloud, “Not sure if the amount of sugar you’re about to dump in your coffee is very metal, per se...”

“Y’hear that, Benny?” Eddie grabs a fistful of sugar packets and shakes them indignantly. “My girl’s trying to keep me on the straight and narrow. How’s a rockstar s’posed to live in these conditions?”

“Lord knows,” Benny says, sardonic, setting the mugs down and turning back to the kitchen.

Eddie winces as his hands wrap around the heat of the mug, and you notice right away. “Your fingers splitting again? I have that salve that you used last time, but it’s back at the trailer.”

He puts his hand face-up onto the table, and you slip yours into his, the deep fingertip grooves from guitar strings rough against your soft palm.

“I’ll live. Plus, it’s kind of metal, right?” Eddie runs a calloused thumb across the back of your hand.

You squeeze back, give him a wink. “Very metal.”

Eddie’s been working himself to the bone lately. Trying to stay in school and not drop out is a feat in itself, but compounded with the band practices that have only ramped up in length recently, it’s a lot to balance.

He hasn’t complained at all, of course. It’s not really in his nature.

In the past few weeks, however, he’s been imbued with this near-manic energy, a renewed sense of purpose. In between your own fitful sleeps you often wake in the early hours of the morning to find Eddie hunched over his desk, pen flying across his notebook as he reworks an old song or outlines a new one. Not that you weren’t proud of him before, but seeing him apply this newfound passion to his music has been a huge source of joy for you. 

And, if you’re being really honest, also a major turn on. I mean, the boy’s got swagger like no other, and you’re so glad he’s finally utilizing it on stage. Even if that stage is in the middle of a piece of shit dive bar. Still counts, in your book.

Benny drops off baskets of hot fries, a burger for Eddie, and a BLT for you. Methodic and familiar, you offload half your fries to Eddie’s basket as he slides his burger towards you for the first bite. 

After a few minutes of peaceful eating, Eddie balls up a napkin in his fist and raps the table with his knuckles. “So, uh. Kind of have some news.”

You slot the ketchup bottle back into its metal holder and look up with raised brows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He looks suddenly nervous, knee knocking into the underside of the table as he bounces his leg compulsively. “You remember Paige Warner? Graduated in ‘81, brother is a baseball jock?”

When you nod, Eddie blows out a breath- his unease is kind of setting you on edge. 

“What about Paige Warner?” you prompt.

“She moved out to L.A. for a job and she’s working this scouting gig for some bigshot record,” he continues, absently pulling the thin napkin in his hands into pieces, staring vacantly at the mess. “And she wants Corroded Coffin to record and send out a demo to the label.”

As the news sinks in, your jaw drops. “Holy shit. What?”

“Yeah.” Eddie’s fidgeting with the paper scraps now, still not making eye contact with you. “She wants us to start recording next week. I haven’t told anyone else, yet, I wanted to make sure you were the first-”

You interrupt him with an excited little squeal (drawing glares from the old guys across the diner) and shove up from your side of the table to throw your arms around Eddie.

“Holy shit,” you repeat, laughing as Eddie pulls you into his lap- “Eddie, that’s amazing!”

“You think so?” he asks, your enthusiasm allowing his own to creep in; He slides his hands to your denim-clad hips, his self-professed favorite stress toy (well, tied for favorite with your thighs). 

“How come you were so nervous to tell me?” You ask him, gently, tucking his dark hair behind his ears so you can see his face better. “Were you thinking I’d react differently?”

He looks up at you wide-eyed, shakes his head- “No, no, I wasn’t worried about you reacting a certain way. I just… I’m just worried about what this’ll mean. You know. For us.”

“Us?” You echo, encouraging him to continue. 

Eddie squeezes at your hips, presses the crown of his head against your collarbone like he’s mustering up the courage to speak. “Yeah, us. I know L.A. isn’t your dream- shit, I don’t even know if it’s mine- but you didn’t sign up to go on the road like this. You’ve got college to consider, and-”

“So I’ll take a gap year,” you interrupt, putting a hand to his cheek to make him look at you again, and when he starts to protest, you talk over him. “No, Eddie, I’m serious. I don’t know what the hell I wanna do with my life yet anyways. Following my hot rockstar boyfriend to a new town sounds like a pretty good deal to me.”

He shakes his head again, and you can feel his dimples spring to life under your hand as he teases, “Gonna be my little groupie?”

“And more,” you confirm, giving him a kiss (chaste, so as not to invoke any more ire from the grumpy other customers) and sliding off his lap to return to your own seat. “I’ll be your assistant extraordinaire, if you want. Or bodyguard. Make sure none of the other groupie chicks get too close.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, fondly. “You’re the only groupie I need, sweetheart.”

Settling back into your respective seats, you both work on the last basket of fries while chatting genially about the future. Eddie mentions getting an apartment in Los Angeles, so there’s less of a commute, which branches the conversation into the logistics of a cross-country move, and then on to more important topics such as the alleged coolness of west-coast parties. 

“Who’s your celebrity hall pass?” you ask, out of pure interest, dipping a fry into the well of ketchup. “Like, say you’re rubbing elbows at some famous muckety-muck’s party and someone catches your eye. Who’re you taking back to the motel for a slutty roll in the hay?”

Eddie snickers at your phrasing, then says, “I mean, preferably, my super hot girlfriend-”

You throw a fry at his head. “That’s such a cop-out answer. In this hypothetical, Joan Jett is in red leather petting up on you and you’re saying you wouldn’t take her up on a one-night stand?”

A laugh bursts out of Eddie, a real, proper one where he throws his head back. “Are you actively encouraging me to hook up with some bimbo at a random party? Without you? Unlikely scenario on all fronts, babe.”

This earns him another launched fry, and he squawks, trying to shake it out of its place caught in his hair as you reprimand him- “Joan Jett is not some bimbo, watch your mouth! And what I’m saying is, if you didn’t at least try to score us a threesome with her, I’d be pissed.”

“Okay, baby,” Eddie soothes you a tad derisively, likely a ploy to avoid more flying food- “if I meet Joan Jett I will do my level best to get her in our bed. Scout’s honor.”

He holds up two fingers and wiggles them obscenely, grinning when you laugh again. “All right, Nosey McGee. Who are you taking home from the party?”

You hum, eyes flicking up to the ceiling, contemplating the options. “I guess I could be talked into a night with Kirk Hammett.”

Eddie’s turn to launch a fry. “You slut,” he chuckles, “That was a way quicker answer than mine.”

“Okay, fine. If I meet Kirk Hammett, I promise to at least make a bid for threesome. Deal?” You extend your pinkie across the table.

Eddie loops his little finger into yours. “Deal.”

____

The memory of that cozy diner evening years ago fades as you shake yourself to the present.

You aren’t two highschool kids with lofty dreams, anymore- after Eddie’s recovery from all that Upside Down bullshit in ‘86, Corroded Coffin took off. Even though Paige didn’t end up coming through with any deals, Eddie and his bandmates fought like hell to get signed- and by the end of that year, a small record label in the heart of downtown Chicago had taken the bait.

Corroded Coffin turned out to be the best thing to ever happen to Arken Records; by the spring of ‘87, business was booming thanks to the help of Corroded’s debut album, The Banished Ones- their new single was a chart-topper for over 6 weeks. (Smash Hit magazine’s latest review was titled “Fresh Sound Rises from Dirt Nowhere.” You have the paper clipping saved in your ever-growing folder with “rockstar boyfriend!!!” handwritten in black ink.) 

And in a few weeks, the band will set off on their first real tour, starting in Chicago and ending with a bang in an already sold-out show in Hawkins- Dustin, Steve, and the rest of the gang with VIP front-row seats, of course. 

As much as you and Eddie have grown and matured in the past few years, the core of you both has remained the same. Eddie is still just as dorky, goofy, and caring as he always has been, while you’ve kept that tenacious spirit and quick wit that he fell in love with back in the early days of dating. Even now, with his popularity rising and his rockstar dreams on their way to coming true, Eddie constantly brings his focus back to you. 

Pillow talks in cushy hotel beds, late night ramblings over post-show whiskeys, holding hands in the back of yet another cab- when he could be talking about the thousands of exciting things happening in his own life, Eddie is asking about you.

Did you talk to Robin last night, sweetheart? How’s ‘ol Birdie doin? What do you wanna wear to that dinner thingy tomorrow… could go naked for all I care. In fact you probably should because of feminism and all that. Did you sleep okay last night? Let me look at ya. You thinkin’ any more about those applications you got?

You’d taken a gap year to support Eddie, which you were happy to do, but with ‘87 drawing to a close, he’s been more insistent lately that you take a look at all your college options. Honestly, you’ve been enjoying the adventures that come with touring way too much to consider going back to the rigidity of school. 

And plus, having the love of your life nearly bleed out in your arms in a parallel dimension has totally realigned your priorities. If folks thought you and Eddie were attached at the hip before… 

He’ll likely argue you into academia, eventually. He always rolls high on persuasion. Damn him.

For now, you’ve got a party to attend. 

Arken Records is playing host, on the last night of 1987- in celebration of Corroded Coffin’s success and to kick off the New Year’s festivities, they’ve rented out a house in east Chicago for the event. 

Well, house isn’t the right word. More like mansion. Vaulted ceilings tall as a church’s, huge windows overlooking the Chicago river, a grand chandelier with flickering candles in nearly every room. 

When you and Eddie had toured the place a few days previous, he’d made a joking complaint low in your ear about not having the time to fuck you on every surface. Your laugh had reverberated off the sweeping mahogany floorboards, mostly at the expense of Eddie’s poor publicist who’d happened to hear his comment. (Melanie had really been putting in overtime lately; you made a mental note to send her a very nice flower arrangement and vouchers for a spa trip.)

The party was in full swing by the time you and Eddie arrived, fashionably late, and he had been folded into the throng of other musicians and partygoers against his will pretty much immediately- which you’d expected. The last hour, he’s been throwing you piteous looks from his spot across the room, where he hasn’t had the chance to move an inch with the amount of people keeping the conversation going. You’ve slipped to his side a few times, refreshing his drink, letting him curl an arm around your waist as you perch on his knee, only half-focused on whatever story some producer is saying as Eddie’s hand trails up your thigh. 

You’re back on the nearest wall again, sipping champagne, taking it all in. There are probably over a hundred people crammed into this banquet room, bass thumping through the floorboards, tables shoved to the outer corners making space for a makeshift dance space. 

The air is hazy with smoke from various cigarettes and joints; as the night has progressed, the smell of freshly-applied cologne has been replaced with heady sweat as the dance floor calls more people to writhe and grind in groups and partners. Eddie is still stuck in the lone pod of living room chairs, surrounded by a rapt audience of people crammed in to hear him better over the blaring music.

He looks damn good tonight, in a cut-off black tee and his favorite ripped jeans, leather jacket hung on the chair behind him. Silver catches the light from every angle- on the chains at his hips, around his neck, glinting off his rings as he gestures animatedly mid-story. He’d asked you to do his eyeliner at the hotel earlier, and although it’s smudged and blurred at the edges now he’s still pulling it off. Tiny silver stars, hand-drawn with your eyeshadow brush, twinkle across his cheeks like freckles.

Eddie wanted to match with you, whined until you added a belt made of gold-plated stars to your outfit. You went simple, the gold to his silver- belt cinching your short black satin slip dress, delicate brass rings and bracelets around your fingers and bare forearms. The one piece of silver you are wearing is a chain around your neck, Eddie’s guitar pick nestled snug between your breasts. 

You still resolutely refuse to wear heels, even after Eddie’s stylist cajoled you into practicing on stilettos for a disastrous media training session last month- tonight you’re in a chic pair of Mary Janes with the slightest suggestion of a heel. Compromise. 

There’s a big laugh from the crowd in the corner again as Eddie knocks a hand into Gareth’s chest for emphasis, nearly knocking the younger boy off his seat. You stare unabashedly at Eddie’s forearms, biceps on full display; he’s filled out a bit since leaving home, his usually lean frame boasting a bit more weight and bulk now that he’s got consistent access to well-rounded meals. 

He’s looking healthy, down right glowy. You’re thinking about that smattered trail of dark hair that slides down the crest of his stomach, now with extra padding enough to sink your teeth into. As if he knows, Eddie catches your eye from across the room and winks, cheekily. 

You shiver and unconsciously press your thighs together, hiding your grin with another swallow of champagne.

The alcohol turns a bit sour going down, though, as a crimped-haired blonde girl worms her way to Eddie’s side, laughing a little too loudly at the joke he just told. When she places a manicured hand on one of his shoulders, the thin stem of your glass nearly snaps in your grip.

The thing about rockstars is they have crazy sex appeal. The thing about your rockstar is he’s only interested in you, something that has been proved many times over.

So why is tonight hitting you so hard? Why do you feel nauseous the longer Eddie lets some random woman’s hand stay on his bare skin when you know he’s going home with you, and only you?

Maybe it’s the alcohol, or the overcrowded room, or the memories of Benny’s diner still lingering like a bruise in your mind. Hard to pinpoint exactly. All you know is that jealousy is gnawing like a thing raw and seeking in the pit of your stomach, and if you don’t get out of this stuffy room soon you’re gonna do something tabloid-worthy, like cry in the middle of a New Year’s Eve party.

By the grace of some god you make it across the dance floor and into a side bathroom unscathed, the pulsing sound of the party blissfully dimming as you shut the door behind you. Your mind whirls as you grip the gilded sink for stability, blinking hard at the tears beginning to form. 

You love having a boyfriend who’s larger than life. You love that he’s taking up space and getting to use that charm that was nurtured on the DM throne back in Hawkins. You’re so proud of him, you really are. 

You’re just starting to hate the way other people’s surface-level love of him makes you feel.

Because that’s what it is, right? Just surface-level, you reason with yourself- the level of intimacy that you and Eddie have is unmatched, something that the newly-formed masses of admirers won’t ever get to experience.

Christ, can jealousy give you hives? You grab a handful of paper towels and soak them in cold tap water, then press the damp bundle to your chest, breath stuttering.

You’ve never been the jealous type, or the overbearing type- it’s a new feeling, and maybe that’s why it feels so scary. The more you try to tamp it down, the more it rears its ugly head, making you, in turn, feel embarrassed for having such a strong reaction in the first place.

It’s a vicious cycle that’s only seeming to gain speed as you realize you haven’t yet managed a full breath since coming to your hiding spot. Your lungs are pinched and burning as you drop the soggy paper into the sink, leaning into the lip of the porcelain to steady yourself.

There’s a knock on the door, and you choke out “Just a minute”, not sure if the person on the other side can even hear you over the music when Eddie’s voice leaks through.

“Baby? That you in there?”

Against your better judgment, you open the door, and he crams in the small space, locking it again behind himself.

“There you are, I saw you leave and thought you were getting a drink or something but then you didn’t come back and- are you okay?”

He interrupts his own stream of consciousness when he notices the state you’re in. You give him a trembly smile, waving a hand dismissively.

“Yeah, all good. I’ll come back with you, just needed to pee.”

Eddie is not so easily thrown off the scent. He murmurs your name, sliding his hand into yours, looking at you with a wounded puppy gaze- fuck, you can’t have a breakdown. Not here, not on New Year’s in some knockoff-Playboy’s bathroom.

And certainly not in front of Eddie, who’s asking you to tell him what’s wrong, what happened, with an increasingly pleading tone that’s really, really not helping your whole Don’t Cry agenda. 

Hoping your voice doesn’t break, you clear your throat and pull your hand from his grasp. “Nothing happened, okay? I just had too much to drink, feeling overly sentimental or something. I’m okay.”

You think your white lie was convincing enough when Eddie reaches back for the door handle, that maybe he’ll rejoin the party and leave you to have a good cry, but after poking his head out the doorway briefly he grabs onto your wrist, tugging you to his side and hissing “Quick!”

And then you’re both making a break for it down the mostly-empty hallway, Eddie pulling you smoothly past a wall of expensive-looking oil paintings before going through a set of double doors that lead to the outside.

It’s December in Chicago, which means a light layer of snow covers the terraced garden that Eddie is leading you through, stopping at a stone bench flanked by two scraggly bushes. 

“Made it,” he huffs with exertion, dropping your hand to shrug his leather jacket off in favor of draping it around your own shoulders.

“You’re gonna be cold,” you sniffle, partly from the tears, partly from the crisp night air.

“Yeah,” he agrees easily, wrapping you in a hug. You press your forehead to his chest. “Got my girl to keep me warm, though.”

You stay like this for a few moments, his arms solid around you, breaths coming easier as the familiar smell of his tangy skin and that spicy bar soap he uses fills your senses.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” he asks, gently, holding you at arm’s length to study your face.

When you shrug, unsure of where to start, he lets go of you and walks backwards, taking an unflinching seat on the snow-covered bench.

You gasp despite yourself, reaching to pull him up even as he twists out of your grasp- “Eddie, jesus, you’re literally gonna freeze your ass off. Get up!”

But he’s solid in his seat, widening his stance, boots planted on the ground- “I’m not moving until you tell me what’s going on in that head of yours, so you better start talking before my jeans freeze to the concrete.”

“It’s nothing,” you insist, but he’s giving you that look again, the one that cracks through the tough exterior every time, and you wrap your arms around yourself under the warmth of his jacket as you admit, “Okay, fine. It’s something. I’m just… having an overreaction.”

“To the shellfish?” he deadpans.

“No, asshole, to the blonde girl who was rubbing up on you earlier,” you snap.

Eddie blinks, genuine confusion in his voice- “There was a blonde girl… rubbing up on me?”

“She was petting your shoulder,” you continue, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the ground. “She was touching you, and I got- jealous, I guess.”

“Baby, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t remember her, at all,” Eddie emphasizes, spreading a palm flat against his chest in a gesture of sincerity, hair shifting across his shoulders as he cocks his head to the side.

His face is too familiar, too earnest for you to be able to say what you’re feeling without bursting into tears, so you turn on your heel, pacing a short loop in front of the bench, your breath hanging in misty clouds as you speak. 

“It’s not even about her, necessarily. It’s about me and my stupid emotions. I’m not usually like this- jealous, you know? Like, I’m so proud of you, and everything you’ve accomplished, and I don’t mind sharing you, really I don’t, it’s just…”

You pause in your pacing, let your head drop back to look at the inky black sky pinpricked with stars, and your next words fall out like a confession.

“I just feel like I’m in mourning.”

You can feel his eyes on you still, as you loose the feeling that’s been caught tight in your chest. “It sounds so dramatic, when I say it like that. But I think that’s what it is. I miss when it was just the two of us, in this little bubble where no one knew our names and we just had each other.”

As the words leave your mouth, you scramble to explain, to soften the blow, hands tightening around your upper arms as you turn back to face the boy on the bench. “And I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, or, like, a total jealous bitch, because I really love you and I hope you know I’m not- are you laughing?”

Eddie tries his best to stifle the laughter into his fist when he sees how indignant you look. He rises from the bench, still a bit mirthful, pulling you back into his space. “Sorry, honey, I’m not making fun of you, I promise.”

You’re glaring at him now, and he ducks to kiss at the lines between your brow before pulling back and saying, “I think what you’re feeling is normal, and I don’t think you’re overreacting at all. Remember that asshole at the Smith Center party who kept trying to get your number right in front of me?”

“Vaguely.”

“I wanted to punch his lights out. Make a real scene, kiss you sloppy in front of some cameras.” Eddie cups your face in his hands, soothing his thumb against the wetness of your lashline. “What I’m saying is, I get jealous, too. And I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

“But…” there’s a well of emotions that you’re drawing from, and it’s not empty yet, one nagging thought still surfacing. “But these girls that are coming on to you, they’re like… really hot. I don’t look anything like them.”

Eddie frowns. “Are you seriously trying to make a case for yourself on the grounds of not being really hot? That’s not gonna hold up in court, gorgeous. I mean… have you even looked in a mirror recently?”

He lightly taps his knuckle against your head, trying to get you to crack a smile, but you’re not ready to give in yet. 

“You don’t think you’ll get bored of me?” you whisper, dropping your eyes from his consuming gaze to the wyvern inked on the inside of his arm. 

“Sweetheart…” Eddie sounds genuinely pained. The ink in his skin stretches as he slips a hand to the back of your neck, cold rings against your skin making you shiver. “I couldn’t ever get bored of you. Not in a million years. We've been through too much together for you to think like that, hm?”

He strokes his thumb down the column of your neck, those doey brown eyes on you again. “Now I’m not saying you shouldn’t ever be jealous, ‘cuz god knows it makes me hot under the collar when you are. But I’m sayin’ I never wanna make you feel like you need to earn me, okay?”

His thumb tracks back up to the hollow of your jaw, taps twice questioningly, and you nod, letting out a shaky, “Okay.”

When he kisses you, it feels like every other time- comfortable, grounding, familiar. His tongue presses against the seam of your lips, and you let him lick into your mouth, gripping at his arms, flushing hot as you give it back to him in spades.

With a short groan, he pulls back, a wet click as your mouths separate- “As much as I wanna jump your bones in this wintry wonderland, I think the snow might’ve actually frozen my balls off.”

You giggle, spanning your hands around the meat of his waist, kissing up into his mouth again- “Poor baby. Want me to warm ‘em up in my mouth?”

He gives a solid smack to your ass for that, his palm smoothing over the stinging skin with condescension when you yelp- “All dish and no take, baby? Not exactly fair.”

____

Despite your weak protestations that you both should probably rejoin the party, at least until midnight, Eddie insists on taking you back to the hotel. 

“This party blows, anyways,” he says over his shoulder to you as he leads you back through the halls of the house. “If I hear one more Tears for Fears track I might throw myself into the river from one of the hundred balconies in this place.”

He manages to track down Melanie with some effort, winding his way through the throng of people to where she’d been chatting with a reporter, plucking at her elbow to get her away from the crowd and into the quieter hallway with you.  

“We gotta scoot, Mel,” he tells her, really hamming up the charm as the young publicist widens her eyes. “Think you can get us a ride outta here?”

“Mr. Munson, you can’t just leave,” Melanie insists, frazzled. “Someone from Rolling Stone has been waiting for the last hour to talk to you, if you could just-”

“No can do.” Eddie shakes his head, mock-apologetic. “There’s been an accident. Of a personal nature.”

You manage to choke down your laughter as Eddie turns around to show off the dark stains on the back of his jeans. They’re just wet from the snow that he sat in earlier, of course, but it looks convincing enough to make Melanie blanch and pinch the bridge of her nose.

“I’ll have a cab out front in ten for you both. Please keep a low profile until then.”

Eddie gives a sharp salute and you mouth an apology at her before she retreats to find a phone.

Okay, so maybe add a hefty bonus to that Nice Things for Melanie list of yours. 

____

One of the perks of having a rockstar for a boyfriend is the sweet digs- the label shelled out for Chicago’s finest penthouse suite; an entire luxurious upper floor with a private elevator, windows overlooking the far-below city lights, and a sunken bath big enough for two.

Also included? Soundproof walls.

A perk you’re very grateful for as Eddie walks you backwards into the room, sucking a mark with stinging teeth into your neck as you moan, then giggle breathily, admonishing- “Christ, Eddie, slow down. We have all night.”

Eddie pulls back just far enough to frown down at you, his hands slipping under the hem of your dress to squeeze at your ass. His rings are cold against your bare flesh, and he grins when you shiver. “Uh huh. Sure do have all night. You gonna take advantage of that?”

He wiggles his eyebrows, cheekily, but that smirk drops from his face in record time the second you shove him to the bed. As his knees give out in favor of sitting on the mattress, you steady your hands against his broad shoulders to swing yourself into his lap.

Eddie’s looking up at you, cinnamon eyes darkened with lust- it makes your stomach flip something awful. Your skin feels alight with heat as Eddie’s hands drip like water down your sides, then to your parted thighs.

You sigh into his mouth as his fingers trace the front of your underwear, the silk sticky with your arousal.

“Oh, baby,” Eddie says, equal parts admonishment and pitying as you squirm into his touch. “What’s got you this worked up, hm?”

He’s asking like he doesn’t know- like he didn’t tease you with filthy whispers and wandering hands in the back of the car the whole way here. 

“Whaddya think,” you scoff, not quite ready to give in yet, enjoying the thrill of being cagey as Eddie hooks a finger to tuck your panties to the side.

He grins, simmering, enjoying the chase just as much as you. His middle finger swipes through your folds and you shudder in his arms, hands tightening into the meat of his shoulders as he brings the wetness up to your clit.

Eddie rubs quick, steady circles until you’re mewling, bucking hips grinding down to seek more friction. You can feel the wetness seeping out of your core, dampening his jeans as he licks back into your mouth, capturing the soft noises you’re making as he winds you up.

“Can’t believe a pretty thing like you has anything to be jealous of.” Eddie noses at the spot under your jaw, and when you let your head fall back on a hinge to grant him access, he sucks another mark into the column of your throat. “‘M all yours, sweetheart. You gonna take what’s yours?”

Truth be told, your mind went fuzzy the second Eddie got his hands on your clit, the consistent build of pleasure sparking between your legs rather distracting. You’d almost forgotten how the night had started, but you let the jealousy and possessiveness creep back in as you push at Eddie’s chest.

He goes down easily, toeing his boots off and lying flat on the mattress; big hands settle on your waist as you rest your weight into him, warm cunt pressing against the bulge of his clothed cock.

At a light drag of your nails against his bare chest and across his nipple, Eddie groans low, squeezing your hips and rucking into you.

“You’re all mine, Eddie, right?” 

His pupils nearly eclipsing their soft brown irises, Eddie stares up at you like you hang the moon and stars every night just for him. “Yeah, sweetheart. ‘M all yours. Lemme show you.”

Eddie pulls at the backs of your legs, helping you shuffle up his body until your knees are dipping into the mattress at either side of his head. Your core hovers just above Eddie’s mouth- you can feel his breath speed up on the inside of your thigh at this new position. 

“Oh, fuck, Eddie- jesus… christ,” the last word ending in a moan as Eddie’s tongue licks a wet stripe through your folds. 

He pulls you closer with an arm over each thigh until you’re sitting on his face, his nose hitting your clit with each tilt of his head. You’ve got no idea how he’s able to breathe down there but you’re hardly able to hold onto that thought when his tongue has started plunging in and out of you.

Automatically, your hands shoot out to stabilize yourself- one hand goes to the headboard and the other ends up in his hair, gripping the roots hard. Eddie groans, sending vibrations that make your cunt clench around his lithe tongue.

“Like the taste of my pussy, baby?” you coo down at him, regaining some of your breath to give him attitude. 

Reaching a hand back to palm at his cock, you say “No one else can have you like this, hm?”

Eddie catches your eyes as he mouths wetly at your clit, then sucks it into his mouth. Your thighs shake around his ears, your orgasm unfurling in clenching ripples.

“Oh, yeah, Eddie, fuck, I’m coming- just like that, fuck fuck fuck…”

He doesn’t stop suckling at you until you’re gushing around his mouth, then pulling him off by his hair to make him stop.

Eddie heaves in a breath, kissing at the inside of your thigh, his lips and chin shiny with your release. “God, baby. Such pretty noises for me.”

“Mhm.” You shuffle down until your hips are aligned over his, then lean in to lick his mouth clean. “Gonna make some pretty ones for me, now?”

After helping pull his shirt off, Eddie whines softly as you press kisses down his bare chest, and by the time your mouth is pressing over that dark trail of hair that leads into his denim, Eddie’s begging.

“Please, angel, please- need your mouth. Do anything for it, baby, please…”

You rub your cheek against his bulge before pulling back to pop the button on his jeans, then help him shift them down and off his body. Once his black briefs join the growing pile of floor clothes, Eddie’s completely bare and at your mercy.

He gets on his elbows to watch as you mouth at the inside of his thigh, dark hair splayed around his shoulders, chest heaving when you ignore his leaking cock in favor of grazing your teeth against a sensitive spot. “Fuckin’- christ, sweetheart. Come on. Please?”

“Sound pretty when you beg,” you say, mildly, kissing across his heavy sack, hiding a smile when the contact makes him jolt. “Gonna do it some more?”

You keep eye contact as you take one of his balls into your mouth, watching his own eyes roll back so far you can see the whites of them as you use your tongue on him. 

“-yeah, baby, yeah- just like that- fucking, fuck, you’re killin’ me…”

Eddie sounds wrecked already, and a hot flush of pride courses through your body at the knowledge that he could come from just this and it’d be you getting him there. 

You mouth over to the other side of his sack, rolling the skin wiry with coarse hair against your tongue as Eddie moans above you. When your hand wraps around the base of his cock, starting to move in tandem with the pull of your mouth, Eddie makes a noise like he’s been punched.

A line of drool breaks and hits wet against your chin as you straighten up, settling yourself into the V of his legs and using his thighs as handholds while you begin to kiss up the line of his leaking cock.

He’s got a gorgeous dick, truly. Thick and long, curving slightly to the right, a pretty blue vein snaking up the underside that you lathe your tongue against, seeking out the salty brine at the ruddy head.

Eddie moans, brokenly, white-knuckled hands twisting into the sheets. When your mouth closes around the tip, his elbows give out, leaving him flat against the mattress as you work his length further in.

“Oh my god. Oh, fuck, baby. Please don’t stop. Please. Y’feel so good…”

You hum around the stretch of him in your mouth, relaxing your throat to draw him in a bit more. The spiky jealousy from earlier really is your biggest motivator here; covetous, you’re thinking back to all those first times with Eddie- trembling hands under your bedsheets back in Hawkins, stilted voices and giggles to cover up the awkwardness of trying to learn the other person’s body.

No one will ever know him like you do. No one will ever have all that shared history, those fumbling nights that slowly turned to lovesick days; memories of him on his knees for you, learning all the little things that make you tick, memorizing the song of your body.

The boy is all yours. 

Your throat automatically constricts at the intrusion of Eddie’s cock slipping past your soft palate- his hips cant up, which you can hardly fault him for, patient as he’s been with your retrospective and teasing.

Before he can apologize you’re sitting up, wiping at the excess drool with the back of your hand and shucking your dress over your head, letting it and your belt fall to the floor with a soft clunk.

Eddie reaches for you again as you slide your panties down and off, and you let him help you up his body, your knees coming to rest alongside the lightly raised scar tissue at his sides. You stroke a hand down his chest, giving in to a moment of softness before seating yourself fully in Eddie’s lap.

His hands snap to your hips, a near-brutal squeeze as you sink onto his cock. The stretch is always an adjustment, but you’re so wet right now that he slides in easily, a breathy moan from the both of you as the walls of your cunt fit snug around his sizeable length.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” The crown of Eddie’s head is pressed back into the bed, veins in his taut neck on full display as your hips start to swivel, blunt nails scraping into the soft flesh of your waist. “Just like that, sweetheart. Fuck me.”

With your knees planted on either side of his body, you begin to bounce in steady, rhythmic earnest, going for gold, the desire to bring your boy to the babbling edge overtaking every other thought.

“Feel so good, Eds, so big… can barely fit…” There’s a wet squelch accompanying each bounce now, slick dripping down to the base of his cock, your vice of a cunt flexing with every movement.

“S’all you, baby,” Eddie rasps out, toes curling in the efforts to keep his orgasm at bay for awhile longer. “Got a perfect pussy. Takin’ me so well.”

He’s almost in delirium territory, with you chasing after that bright unwinding pleasure at both of your cores; your hips stutter, hands flat on Eddie’s chest to center yourself, a hunger that you can’t seem to satiate gnawing at the edges.

Eddie notices immediately, feels the falter in your motion and brings his hands to your forearms, rubbing a path up them soothingly- “What’s wrong, angel, hm?”

You’re not sure how to put it into words, wishing (not for the first time) that you could just rest your forehead against his and transmit all the complexities of your emotions through touch alone. 

Instead, you sigh out the name that you use when you’re done with taking, a name that lights Eddie up from head to toe as you say it- “Teddy.”

In one swift movement, Eddie slips an arm behind your back and flips you to the mattress, his hair a curtain around both your faces as he leans in to whisper against your mouth- “Teddy’s got you. Arms around me.”

You’re quick to obey, looping your arms around Eddie’s wide shoulders. He slides one hand up the back of your leg, pushing a knee up until it’s at your chest, mouth dropping open briefly when the new angle allows the head of his cock to kiss against that gummy upper wall of your cunt.

“Bored of you,” he huffs, recalling your words from earlier with disdain. “You’re talkin’ to the guy who memorized the first six chapters of The Hobbit just to recite for your bedtime.”

A quick thrust of his pelvis into yours has your stomach clenching in anticipation, brows on a tilt and knitting together as Eddie grins down at you. “Got a wicked attention span, baby. Lemme show you.”

He starts slow, agonizingly so, every inch of his thick cock dragging in and out, wetness pooling down your ass and probably the sheets, too; errant thoughts of housekeeping are rapidly erased as Eddie begins snapping his hips into yours in faster tempo.

He’s working to find that spot, the one that turns your brain to mush and is guaranteed to cause full-body muscle fatigue from the force of your orgasm. Your back arches off the bed, breasts pushing into Eddie’s chest, one arm still supporting your lower back as he laughs hoarsely, half-amazement and half-pride.

“That’s the spot, huh, sweetheart? Atta girl. M’all yours. Take it. Good girl…”

With each thrust, the wiry patch of hair dusted across Eddie’s pubic bone grinds slick and filthy against your clit. You’re so close to the edge now, a wave of pleasure cresting as you look up at Eddie.

There are two thin tracks of black makeup trailing down his face from where tears have made a mess of his eyeliner; rosy spots of flushed color in his cheeks, eyes like twin pools of chocolate, locked with yours as he rocks into you. 

He’s learned the song of your body so well, knows every chord to strike- his hand leaves your leg to grasp at your breast, calloused palm against pebbled nipple sending more shockwaves through your body, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you sing for him.

“All yours,” you gasp out, and it feels like victory when his hips stutter and the cresting wave crashes around you both at the same time.

The pleasure roils through your gut, clit throbbing and cunt spasming around Eddie’s cock as he spills into you. 

A wrecked, broken string of moans leaves you as you ride out the highs together. Eddie presses his forehead to your collarbone as he chants your name, twitching out the last of his spend, warmth blooming inside. 

The quiet that follows is filled with shaking breaths, soft kisses, murmurs of “good job, sweetheart” as you both float back down to earth.

Eddie stays in you for longer than usual, his draped weight a grounding comfort as you trail gentle fingertips up and down his skin, lovingly against the scars that interrupt the smooth flesh of his back. Through the closed windows, you can hear the distant sounds of car horns and the deep boom of fireworks. 

Sometime in the last foggy hour of lovemaking, 1987 has given way to a new year. 

Eddie pulls his heavy head up from your chest to press kisses to your collarbone. “Happy new year, lover.”

You tuck his hair behind his ears, hands squishing lightly at his cheeks to bring his face close enough for a kiss. “Happy new year to you. Hell of a way to kick it off.”

Eventually, Eddie extricates himself from the intoxicating heat of your body (with minimal whining) and brings a warm washcloth to tenderly wipe away the mess between your thighs. Once you’re both cleaned up, he stretches out against the sheets, pulling the covers up as you hook a leg around his waist and snuggle in. 

“So I was thinking,” he starts, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “I wanna take a trip back to Hawkins. Before the tour.”

Your hand stills in its rhythmic circles against Eddie’s chest; heart in your throat, you tilt your chin up so you can gauge Eddie’s reaction. “...yeah?”

“Yeah.” Eddie picks up your hand on his chest, twining his fingers with your as his other hand settles on your bare hip beneath the sheets. “Could visit Wayne for a few days, fool around in that twin bed like we’re teens again.”

He grins at your giggle, taps playfully at your hip- “Gonna parade you around all our old haunts. You’ve gotten even hotter since we left, babe. Gotta really rub it in the faces of those Hawkins Tigers burnouts whose best dates are their own left hands.”

You snort, and Eddie looks pleased again, but then sobers a bit before saying- “I mean, I’ve got my piece of home with me. But I think it could be good, to visit. Just the two of us.”

You’re quiet for a moment, a longing for home that you’ve managed to ignore these past few years resurfacing. “Can we get high and go to that diner? I mean, Nell’s isn’t as good as Benny’s was, but I’ve been craving a Hawkins milkshake.”

“Christ.” Eddie hides his smile in the crook of your neck, dimples springing to life. “You could ask for the Mona Lisa and I’d find a way to get it to you. Fries and a milkshake, that all I need to keep my girl happy?”

“Yeah,” you reply, a contented noise as Eddie settles against your chest again. “That’s all I need.”

___

thank u thank u for reading if you made it this far have a little kiss from me to you <3 xx lulu

[didhewinkback]

something old teeny tiny blurb bc dogs

---

December 2022

Thank god it’s Friday, you think, trying to balance your bag, the massive amount of takeout you're holding and your keys as you slide them into the lock to finally get home after a loooong week. Does it make you officially old that those cliches now ring true more than ever? Gross.

You’re in the process of trying to place all your shit down in a semi organized manner when you feel your phone buzz, a smile growing on your face the moment you see the name on the screen as you slide your thumb across to answer. 

“Hey,” you say, adjusting the phone on your shoulder as you kick your shoes off and slide your jacket off your shoulders. 

“Sorry my meeting ran long, love. Was hoping to pick you up from work.” He says, as the sounds of the city blare behind him on whatever street he was walking down. “Wanted to be a proper gentleman.”

“First time for everything,” you deadpanned.

“Heeey.” He says with a laugh. “Did you get dinner or do you need me to pick it up?” 

“I got it,” you say, quickly speaking when you hear his intake of breath. “If you dare ask me if I remembered to order you spring rolls I swear -“ 

“She knows me too well.” he says with a laugh. 

“That she does.” you say, grabbing the takeaway and bringing it into the kitchen, flicking the lights on as you pass. “You heading back now?” 

“Yeah should be home in about - oh helllo there” his voice taking on an exaggerated playful tilt. You’re momentarily confused until you hear a soft bark. Ah.  “Aren’t you just the sweetest thing?”

“Sorry about her - she’s a real people pleaser” you hear a voice say a bit breathlessly in the background as Harry laughs.

“It’s quite alright,” he says back, and you hear some slight shuffling on his end. “Is it okay if I pet her? What’s her name?”

You lean against the counter, listening on as he makes small conversation while cooing at the dog, Delilah, for a few minutes before there’s the sound of shuffling again as he says his goodbyes. 

“Sorry, couldn’t resist.” he says back to you. “Think I want one.”

“Not sure a puppy would be the best companion on a world tour.”

“Thank you, genius, that much I know.” he says as you snort a laugh. “But I’ve been thinking a lot about like…after.”

“Have you?” you ask, your heart skipping a beat, thinking back to the conversation you had back in June, about what he wanted, what you wanted, what you both agreed was worth waiting for. You shift your weight, butterflies flying in your stomach. “And?”

“Just…it’s going to be different, y’ know? Not going to be doing a few months in LA, then a few months in Japan then back to London for a kip. And I don’t want to. Planning on settling in one spot for as long as I can.”

“Something drawing you back to London, then?”

“Something like that,” he muses and you feel your cheeks warm, biting down on a smile. “And I think it’d be quite nice to have a pup that’s ours keeping her company when I would have to eventually go back.”

“I could get on board with that,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady despite the way your heart is racing, his words making you want to melt into a puddle right there on the kitchen floor.

“Yeah?” he says softly.

“Yeah.” you say back and the two of you sit in silence for a moment, just listening to the sounds of each other breathing. “How far away are you?”

“About 10 minutes out.”

“Alright, I’m gonna hop in the shower real quick -”

“I’ll be home in 2.”

“You’re such an idiot,” you laugh, knowing he’s kidding but you can hear the way his breathing changes, the way he’s definitely picked up the pace. “I’ll see you soon, yeah? Love you.”

“Love you. I’ll be home soon, baby. Keep the shower warm.”

---

a/n: i have a few requests coming and the big one but saw these pics and couldnt resist

taglist:@tobesolovelysstuff, @louyoursins, @daydreamingofmatilda, @jojo-blog53, @marzhshaim, @devilsqueen722, @just-happiness-only,@lomlhstyles, @feestyles, @spock4presidnet, @sunshinemoonsposts, @indierockgirrl, @jerseygirlinca, @kissitnhekitchen, @goldnrry,

[anteroom-of-death]

Yayo

Synopsis: Gideon Shepherd wastes a life or two over a girl.

A/N: thanks to @lex144 for inspiring me to not give up. Will be a 2 parter. Dark fic time. Sorry for no publishing of all .... burn out. Listen to the unreleased version of Lana del Rey while reading.

How many times must he repeat the same life, the same lie, over and over again? How many times could he go through the exact same suffering and the exact same thwarting of evils in this world?

Gideon, in his sixties, again, having a cup of tea in an inconspicuous tea shop, mused. He’d just stopped a plane crash he had stopped dozens, if not hundreds of times. He was losing count. Losing control.

He knew it was only a matter of time before he was locked back up, dressed in red with those detectives again. Bargaining with the girl, Lucy. Trying to make her understand her son and him. Each time it seemed a tad more futile.

He tied the bag’s string around his finger like he’d done with that red one in that room. Repetitive and simple as always. Perhaps even a nervous tic.

He’d always die, just before total lucidity. It was annoying. And it just added more into his already over-crammed skull. He felt bursting at the seams. Almost like he had multiple brains.

Preposterous!

He admitted that in this particular cycle he’d been a little more neglectful of his needs. More rash. Less calculated…It was getting worse each time. More world-saving. Less keeping himself intact to save it.

He had to change all of this. Maybe take a breather. He’d still stick to his schedule from thousand lives past. This time, it would be difficult, just infinitesimal.

He even had been to this little tea shop every single time. Exactly the same day, the same time. He had observed people casually. Not much to do with anything…

Everyone was safe by his calculations.

The slouched-over nervous girl was going to accidentally water board herself with her drink in a few seconds.

On cue, her little iced coffee spilled. She sighed, seemingly looked up, as if beckoning a favor from God. She grabbed a napkin and went to wipe herself and the ground up.

In an echo of so many times previously, “Nothing comes easy, does it?” She muttered and slouched into her knees. She started to scrub a particular big stain in the making on her floral skirt with her spit.

It was probably incoherent to anyone who didn’t hear it or know to hear it time and time again.

She eventually pulled herself off the ground, her hip cracked. The slit in the side rode up, accidentally flashing the grey panties she wore…

Suddenly he felt like focusing in on her.

Maybe next cycle he’d offer to help her.

For now he got up and offered her his napkin. A small smile spread on his face.

“I have a spare coat in my boot…you can cover it up, keep it.” He offered another shiny object.

He didn’t know what exactly started coming over him. It was carnal, primal. Effervescent even. She obviously suffered from some self-confidence issues. Despite her bold outfit choices. Her large earrings clanked against her necklaces. Skittish. Unsure.

It made him incredibly hard.

He hadn’t allowed himself any pleasure, just the continuous pursuit of justice. In his own way. The only way that was dramaturgically correct he felt. He had to be the one to make it happen. The cops were as much as complicit as sometimes perpetrators.

“Go to the toilets and freshen up, yeah?” He instructed her plainly. The pit of the toll of all his dark deeds starting fray him like the trim of her denim jacket that seemed slightly too small.

He forced himself out to the car and popped the boot. He grabbed the aforementioned coat.

He walked back into the shop just she exited the loo.

She sniffled and saw the coat. It was black, utilitarian. Nothing special.

“Thanks.” The smile was weak, she still was obviously reeling from her previous remark of nothing coming easy. However, it was genuine. She was thankful and seemed placated by the action.

“I’ll…get another coffee.” She remarked as she tied the thing around her waist.

He couldn’t help but notice it hung sensually around her hips. Accented the torso and her tits in a weird way. How would it be to bite them? Mar them with his teeth?

“Why don’t you join me?” He offered.

“I can’t.” She frowned, a line developing in her still somewhat-young forehead that didn’t go away when her face relaxed moments earlier. It was fully etched in.

How lovely was it that such a nervous wreck had somehow made it this far in life? To see such a line. Pity it was there in the first place.

Such a contradiction…

She got her new coffee.

He still felt incredibly urged to take her and hide her away. Stop her from herself and her own nervous nature.

The proverbial butterfly was stepped on, who knew what was in store now…

Next cycle, he remarked to himself as he got into his car and drove off. He had to complete this. Make the Lucy woman understand. Die, come back. Same shot, different day…

His cock still remained at attention. The depraved thoughts still rung in his thoughts.

×××××

Here he was, back at the tea shop. She was walking in. Here was his chance!

He’d fantasized about this chance for decades now. Ever since the first rush of teenage hormones rushed into his body. Again.

She walked in, her tote bag swinging.

Only one chance. He could blow it, hypothetically. But this opportunity was literally once in a lifetime. No matter how many he’d been allowed. (Or cursed with depending on current emotions and outlook…)

He knew the pitfalls of approaching a woman and making oneself known. It came off predatory. Not that he wasn’t predating her, in more than one sense of rationale, or definition. Was there any good, wholesome way to approach her and her grey panties? He’d killed enough rapists to merit knowing what they liked.

And yet, here he was entering his era of perversion.

He firmly believed he had to liberate her from herself. Somehow.

Never one for true romance, even in the first time he seemingly entered the cycle, he lingered unsure.

He got up and made a show of asking for extra napkins.

One word, one small line would disrupt this. She’d not spill her drink, and he’d garner an actual chance with her.

“Those are some lovely necklaces.” He tried for a bit off a soft entrance.

She touched the tangled mass of gold on her neck, “Oh! Thanks!” Her left hand went to fiddle with some of the pendants on a few of them. The free thumb rested on one of those comically-large hoops.

She placed her order and went down to fight for her life to find her pocketbook.

“No worries,” Gideon assured, “I’ve got it.” The fiver, easily produced from his jacket pocket.

“Oh?” She flashed a befuddled, nervous half-grin at him. “What do I owe you?”

“Nothing.”

She shook her head. “Thanks so much!”

He felt moved to go back to his seat. He didn’t know exactly what to do to go from here.

Something told him to just toss her in the boot and drive off. Or perhaps, to lure in promising safe travels to wherever she was headed.

The darkness rubbed off so easily.

The toll of a billion lifetimes.

He remembered some parable of a little bird and a rock. Something about a boy saying something about it being ‘One hell of a bird…’

He sucked on the options. They all weighed heavy on his heart and his conscience.

He ultimately chose the less devious of them all.

Just asking.

He saw her go to pick up her drink. Would she spill it? He half-wished to see. See of the actions interrupted the truth of time. Such a small gesture maybe would provide her a sense of calm? Could it? Would it?

He started to rise yet again from his seat, and she spilled it anyways.

A flash of grey panties, a mutter again about nothing being easy for her, her spine twisting into a serpentine knot. Her lovely skirt and top stained.

He offered her a clutch of napkins. Then repeated last life’s offers.

“Are you my guardian angel? Or something?” She asked. “First paying for my latte, now this?”

Fate must have been sick to give her him if she thought he was an angel. Even in a semi-facetious manner. Sure, he was on the side of angels, in a sense. However he was far from celestial. Mortal, frequently.

He went out, produce the jacket. Came back. She tied it.

He offered to pay for her replacement- “On caveat you join me, an old man for a bit of a chat on a slow day.” He went for the genteel route.

She involuntarily shook herself, her eyes blinking rapidly.

She looked at her phone’s clock.

“Sure. Why not? Only five minutes, yeah?”

She sat at his table and they chatted. Her name was (y/n), she was (insert your age, reader) and she was between jobs. The drink went much easier down now that she was sat. Gravity and natural klutziness weren’t fighting her here.

The way she placed her elbows on the table further accentuated her heaving chest. Despite her current state, she seemed to breathe a little harder than Gideon suspected someone should.

Maybe her baseline anxiety messed around with her rhythms.

Gideon gave her the most basic and innocent of responses. Just enough information to tantalize. Keep it light, keep it friendly, he chided himself over and over again…

She glanced over at her phone and saw the time…she excused herself and left. Thanking him for everything.

She even brushed both of his cheeks with a small, friendly, definitely foreign kiss on each.

The door bashed her on her way out and she tripped on her way over the bus stop across the street. She put in her headphones and leaned against the pole marking it.

He felt them burn in response. His cock stayed as hard as rosewood.

He regretted not getting her number.

Or he could follow her discreetly. Put in what he learned from men worse than him by a thousand-fold into practice. Keep her somewhere safe, where she couldn’t be harmed by anyone, let alone herself.

Yes, that would be fine. He would just be looking after her best interests? Correct?

Correct.

He waited a moment and trailed his way to his car.

The bus pulled up, she went in. He turned his car on. A simple game of cat and mouse. If the cat were ever so interested in the mouse’s uninterrupted survival…

Or perhaps, did he not want her to meet a darker end at anyone else’s hand but his? His thoughts kept delving deeper. Were these dark, frankly barbarous images his fantasies regarding this (Y/N)? Or just fears?

He did notice from their brief conversation that she did have some scar tissue around her wrists. So even if he did very into these mental images, it would probably be for her betterment. They were obviously self-inflicted.

He felt himself grow more and more irrational. There was something burning in his chest. An itch that maybe he’d scratch just this life. Then the next, go about, offer her the basic kindness of the jacket and go.

If he was doomed to repeat every sinful day of every sinful life, what was one slip up? He’d done so well before.

He was trying so hard.

Yes, why not?

[linasofia]

The Game

Part 2

Fandom: Obsession (Coming to Netflix April 2023)

Relationship: William Farrow x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+

A/N: You can read the previous part here. This is what happens when my muse listens to my friends. You know who you are… 😈😈

I reach the fifth floor, and the gentle voice in the elevator announces my arrival before the doors slide open. Soft, warm–beige carpet tiles lead the way into a long hallway where old-fashioned lanterns illuminate the walls. The dark paint on the walls makes the hall appear more narrow than it is. All doors obviously look the same, but I don’t have to walk far to find the right one. I hold up the key card, and the lock immediately clicks. Room 505 is of a generous size, with a large sitting area and an even larger space for the king-size bed. The room smells faintly of William’s cologne and shower gel, and the wet towel in the bathroom tells me he showered recently. Another of his jackets hangs on a hook by the door, and I can’t resist pressing my nose against the dark fabric. He always smells heavenly good, and having his scent around me like this awakes an even stronger longing for him. I wonder how long he will make me wait for him. The heavy curtains are open, and it allows me to see the setting sun’s breathtaking evening act. The sky is on fire in the west, and the last burning rays of light fall on the treetops like a golden crown. Very soon, it will be dark.

For a moment, I consider closing the curtains, but then I remember the remote location of the charming, old hotel. With the stunning view comes privacy, and to my satisfaction, I discover that it’s impossible to see into William’s room from the hotel. I could walk around without clothes, and only the sky would notice. In fact, that’s exactly what William ordered me to do; wait for him—naked. The memory of his hoarse whisper makes me shiver. I dim some of the lights, not too much, but enough to make the atmosphere in the room even more sensual and luxurious. Then I take off my shoes and place them next to William’s sneakers. My feet sink down into a thick carpet as I walk back to the window. The window stretches all over the wall, and I can see my reflection thanks to the partly dark sky.

I remember the night I first met William. It was between courses at a newly opened restaurant downtown. I saw him the moment he entered through the large glass door. He was with a smaller group of people, and still to this day, I have no idea who they were. I never asked, and he never brought it up. God knows I’m not a patient woman, but that night I waited a small eternity for the right moment to make him aware of my presence. And the perfect moment came—eventually—and the rest is history. I grin at the memory of our heated encounter that followed in a dark alley later that night. It was the result of hours of teasing looks, desire built without spoken words, and neither of us could wait any longer. It did not matter that we had only just met. He took me—harshly pressed against the wall—and I burned in his grip as I had never burned before. When we parted, I knew I had to see him again.

My daydream almost becomes too much, and I sigh in frustration as I reach for the zipper in my dress. I send a prayer that William will join me soon. I have already waited long enough, and my impatience is growing fast. I need him so badly it hurts, but I also know the rules; when he leads, I follow. And he doesn’t approve of me touching myself before our meetings—unless he can watch. The silky fabric slides off me, and the sparkling effect from the champagne in my blood causes me to giggle. As I step out of my underwear and let them join my dress on the floor, I look at the faint reflection of myself in the window. I’m confident with my body. I like what I see, and I know William does too, for his eyes speak a language of their own when he watches me. As I rest my gaze on the almost dark horizon again, I suddenly hear a click from the door. A wave of excitement washes over me, and I quickly turn. He is here.

William enters the room, and I can instantly tell by the look in his eyes what he expects from me; obedience. I smile at him, but his lips don't move to mirror mine. Instead, he takes off his jacket and hangs it next to the other one. All of a sudden, there is a tension in the room—like the air is charged with electricity—and he walks slowly towards me. His gaze is fixed on me, and the way he hungrily takes in my naked curves is enough to make my breathing heavier. I love when he looks at me like that. I am his.

No words are uttered, but I still know what he means when he lifts his hand to brush my cheek with his fingertips. His steel-blue eyes always reveal his state before his body does, and I don’t need words to tell him how I feel. Our love language is of a different kind, and as I submissively lower my gaze, I catch a glimpse of admiration in his eyes. He leans in, just as he did downstairs less than twenty minutes ago, and his masculine, alluring scent speaks directly to my core.

“Are you going to be a good girl tonight?” His voice is nothing more than a low murmur, but I know what he is doing: making sure we are both up for whatever his dark and heavenly-twisted mind is planning. And I love him even more for taking the time to properly care for me.

”Yes, Sir,” My answer falls naturally from my lips, soft as a whisper—but still strong enough to make my consent vibrate in the air. William smirks back at me—the type of smile he makes when he knows exactly where he has me.

”Show me your hands,” he commands. As I turn my palms up and hold my hands in front of me, William grabs my wrists and presses my palms together. ”Like this.” Then he puts one hand in the pocket of his trousers and pulls out a carefully rolled red ribbon. He rolls it out and runs it playfully between his fingers. The silky ribbon is long—long enough to secure more than just my wrists—and the thought sends a shiver of excitement down my spine. I watch him as he wraps the ribbon tightly around my wrists three times. I can’t stop myself from moaning as he pulls the end between my hands to tighten the ribbon. The silk cuts into my skin, not so bad it hurts, but hard enough to remind me that I can’t escape from him. William secures his creation with a knot and gives the backside of my hands a brief caress with his thumb. A playful smile hides in the corner of his mouth, and it makes me want to kiss him. I want to taste his lips and feel his tongue tickle mine. I need him to kiss me like there is no tomorrow until I can’t breathe and have to gasp for air. I know he can see it in my eyes, and he cups my face with both his hands and places teasing kisses on my lips. He breaks our kiss much too soon, but I know better than to protest. If I behave, he will give me everything I want. My darkest desires—which remained a well-preserved secret until I met him—will be answered once again.

William starts to roll up his sleeves. With the facial expression of a displeased workerpreparing himself for hard labor, he reveals his strong forearms to me. They are covered in soft hair, and he knows very well how attractive I find it. Then he opens a few more buttons in his shirt as if he is standing in the blazing sun and needs to cool down. I bite my lip to hinder myself from begging him to take it all off, and I can see in his eyes that it amuses him. ”I know you struggle to be patient,” he suddenly says. His voice is calm—he has regained control over himself, and I secretly admire his ability to take the role of the scolding Master. A smile dances over his lips as a reminder of the bond we share, but then his face becomes stern. ”Turn around.” I obey and meet our reflection in the window. William closes the distance between our bodies, and I lean back on him as he wraps one arm around my chest. I lift my bound hands to try to caress his arm, but he quickly catches me and pushes my hands down again. Then he grips my hair, forces my head backwards, and it makes me collide with his firm shoulder. ”Stand still, or I will make sure you can’t even move an inch.” The threat sounds more like a promise, and I grin to myself. I will do as I’m told—for now. William lets his warm, large hand glide over my upper body, and I let out a pleased sigh. His touch is gentle—like a tender lover—and the contrast to the harsh grip he has on my hair is intoxicating. The small words of affection while he continues his path over my body ignite my lust, and the more I want him to continue further down, the more he teases me. I whimper softly as he grabs me tighter. ”You are exquisite, sweetheart,” William mumbles. As he bends down and scrapes his teeth against my neck, I moan again. ”I love listening to you. Don’t hold back.”

My skin burns when I finally feel his fingers approaching my most sensitive parts, and I press myself against his hand to urge him to continue. But I should have known better. As soon as I grind against his fingers, he withdraws his hand. ”Already being disobedient? I told you to stand still.” I hear the grin in his voice, but then the skin on my thigh stings. I jump at his sudden move, but William is faster than me and tightens his grip around me again. ”I thought you learned your lesson last time but it seems I need to remind you again.” My skin stings again. And then again. My body responds to his rough treatment with an appreciative blush. Then he lets his hand rest on my shoulder, and I know what’s coming. A gentle squeeze follows, and then, a single word; ”Kneel.”

I smile at his command and drop to my knees with my back still against him. The thick carpet is very soft, and I thank the hotel for providing such nice comfort for their guests. In this position, William really towers over me, and he places his hand on my head, almost as if giving me a blessing. I meet his gaze in the reflection of the window, and his voice is hoarse as he speaks again. ”Look at yourself. This is what you want, is it not?” I nod at his question. He buries his hand in my hair and yanks my head backwards. It hurts as I stare into his steel-blue eyes, but I don’t protest. I want this just as much as he does.

”Yes, Sir,” I correct myself as my neck is being stretched. The seconds pass agonizingly slowly, but then suddenly, William lets go of the tight grip. He rubs his fingertips against my scalp in a soothing gesture before he releases my hair, and the subtle comfort he offers makes my heart swell. I sit back on my heels, with my knees spread wide—just as he demands—and waits for him to move. I know he likes to watch me, and tonight, more than ever, it appears. When he finally stands in front of me, he fills my whole vision. With a few of his long fingers, he catches my chin, and when he speaks, his voice has reached that dark, ominous register that reminds me of distant thunder.

”For every time you misbehave I will deny you relief. When you squirm in desperation—remember—you put yourself in the situation.”

William reaches for his belt and unbuckles it. Then he slowly pulls it from his trousers and folds it double. He has not yet used his belt on my naked skin, but the sight of the hard leather in his hand makes me gasp. William, however, seems to have other plans, for he tosses the belt on the floor and proceeds to open the button in his trousers. I enjoy watching him undress, almost as much as I love undressing him, and when he pulls down his zipper, I can’t resist lifting my bound hands toward him. The bulge in his trousers is proof enough of how much he enjoys this, but the look in his eyes when his member is freed from his boxers leaves no room for misunderstandings. He doesn’t have to tell me what to do; I have waited far too long to see him like this, and when he takes a small step forward, I welcome his leaking top with my tongue. His masculine smell and taste are incredibly arousing, and I greedily reach for him. The ribbon hinders me from using my hands the way I want, and I try to twist them to see if William was merciful enough to leave some room for adjusting my hands. He was not.

”No hands,” William groans as I close my lips around the top of his shaft. I don’t dare disobey him so soon again, so I let my hands fall down in my lap. Memories of his latest aftercare come back to me as he lets out a ragged breath. William was a bit more forceful the last time we met and took full advantage of my mouth. Afterwards, when he held me tenderly in his arms, I admitted that I loved every second of it. I also told him he could go harder on me—even force me—if he wanted to. Back then, he seemed to hesitate, but now, as he harshly grabs me, I can sense him coming to terms with my request. William turns so I can watch us both in the reflection. Slowly he pulls out of my mouth and tilts my head so I can see what he sees when he slides between my lips. The slightly blurry picture of us will forever be stored in my memory—whatever happens between us.

Guided by the sounds he makes, I caress him with my lips, lick his heavy shaft, and allow him a gradually deeper sensation. William twirls my hair between his fingers, and after a while, it becomes impossible to see anything in the window. Instead, I try to focus on the silky skin of William’s hardness—and my own breathing. He meets every movement of mine, and his thrusts soon become short and quick. I can hear in his uneven breathing that he will not last long if he continues.

A small stream of saliva escapes my lips as William suddenly steps away from me. I gasp for air as if I have just crossed the finish line in a cross-country race. Without a word, he grabs my arms and pulls me to my feet. ”You’ll be the death of me,” he mutters in an unrecognizable voice as he squeezes my arm. Something in his voice makes me actually believe him. He would do anything for me. William’s gaze still bores into mine as he starts to undress. As he removes his shirt and pulls down his trousers, impatience stir inside my body like a slumbering lioness waking up. The struggle to remain obedient grows, and I love the smirk William gives me. He knows what he’s doing to me, and I have a feeling he plans to enjoy it to the fullest. When he finally is naked, he grabs me by the elbow and leads me away from the window.

The large duvet is still untouched—William did not even throw his belongings on the neatly made bed. With a single push, I fall backwards on the bed, and he follows me and catches my wrists before I find a decent position for myself. As he uses his weight to hold me down, I can feel how incredibly warm he is. Effortlessly, he pulls my bound hands over my head, and the promising gleam in his eyes sets me on fire. ”Remember what I said,” he hisses before he gives my earlobe a playful bite. ”Your behavior will impact the outcome of this night. Be good—or be bad. It’s up to you.”

”I’ll be good for you, Sir,” I moan as he drags his nails along my arm, from the silky ribbon all the way down to my ribs. If I were less aroused, it would tickle, but now he leaves a burning trail on my skin. William lets out a short, raw chuckle. I know he doesn’t believe me—I don’t even believe it myself. His hardness presses against me, and I spread my thighs wide for him. A soft pleading slips from me. I didn't mean to beg, but my all-consuming desire has a will of its own. He only needs one hand to hold my arms in place over my head, and the other one explores every part of my heated body. The way he touches me—an overpowering combination of sensual and demanding—builds an aching feeling in my core, and soon he has me squirming under his hand.

”So eager,” William mumbles as he moves his hips in position. The bulging veins on his forehead strain against his skin and reveal his silent struggle to control himself. I know he wants to bury his full length in me, and I arch my body as an invitation. His long fingers gently wrap around my neck. With his thumb, he caresses my soft skin, and when he feels my frantic pulse, he adds a slight pressure. I gasp and try to move, yet he does not even blink as he sucks in air between his teeth as a warning. I trust him with every fiber in my body, but my heart leaps in my chest when he pierces me with his burning gaze. The way he suddenly claims my body makes me cry out. His swelling girth meets the slick resistance of my body in the most breathtaking way, and William’s groan echoes in my ears. I lose the air in my lungs as he presses me down, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. His fingers dig into my skin as his grip on my arm tightens, and every thrust echoes within my body. William’s breathing blends with mine, and our fire—the flaming desire we ignited months ago—will burn until there is nothing left of us. In the inferno he creates, I lose my grip on reality and float into the unknown as an ancient explorer on a damaged ship. Captured beneath him, all I can do is follow his moves, and he leads me on a path neither of us was prepared to follow. His face is filled with love, but he craves more—much more—and every time I think we will join in bliss, he denies me what I need. Heaven knows I try to be good, but there is something about the way he takes me, and it makes me completely forget all the rules. William seeks to punish me. I close my eyes in agony as I feel him repeating his torture, and I howl his name in desperation as he almost pulls out. At this moment, I don’t know if my love or hate is strongest, but the more I twist my hands, the deeper his ribbon cuts. My restraints hinder me from touching his body, but the groans he makes as he slams his hips against mine again sound painful. Finally, he suffers too.

It starts as an ache, then builds to a sweet pain, and my body silently screams for relief. I will never understand what William senses, but he knows so well where my limits are. I stand on the edge of my own release—ready to cry if he denies me again. But this time, he doesn’t pull back. Instead, he focuses all his efforts on the one angle that has me trembling. His words of praise and promises give my climax the final push over the edge, and we both fall—in a wordless cry—into the pool of ecstasy where our souls once again melt together.

Nothing but our joined breathing can be heard as he stills. My heart hammers wildly in my chest, but it’s his soft kisses on my cheek that I feel the most. With a gentle hand, he caresses my hair and mumbles words that my heart longs to hear. His voice is thick and filled with emotions as he looks into my eyes and swears his love to me once more. And I allow him. It’s easy to forget about reality when your body is filled to the brim with satisfaction. As he slowly sits up between my thighs, I study him. He is the most handsome man I have ever seen, and for now, I ignore the world outside his luxurious hotel room. William releases my wrists and carefully rubs my sore skin. My hands are a little numb from being bound so long, but his tender treatment soothes more than he might realize. Then he lifts them to his mouth and gently kisses the thin skin on the inside before blowing softly. ”You should not struggle so much, it burns your skin.” The concern in his voice fills me with a different kind of warmth.

”I don’t mind a few marks, you know that,” I reply with a teasing smile.

”I would lie if I said I don’t like seeing the marks on you, but I prefer if they don't become a problem for you—for us.” His confession doesn’t come as a surprise to me, and I watch him in silence as he rubs his thumbs over the angry red marks. Tomorrow they might be a reminder of our heated night. William is still out of breath, but to him, my comfort is more important.

”It will not become a problem,” I quietly assure him, even if I know that is a promise I will not be able to keep. The marks on my body are nothing compared to the obsession escalating between us. We are currently both ignoring it, but it would be insane to deny that we are in serious trouble. Our type of love always comes at the highest price. And sometimes, it hurts.

💙 If you like my writing, please consider spreading the love and reblogging.💙

Taglist and others who might be interested: @lathalea @legolasbadass @laurfilijames @i-did-not-mean-to @enchantzz @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @xxbyimm @mariannetora @haly-reads @sunnysidesidra @rachel1959 @knittastically @quiall321 @medusas-hairband @fulltimecrazy @s0ftd3m0n @emrfangirl @glimmering-darling-dolly @lilith15000 @clumsy-wonderland @theawkwardbutterfly @exhausted-humxn-being @beenthroughalot @chaikittie @piscesvancouverite @sotwk @dontaskmehowdontaskmewhy @mrsdurin

[scumscuttlers]

eavesdrop (if it's not too late!)

send me “eavesdrop” and my muse will describe your muse like they’re talking to a third party

You're halfway through a cigarette, trapped in some drab, concrete building while you wait for the sun to go down.

You remember having this conversation before. Maybe it was a variation of it, a bit of thoughtless small talk flowing in one auricular sponge and out the other while you spat out equally meaningless responses. It had to have been sweeps ago, because you don't recognize the brown eyes staring back at you.

"No, but there's this... teal." You disguise the time it takes you to think of something else to say by taking another drag of your cigarette. When it burns down to the butt you let it drop and smother it beneath your boot. It's still a long, long while before you say anything else.

"She's kind of intense, older than me, got a lot on her plate." There's a second where you consider explaining the wriggler thing, but you don't. No one here does that, and you don't know the circumstances of how Advoca became a mother anyway. "She's like a, uh, professional. Smart."

By that point you're checking out again, sliding another cigarette out of the carton you keep in your jacket and lighting up. You could probably keep going, get more and more specific by the sentence, but you don't have the energy for it and you don't owe your coworkers a glimpse into your personal life (no matter how bored you all are). They can continue the conversation without you.

Notes

I had a great idea come to me for writing this and told myself I would remember it when I woke up. I went to sleep without writing anything down. Obviously, I did not remember.

I think Inezra is weirdly taken by how in love Advoca is with love because it resembles her own obsessions. She's gotten over how annoying she found it at first and actually listened to what Advoca had to say last night in the watch party. It struck a chord. Not consciously though. God forbid Inezra be aware of anything going on in the recesses of her own mind.

So far Inezra doesn't have a strong opinion on Advoca, positive or negative, but that will probably change. Their conversations are enjoyable, and Advoca gets her to think a little more than usual instead of disregarding everything.

[queen-scribbles]

The Long Burning Torch ch 8

Alright, here we go, continuing what might be (rip) the longest day of Xaeryn's life for my @shepherds-of-haven 20's AU. (And a big thanks to @emeraldgreaves for code diving for me again <3)

Wordcount: 8,350~

---

Xaeryn's knee-jerk instinct was to correct 'abducted, not kidnapped'. As if that made a lick of difference to the fact Red was gone because someone had taken him.

Closely on its heels came Sun above, this is my fault. It wasn't as if Red was involved with anything else that had even a sliver of a chance to put him in danger; it had to be the research he was doing for her, or something else related to the case.

She shook off both thoughts and made herself focus. Panic wouldn't help Red. Her detective skills might. Would. "Could I see his office?"

Pan gave her a concerned look--probably heard the slight break in her voice. "Xaer, are you...?"

"Crying about it won't find him any faster," she said brusquely, squaring her shoulders. "But if those responsible" --for abducting him--"left any clues, especially if there's something I could use to help scrying..."

He nodded, an understanding gleam in his eye. "I think security's done and didn't find anything to make them suspicious, but you deal with this sort of thing more than they do, so if you wanna take a gander..."

He gestured toward the office, then followed a pace or two behind her, hands shoved in the pockets of his trousers. He didn't say anything and let her take in the scene.

It looked the same, roughly, as the last time she'd visited, just sans one tall, charming headmaster to greet her with an easy smile and warm green eyes. It almost offended her that Red's office looked the same without him in it, which was silly.

But it looked the same. There were no signs of a struggle or a fight.

Xaeryn traced a finger along the edge of the desk, smiling slightly at the trio of books half on top of each other, the stack of six more haphazard next to the chair, the charcoal grey suit jacket hanging off one corner of the chairback. It was the sort of space she could guess belonged to Red Antiqua without ever seeing him in it.

The books open on the desk were familiar ones; Jalis desert tribes, pre-Castigation artefacts. The research he'd offered to recompile for her. She stared at the desk and chairs for a long moment.

"... a girl does need a job eventually, and I’ve always loved a good mystery.”

“Or even a bad one..."

She didn't like how hard it was to focus on the task at hand; she was behind the eight ball enough without getting distracted by their bull sessions here over the past sennight--

She straightened.

"Ryn? You need to leave?" Pan asked.

Xaeryn shook her head. "I'm fine," she said, voice steady. "There are books on the chairs."

"Yeah, that's Red for you." Pan shot her a questioning look. "You know the man's borderline incapable of putting away books he 'might need later', even if later turns out to be two months down the road."

She couldn't help a small laugh. "No, I do know that. The books are still on the chairs. Whoever took him didn't try to be chummy and draw out their visit. When he has company that's staying, he moves the books so they have somewhere to sit. So this was quick in and out, no signs of struggle, and they didn't try to play coy. This was a mission."

God help her, it was hard to stay and sound detached about this.

"Well, night watchman says he didn't hear or see anything odd and he's always been honest and faithful in doing his rounds. He does stay on the first floor, though, as there's no other access to up here than the lobby, and there's another watchman outside." Pan crossed his arms, looking thoughtfully around the office. "So either they knew his schedule, got blazing lucky, or... didn't come through downstairs."

"If they didn't come through downstairs, maybe they had a Traveler," Xaeryn mused. "But it would be a gamble to translocate into an unfamiliar space as small as an office." She frowned.

"Maybe they just scaled the outside of the building," Pan suggested. "Wouldn't take more than an hour of waiting to gauge the outside watchman's rounds."

"And figuring out which window would be unlocked?" Xaeryn countered, just to see how far they could follow this possibility.

Pan's eyes narrowed, and he swore under his breath before darting down the hall. She arched a brow at the abrupt departure and resumed examining the room until he returned.

"The corner office," he said, scowling. "It's unoccupied right now, so we use it when we need a break. Sela's always smoking charch in there, and then Bart opens the window to get the smell out but he never remembers to close it all the way. And if the door's mostly shut, you wouldn't see it from the hall. Hael."

"Even if we accept that theory for how they got in, how would they make a clean sneak with Red?" she pointed out. "He'd either be struggling or..." she wrinkled her nose at the phrasing even as she said it. "...dead weight."

Pan ran a hand through his hair, rubbed the back of his neck, and eventually shook his head. "Search me."

Xaeryn mulled it over for a bit, looking at the other books on Red's desk, smiling at the scraps of paper sticking out to mark pages. "What if... both idea are right? They came in through the window, but translocated out? Their hideout would be a familiar destination, thus safe to Travel to. It's an effective way to get an... unwilling or unconscious companion somewhere without much fuss."

"That means there probably were only one or two of them..." Pan sighed, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. "I offered to help him. With getting things together for you. I already know some of the details and I can keep my mouth shut. He said it was fine; this sort of thing is fun. B'sides, it wasn't like he minded doing it for you--"

Her heart squeezed. "He said that?"

"No, but, Xaer" --Pan arched a brow at her-- "I know both of you well enough to read between the lines."

She couldn't argue that. "How many times do I have to remind you you can call me Red?"

"Anyway, if I'd stayed, and there were only a couple of these toughs, maybe... maybe it would be an attempted kidnapping."

Xaeryn shook her head. "Depends how badly they wanted him." Her conversation with Briony and Darius was too fresh in her mind. "You might also be hurt or dead, and that's the last thing he'd want. Or that I want."

"Good point." He sucked the inside of his cheek. "Why would someone want Red that badly, Xaeryn? Is this... because of your case?"

"I think so." She winced. "I just don't know what part of his involvement would make him an appealing target." She hugged her arms in close against her chest. "If it was something specific or just because we were seen together and the people I'm after thought taking him would... hurt me."

They weren't wrong.

"I don't want to know all of what's going on, Ryn," Pan sighed, "but if that's the case, these sound like some pretty nasty brunos to mess with."

"They are." No point sugarcoating it.

Pan didn't reply, just leaned against the wall sucking his teeth as he watched her.

Xaeryn circled the desk again, hoping desperately for something that would be a clue or--

A curling corner of notebook paper peeked out from under one of the open books on the desk. She shifted the tomes aside and found a whole sheaf, covered front and back in sprawling notes. He'd even written in their shorthand, which made a small smile tug her lips despite the circumstances.

"He got a lot down," she muttered under her breath, the familiar shorthand making something twist in her chest. I hope you're okay.

"Yeah, I think he foisted his class on someone else so he could just work on this all day." Pan pushed off the wall and approached. "Not a shocking twist."

Xaeryn looked up from the paper, brow furrowed but didn't rise to the bait.

Pan, however, was undeterred. He sat back on the edge of the desk, giving her a skeptical look. "You two have always been thick as thieves, but it made him a special kind of dizzy to have you come waltzing back into our lives, y'know."

The twist in her chest went tighter. "I didn't know, actually. But it's always wonderful to reunite with old friends."

"Uh-huh. Old friends." Pan studied his nails a moment, then looked back at her with brows arched. "And what happened between you old friends the night of the gala to make him not say a gods-blessed word the whole way back to the hotel?"

Her fingers tightened, crinkling the paper. "That doesn't seem like a relevant line of inquiry, Panrachus," she said, gaze fixed on the page before her.

"It is to me," he countered with a knowing smile. "Maybe something in there relates to why he got nabbed."

She didn't like that thought. Even more than she disliked Pan's prying. "Nothing happened at the gala."

"And after?" Pan asked pointedly.

"...I might do something dreadfully improper."

"Also nothing." It came out sharper than intended. Thanks to your timing. Xaeryn cleared her throat. "Beyond what you already knew; I got jumped on my way back and Red helped patch up the result of defending myself." She waved the bandaged hand as proof. "I'm glad he was there; it would've been a nightmare to do alone."

"Mm-hm."

She shot him a narrow-eyed look. "Why do I feel like you don't believe me?"

"I dunno." Pan gave her a look that spoke volumes. "Do you feel like part of it shouldn't be believed?"

She looked him dead in the eye. "Nothing. Happened."

"Alright, I believe you," he shrugged. A beat. "Did you want it to?"

The whole messy torrent of emotions she been damming up since that night surged in her chest. God help me, yes.

She was saved from a moment of naked vulnerability by something gleaming on the desk, down among the books and paper. She dug for it and came up with an earring, amber bead transfixed on a small gold hoop.

"Hello there," she murmured, cradling the jewelry in her palm. "Last I checked, Red wasn't one for earrings."

Pan shook his head. "And he's the only one who's been in this office since we got back from Haven..."

There was always the chance it came from a student who'd visited prior to that, but it was the only lead she'd found. Xaeryn did not want to dwell on what she'd do it it was a dead end. If it was her fault he'd been abducted, the least she could do was save him, too.

No time like the present, she told herself, and with a deep breath sat in Red's chair. Part of her would rather have her full focus for a scry, but she didn't want to wait the two hours it would take to drive home. There was a driving, itching need to do something now. She pulled out the small bronze dish from her handbag. Scrying with so small a focus would give her a fearsome headache, but she didn't care if it let her find Red.

Pan watched from the other side of the desk, lapsed into anxious silence.

Alright, you bastard. Her hand curled around the earring. Where are you?

Scrying on the present was like sticking her head in a shallow pond to see what was on the bottom--blurry or shadowed at the edges, but she could pick up the detail she was after.

This time, however, was like trying to dive into a frozen lake.

She could see the potential for a vision, but slammed into something that blocked her from reaching it. Dead air.

Xaeryn broke the attempted scry, heedless of the dull ache starting at her temples. "No, no, no..." she mumbled, looking around the room.

"Xaer?"

"It didn't work," she said sharply. At least that confirmed the earring didn't come from a random Solhadur student, but that wasn't worth beans if she couldn't use it to find him.

Her gaze lighted on the jacket hanging off his chair and she seized it, fingers curling in the charcoal grey fabric as the smell of dusty books and his cologne filled her nose. She stared fiercely at the scrying focus, daring it not to work.

Dead air, again.

Her heart lodged in her throat and she tried to push it back down. Think this through logically, Xaeryn. It can't be coincidence, this implies it is indeed the people who have the Torch--Kaza and his allies--who took Red. They clearly have a VERY good Binder laying wards. Maybe Neon would know something; Pan said he's working in Haven now, I could ask--

"-ryn." From Pan's tone he'd repeated her name a few times at this point.

"I can't see him, either," she admitted, numb at having to say the words aloud.

"So... what next, then?"

What, indeed. There had to be something else. Something she could do, someone she could talk to. She couldn't be powerless, not now, not for this. She fought the desperation tightening her chest. Calm. Panic will only cloud your mind, and how will you help if you aren't thinking straight? It took a few moments of sitting in silence, absently rubbing the fabric of Red's jacket between her fingers as she forced herself to follow her advice.

"Well," she finally began, "given I got the same result attempting to look for Liefred or the earring's owner as I do for Solimer's Torch, it's likely they're together. It's the only times I've had this happen when I scry, so I feel it's a logical assumption. I have Thieves Guild in Haven keeping an eye out for unusual activity in Ashtown--the most likely hiding place for these hooligans. I can see if they noticed anything since I last spoke to them. Having a..." Hostage? prisoner? "...person to stash in the same building might've stirred some some activity."

"All the way back in Haven?!"

"That is where my prime suspect currently resides," she pointed out. "And I have an appointment with a pair likewise working against him; maybe they saw something helpful if the Guild didn't."

Pan sucked his teeth a moment, then cracked a small, wry smile. "Red would have a heart attack if he knew you'd made a deal with a Thieves Guild."

"He can fuss over my choices til he's blue in the face, long as it means he's safe," she retorted, pushing to her feet. "I'll ring with updates, do you have a direct number?" She scribbled it sideways up Red's notes as Pan rattled it off, collected her scrying focus to tuck that and the earring in her handbag. Maybe later she'd have better results than just a headache.

"Maybe I should come with you. Just back to Haven."

Xaeryn shook her head, resting a hand on Pan's arm. "Just in case the security teams figure something important, if you're here you can pass it along."

His expression said he saw through the excuse to keep him somewhere safe, but he nodded. "Fine."

"I'll be in touch," Xaeryn promised. She hesitated to return the suit jacket. "Do you think he'd mind if I keep this? To try again later."

"Not a drop," Pan said, shaking his head. "Find him, Xaer. And be safe, huh? I don't want to lose one friend, let alone two."

She nodded, not pointing out those request may well turn out mutually exclusive, and headed for her car.

---

Her head was awhirl the whole drive home, but she didn't have time to puzzle it out--or speak to Thieves Guild--when she got back. She was cutting it close on making her meeting with Briony and Darius. One-God willing, they'd know something that would help tie King Kaza to Red's abduction, or at least gotten something pointing to where he had stashed the Torch.

Xaeryn parked, made a brief visit to her office to lock the notes and earring in her desk, and headed briskly for the meeting. She turned the corner just in time to catch a flash of green hair as Darius ducked into the curiosities shop.

While smart not to visit the café so soon, especially since he and Briony rather stood out as customers, it made Xaeryn wish she'd warned them of the shop proprietor's eccentricities. Chandry was harmless but... off-putting to some, and Darius didn't seem the type to handle off-putting well.

But she had bigger concerns now. Xaeryn took a deep breath as she pulled open the door, but there was only so much her nerves were willing to ease.

Darius wasn't immediately visible when she entered, but he found her quickly enough. "You look riled, miss lady detective."

Xaeryn flashed a flat look for his tone. "It's warranted. Where's Briony?"

He craned his neck to look around the store. "Either on her way, or I guess she couldn't breeze on his majesty." His eyes narrowed. "You don't look happy 'bout that. What's tricks?"

She looked down, pretending to browse the curiosities on offer. "A friend of mine was abducted. I'm of a mind it's connected to our... suspect; this friend was helping me with research on the Torch."

Darius frowned, playing with a dinged up first aid kit. "That's the only connection?"

"I don't need anything else," Xaeryn hissed. She dropped the charch pipe she hadn't really been looking at. "He's a professor, for Heaven's sake! The only thing remotely dangerous he's tied to is this!" She gestured between them. "I wanted to ask Briony if she'd noticed anything in King Kaza''s behavior or visitors that might help me narrow down when he was... taken."

"We need to find the Torch," he growled in an undertone, "not your sweetheart."

"Friend," Xaeryn corrected tartly--and far too quickly, even she heard it.

"Can I help you find anything?" Chandry's arrival had been so quiet it made Darius flinch, whatever remark he was about to make lost in staring at the garishly made up--or painted, Xaeryn had never decided which side of the line it occupied--face of the shop's owner and namesake.

"Not today, Chandry," she said with a small shake of her head. "Just browsing."

"In that case... make sure you look at the new arrivals," Chandry said, patting the rolled up rugs on a nearby table. "And, smart as you are, maybe you can help me with something." He leaned forward, elbows braced on the topmost rug.

It was the fastest way to get their relative privacy back, and he had saved her from a rather embarrassing turn of conversation, so Xaeryn indulged him. "Oh?"

Chandry grinned. "I've been having a wonder this morning. Which streets," he began conspiratorially, " would have the most ghosts on them, do you think?"

Xaeryn pretended to mull it over, though the answer was obvious, even tapping her finger to her chin dramatically. "I guess it would be... dead ends?"

He all but clapped in his enthusiasm. "Correct!" A flourishing bow. "I shall leave you to your shopping." He bounded off.

"Took long enough," Darius grumbled.

"Chandry's not so bad," Xaeryn said defensively. "You just need to know how to talk to him." There are benefits to being on his good side. But they were here for a purpose. "Back to the matter at hand, I am aware of your deadline; I'm fairly sure my friend's being held in the same place as the Torch."

"What makes you so sure?"

"I can't scry on him, either!" She bit her lip. "It's the same dead air feeling as trying to do so with the Torch, and it's something I've never encountered before, so it seems a logical conclusion."

"Hm," Darius grunted. "Y'know, if Jarkyth sent the brunos who grabbed your friend, there might not be anything to glean from Ackshin."

"I thought about that. D'you know if either of them employ Diminished? Aside from Briony."

"A few, I think," he shrugged, "but you'd have to ask Bry for specifics. What about your friend; he a Mage? Put up a fight?"

"He is, but his specialization is Conjuring, translocation, not combat."

"If he's a Traveler, why-"

Xaeryn held up a finger to cut him off. "I'm trying not to think about that. None of the answers that spring to mind are pleasant, especially in relation to my best friend."

Something glittered in Darius' eyes but he didn't pursue the thought. "Didja learn anything new before you got distracted?"

She had to grit her teeth not to snap Red being abducted wasn't a distraction. Instead of giving him the satisfaction of getting under her skin, she relayed her deal with Thieves Guild and plan to talk to them when this appointment was done. "And you? Did your behind the scenes snooping turn up anything?"

"Yes and no." Darius did a double take at a fishbowl--complete with fish--before pulling himself back to the conversation. "I tailed one of Ackshin's toughs, all the way to blazin' Ashtown, but she gave me the slip." He scowled. "Felt like we were close to where she was goin', too."

Xaeryn stiffened. "What part of Ashtown was this in? I can have the Guild look more closely."

"South-eastern, I guess I'd call it," Darius said after a moment. "Almost plastered against the outer wall."

It made sense for them to be away from the main drag, though she wouldn't have expected quite that far. Unless they knew of some way out through or under the walls.... For now the important thing was having a smaller area for search.

"Alright," she murmured, half to herself, "I can work with that, provided the Guild will play ball."

"Don't suppose you have anything more actionable for me, miss snooper?" Darius interrupted her train of thought.

Xaeryn grimaced and shook her head. "No, just the deal with Thieves Guild. I'm afraid I've been a bit preoccupied by the abduction today. So unless them making a bolder move helps you in some way, I don't."

He grunted and glared at a table of kitchen paraphernalia. "Gods damn this twisted up kn-"

The door jangled forcefully as it swung open to admit a new arrival, familiar pink ponytail swishing as she looked around.

Briony's eyes flashed when she saw them and it clearly took effort to act nonchalant on her way in their direction. She called a polite response to Chandry's greeting without even looking, dodged a small table, and finally reached Xaeryn and Darius. "Glad I didn't miss you," she murmured, examining a display of commemorative playbills and paintings. "Kaza had a couple meetings where he wanted a show of strength an' I think someone might've been tailing me--"

"And you still came?!" Darius hissed. Xaeryn couldn't disagree; it seemed a terrible risk.

"I lost them first!" she retorted, flicking him an annoyed look. "I've been doing this as long as you, Darius Torren, I know how to lose a tail!"

"Oh, but they're so useful for swatting flies, why would you want to lose a tail if you had it?" Chandry interjected, and Briony looked briefly taken aback by both his sudden presence and appearance.

At least she recovered faster than Darius, showing a warm smile. "Oh, I mean a much less useful kind of tail."

Chandry shrugged at the explanation and disappeared between shelves once more.

"All else aside, I am glad you made it," Xaeryn said to steer them on track. She had to take Briony's word she'd truly shaken the tail. "Any developments for you?"

"Jarkyth came by for a bit before lunch," Briony said, after a quick glance to assure Chandry was moved off and there were no other customers in the store. "They shut themselves in the sitting room for near an hour. They're planning something with the Torch, and I feel like--"

"Any other visitors or messages this morning?" Xaeryn interrupted. "Perhaps that evoked a change in demeanor?"

Briony gave her a curious look but nodded. "He got a message during breakfast that prompted a very smug smile." Her brow furrowed. "Come to think, he did say something to the messenger that I didn't catch. Wonder if that's what made Jarkyth come over; they've been really careful about appearances. Why?" She crossed her arms. "You're being sort of intense, Xaeryn. It's scaring me."

Xaeryn explained the circumstances. Again. "And with what you say occurred, I think it's a safe bet our friends are responsible."

Briony's expression shifted aghast and she reached over to squeeze Xaeryn's shoulder comfortingly. It was a surprisingly hefty squeeze. "Are you doing alright?"

Xaeryn nodded. "Don't have the luxury to be otherwise."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Actually, yes. Do you know of any other Diminished among King Kaza's entourage?"

Briony's face screwed in thought. "That came along? Just a few. It's funny; he's superstitious as hael, likes to flaunt me at every opportunity, but he's also nervous about trusting in magic too much. There's a Binder, to do his protective wards. Shy little redhead, I've never heard her speak and don't even know her name," she said regretfully, twirling her ponytail as she continued. "Heron's Ket, mostly here for his skill with battle magic, but he's a fair hand at conjuring--"

"Traveing?" Xaeryn's brows arched.

"He... probably could if he had to," Briony nodded, then gave a small gasp. "You think he's the one who took your friend?"

"Seems likely," Xaeryn said. If he was a full-blood Ket he could do it single-handed. "Are they the only ones?"

"For Ackshin, yeah. Jarkyth has a few 'judiciously placed servants' he's alluded to. Mostly things like Binding or Seer, useful but not dangerous if they decide to turn on him. Has a Shifter Heron won't stop nattering about." She smirked. "I think he's stuck on her."

Darius snorted. "Not important, Bry."

"You never know, D." She shrugged and turned to Xaeryn. "So, why do they want your friend?"

"I've been trying to figure that," Xaeryn sighed, trailing her fingers over a dark lantern. "Even from unpleasant angles. If they know I'm on their trail and want to keep me in the dark, I've already learned--and written down--near everything about the Torch, and there are... more final ways to remove him as a source.

"If they want to use him as leverage to make me dust on the case, you'd think they'd be more blatant or would have left a note-"

"Unless they're countin' on your big brain to fill in the blanks," Darius interjected sardonically. "An' you knowin' without them sayin' serving to make you more suggestible."

"Such a ray of sunshine, D," Briony groused, elbowing him sharply.

"He has a point," Xaeryn said, gritting her teeth at the thought. "But they'll be quite disappointed if that's their goal."

Briony flashed a fierce smile as she shifted to a shelf of knick knacks. "So, what's our plan, then?"

"Darius mentioned trailing one of the king's people to Ashtown. I'll have Thieves Guild watch the area more closely if they're amenable" --and she'd sweeten the deal if that's what it took to make them amenable--"you and Darius keep an eye for our friends' behavior so we can act swiftly if they do anything hinky." She tapped a finger to her lips. "I hate being stuck in so reactive a course, but I fear it's where our options lay."

Though if opportunity presented itself she would seize it with both hands.

"I guess you're righ- Oh, this is adorable!" Briony gave a delighted (and distracted) squeal as she snatched a small ceramic ahfuri off the shelf. It was adorable, but-

Xaeryn cleared her throat.

"I'll keep eyes peeled," Briony promised, cradling her find.

"How're we passing along anything we see?" Darius asked.

"Telephone or wire, I suppose," Xaeryn replied.

"Right." Briony nodded, wiggling slightly as she glanced toward the counter. "I'm gonna go pay for this." She darted across the store.

Darius fixed Xaeryn with a steady look. "You will tell us if you learn anything, right, miss snooper? Before you go harin' off after your friend alone?"

"Have you decided to worry about me in his absence?" Xaeryn said dryly.

He just arched a brow.

"I promise to pass along anything I learn, I don't promise to wait before acting on it."

Darius chuckled and glanced at Briony, who was chatting up Chandry with another warm smile as she paid. "Don't s'ppose I can blame you for that." He tugged on his cap. "See you soon, lady detective."

Briony noted him leaving and darted after him, barely remembering to grab her purchase.

Xaeryn smiled and browsed a few more minutes before heading for the door herself.

A hand on her arm stopped her just before she exited. "One moment," Chandry chirped, pressing something into her palm. "Don't forget your prize."

Xaeryn blinked at the bronze sun brooch. "Prize-?"

The riddle.

"To the victor go the spoils," Chandry proclaimed, releasing her arm to give another bow, and then ducked away. Rather than drag things out by protesting or trying to insist on paying--experience said he wouldn't take a danar--Xaeryn slipped the brooch in her handbag and headed for her office.

---

It hit her like a thunderbolt halfway up the steps--it was midafternoon and she'd not eaten since breakfast. As if summoned by the realization, her stomach cramped and her knees bobbled on the next step.

Xaeryn scowled at the reminder she needed to eat. There was too much to do, she needed to talk to Thieves Guild, she needed to poke around, she needed to find Red before--

Her stomach growled loudly.

I think there's still my half a sandwich left from yesterday, she surrendered--reluctantly--to her body's urging. After all, she wouldn't get much done if she fainted from hunger. The half sandwich. Perhaps an apple. Ten minutes to eat. She could spare that. Red would fuss if he knew she wasn't taking care of herself.

Xaeryn smiled wryly as she unlocked the door. That was better motivation than anything. She checked the back of the door as she closed it; no sigil showing, so no break-in attempt. She collected the sandwich and apple, opting to sit at her desk and review notes while she ate. Maybe there was something helpful she'd missed.

There was quite a bit to review, though less than it appeared by page count given Red's sprawling shorthand. He didn't doodle like she did, instead filling the page edge to edge. It didn't look like he'd found anything new while getting this together and it was easy to skim.

As she tucked the papers back in the drawer her gaze landed on the earring. She set down the small remaining portion of her sandwich and stared.

Couldn't hurt to try again...

She removed the earring, fetched her scrying disk, and cleared her mind to focus. The disk's surface clouded, cleared, and gave her nothing but the same dead air.

Xaeryn growled and glared at the earring. "Where is he?!"

She'd run into protective wards or sigils before blocking scries. This was different; just empty not blocked, and it kept happening on this case--

The telephone rang. She very seriously considered not answering. She needed to get to Ashtown. But that would be unprofessional, and what if it was Pan? Or Darius, or Briony, though this would be awful quick for one of them. So she sighed and picked up the receiver. "Xaeryn Shrike Investigations." Please be quick.

"Finally!" Ms. Aerin huffed on the other end. "I've been trying to reach you for hours, Miss Shrike!"

Really should get a secretary... "Apologies, there was a development and I was out of office." She ran a hand down her face.

"From your tone, I'd reckon this is not a positive development in the direction of recovering the artefact and arresting the thieves?"

"It might lead there," Xaeryn acknowledged. "But the actual occurrence is not. They abducted my friend who'd been helping with research."

"Ah. My condolences, Miss Shrike. Is there any chance of them learning compromising details?"

"Not if I've followed the trail to correct suspicions, no. He knows the history and legend around the Torch, but not the current state of my investigation." She shifted her grip on the telephone. "And my suspect is already familiar with all of that."

"Ah, so you do have a firm suspect."

"Mm." The brooch slid out of her handbag when she nudged it aside, and Xaeryn picked it up to toy with as she talked. "I was pretty firmly on his scent after the gala, but I met a couple... inside men, shall we say, who confirmed my suspicions. So I've found the man, I believe, I just need to find where he's stashed the artefact" --and Red--"and proof of his complicity in the matter."

"Excellent! Mr. Syndran told me you had some promising leads from the gala, I'm glad to hear one of them panned out," Ms. Aerin said. "The case has felt... treading water too long."

"Oh, yes, I suppose those developments did occur after we talked," Xaeryn murmured, tracing the bronze sun's rays.

"Talked?" There was a frown in her voice. "Miss Shrike, I wasn't there."

Something cold skittered down Xaeryn's spine to swirl in her gut. "What? I grant that it was a full night, but I distinctly remember talking to you."

"Then apparently I have a doppelganger," Ms. Aerin said tartly. "I didn't go, Miss Shrike. I was dealing with the effects of a traitorous sandwich at lunch."

Food poisoning?? "Then who..." The nagging sensation of just missing something was back. Followed like a bucket of ice water by the thought of the conversation she'd just had.

There's a Shifter working for Jarkyth.

"Did you inform Mr. Syndran you wouldn't be attending?" Xaeryn asked, willing her voice to stay level as her mind raced to incorporate this twist.

"Of course. I called the office." A pause. "I was honestly surprised to learn he attended without me. But the Hall is an important enough contract, I suppose it makes sense..."

Xaeryn shifted in her seat and cleared her throat. "Ms. Aerin, to all appearances, he attended with you."

There was a long silence as the other woman processed her words, followed by a snort. "Do you expect me to believe some impersonator managed to fool Riel Syndran into thinking she was me for several hours?!?!"

"Not for hours," Xaeryn corrected. "A few minutes for the drive to the gala, and then a short chat every so often throughout the evening. Mingling's the point of such an event, from my understanding. And at one point when I was chinning with him he mentioned 'you' were bustling about as if the gala was your responsibility instead of the museum's."

"That is the sort of thing I would do," Ms. Aerin sighed. "Still, I wonder how she pulled it off. And why."

"Information would be my guess," Xaeryn said. She idly clipped the brooch to her blouse and pulled out her notepad to page through. "My chief suspect is the king of Elinden, who has cultural and religious motives if he is indeed responsible, and at least a few high-placed political connections who could hire or employ someone skilled at disguise. The only motive I could imagine would be nosing around to see if there's information they missed. Or something they need that I have, or if there was worry I was too close on their trail." She flexed her bruised hand, evidence of the answer to that.

"And what would they have learned from your chat with her?"

"From me? That I had talked to Miss Aescar about people who tried to buy, claim, or steal the Torch. And that my notepad had been stolen. Nothing they didn't know already."

"They knew about the notepad?" Ms. Aerin said, arched brow in her voice.

"Oh, right." Xaeryn explained the reasoning behind that belief, the words trailing off as she reached a particular note from her inaugural meeting with Briony and Darius. She stared at it a moment, then decided to take a shot in the dark. "Ms. Aerin, did you go to the museum to oversee the arrival of the artefacts?"

"That was the plan," Ms. Aerin replied. "However, there were a couple... issues that arose requiring my attention, so I had to leave before they were done."

Got you. Despite the nagging sensation still growing at the base of her skull, Xaeryn smirked. "Thank you. Enlightening as this conversation has proven, was there a reason you were trying to reach me? I have a couple time-sensitive angles to investigate..."

"Just looking for an update; we hadn't heard from you yet today and Mr. Syndran is getting restless at how long things are dragging out."

"Believe me, I share his disapporval of that," Xaeryn said, running a finger over the notepad page. "I'm highly motivated to change it, and hopeful one of the new angles will bear significant fruit."

"Very well then, I'll leave you to it. Good day, Miss Shrike."

"Good day." The nagging grew stronger as she dropped the telephone back in its cradle. She was missing something, something right in front of her, and she couldn't help but feel it was something vital.

Deep breath and half a step back, she told herself. If Ms. Aerin hadn't stayed to oversee the whole delivery at the museum, and she knew from Darius and Ferrin's accounts nothing happened to the couriers' caravan on the way through the city, then it seemed clear the Shifter masqueraded as her to get access once the delivery arrived but she'd left. Xaeryn pulled out the photograph of Solimer's Torch. It wasn't even the size of her palm; easy to conceal in a handbag or pocket--or your blouse if you were feeling bold.

I know how they did it. The adrenaline rush at that victory was somewhat dulled by knowing these people--smart, bold, and desperate--had Red.

The Shifter had probably been emboldened by her success at the delivery--faking bad humor so people were glad to be rid of you was one off the oldest tricks in the book. Enough to attempt something more daring, like copying Aerin again for the gala--

Xaeryn sat bolt upright in her chair, the nagging turned to gut-wrenching revelation as pieces clicked. There was one more thing the Shifter had learned from her at the gala.

Red was the only other person who could read her shorthand.

Nausea twisted and she almost tasted her lunch again. It really was her fault. She'd relayed the damning information to the culprits with blithe ignorance.

And now that she knew, and was recalling the encounter with a more critical eye, all the clues seemed blatantly obvious. The chillier manner, the repeated 'Detective Shrike' rather than 'Miss', the vague prodding at topics they had already discussed.

Self-flagellation later, tracking down Red now, she scolded. The one silver lining to realizing her gaffe was that if they had abducted Red for such a purpose, they'd need him alive, conscious, and (mostly) unharmed.

The swift counter to that--and extreme incentive to hurry--was she had no idea how far they'd go to make him cooperate. Or what they wanted from her notes. Or if they would believe what he claimed about their contents.

There was not, however, any doubt in her mind what would happen once they had what they wanted.

She needed to talk to Thieves Guild. Now.

Xaeryn pushed away from the desk with vigor, only just remembered to lock up the case paraphernalia, and headed out the door, determined steps carrying her toward Ashtown.

---

She'd wound her way through the streets and was just in sight of the cat graffiti outside the Guild's warehouse when movement raked her peripheral vision and a lanky figure dropped off a low roof nearby.

"You're sure gettin' easy with navigating our streets, Miss Shrike," Chase said with a grin, shoving his hands in his pockets. Dust or dirt smeared the sleeve and front of his dark red shirt, and his green eyes twinkled as he examined her. "Quite the skill for a proper lady to develop; people will talk."

"An excellent memory is actually quite a useful skill to refine as a detective," Xaeryn corrected. "I need to speak with you."

"Oho, straight to the point." He was still grinning. "This about the deal you made with Ari?" One hand came out of the pocket to gesture toward the warehouse door.

"Yes." She gripped her handbag tightly more out of urgency than concern. "I wanted to talk about the terms."

"Changing them on us already?" Chase made a tsking sound as he turned into a room, smaller than where they'd spoken before, more of an office. "Not wise to play around with Thieves Guild, sunshine."

Xaeryn grit her teeth. Miss Shrike. But it wasn't worth it. "Not... changing in any way meant to be detrimental or unfair to you," she said, taking a seat when he offered. "You know I'd asked your people to keep an eye for anything hinky. I was wondering what the trade off would be for more closely examining a smaller area."

"So, rather than a general 'let me know if anything weird happens on your turf', you want us to poke around part of it for something specific?" Chase sat behind what approximated a desk as he spoke--planks balanced atop crates--and put his feet up.

"Yes. What change would that bring to our bargained price?"

He smirked and played with one of his rings, studying her face with a keen look in his eyes. "Well, seeing as we've already made a pretty lyss off you, which I'm sure you'll at least partly claim as a business expense, so Merchants Guild foots the bill" --he gave a Cheshire grin at the thought--"I don't want any more of your money."

She arched a brow. "No?" The hair prickled at her nape.

Chase slid a knife free of its boot sheath and stared at the blade nonchalantly. "No, I think for this I want a favor." His eyes flicked to hers. "Regardless of if we find what you're after."

"Accepted, but I won't do anything illegal," Xaeryn said without a beat of hesitation.

"Darling, this is Thieves Guild," he drawled, his grin unwavering under piercing green eyes.

"And I"m certain there's at least a few legitimate things you can think of to ask me," she countered. "Nothing. Illegal." She'd square anything else between her and the One-God, but she wasn't going to jeopardize her livelihood doing something that would turn the police fully against her. She was already sort of a grey area to them. If push came to shove, she'd look for Red and the Torch herself.

"If it has to be on the up, then two favors," Chase said. He was studying her with narrowed eyes and it made her wonder what he saw.

She didn't feel like playing games to get an answer out of him, however. "One regardless, two if you're successful. I'm interested now in just the south-eastern quarter, near the wall in particular. Looking for a building that's being used to stash at least one stolen artefact and a... captive. But before you shift into that, did your people see anything from the more general assignment?"

"Twiggy blonde in the northeast part of the district, just hanging around." He waggled his brows. Xaeryn knew as well as he did people did not loiter in Ashtown for their health. "But she didn't do anything much; lingered and left, so I'd wager she got dusted on by whoever was s'pposed to meet her."

It didn't seem relevant, but she filed it away nonetheless. "Thank you. I'll be checking soon to see if you've found anything with the narrowed area."

"Anxious, are we?" Chase said with a knowing smile. "And could I get a description of this 'captive'? In case we see them, we should know if it's the right person, wouldn't you say?"

"He's tall, red hair, green eyes, street clothes sans jacket and perhaps tie." He didn't always wear one. "I'm not sure how they've been treating him, so he might be roughed up." She stood. "And this is a time-sensitive case that has already drug out longer than desired, so perhaps I am a bit anxious for its conclusion."

"Hopefully we'll find something that can help with that goal." He swung his feet down. "Be seein' you, Miss Shrike."

"You certainly will, Chase." She made her way outside, blinked through the dim-to-bright shift again, and briefly considered poking around herself before deciding to return to her office. Perhaps scrying on Red directly would work this time... If she could just see him, it would help the worry gnawing in her chest. No matter how dire the straits.

---

It did not work. Still nothing. Xaeryn hated feeling powerless at the best of times, not being able to do anything now, with Red in harm's clutches, was pure torture. It was getting harder and harder to fight off the frantic, paralyzing dread as each avenue she explored dropped a dead end in her path. She even got desperate enough to poke around the king's hotel, but that, too, came up empty.

She wasn't truly hungry, but when dinner time came she didn't have anything else to do except pray and go over notes again. Wait for Briony or Darius to reach out, if they would have cause. So she fixed something small and made herself eat. She didn't taste a bite.

To keep herself from pacing a hole in the floor, she decided to give scrying with the earring one more shot. Third time's the charm, wasn't that the saying?

Yes, she was getting a headache from scrying so much in one day. (Or trying to.) No, she didn't care if it would let her find Red before something happened to him.

There was a sense of last-ditch finality to this attempt as she prepared. Logic would dictate giving up if it failed to produce result again. Xaeryn wasn't sure she could be logical about this.

She pinched the earring between her thumb and first two fingers, focused on the bronze scrying disk, and sent up a prayer. One-God, please.

The surface wavered, clouded, cleared on an image. A lightning bolt of desperate relief seared through her and she almost lost the scry before focusing greedy attention on what she could see. A tall man, well built, with silvery-white hair. She strained her concentration until pain lanced her temples and could make out the Ket tattoo on his wrist and earring the match of the one she held in his ear. The background was fuzzy, but she got the sense of generic grandeur, like a ritzy hotel. Another figure stepped into the bounds of her scry--King Kaza Ackshin.

Xaeryn struggled to keep her breathing steady as hope nipped at her soul. A solid connection.

There was another silhouette at the edge, just a shadow, but it might've been Briony. The posture and ponytail looked right.

Her subject--Heron, she'd guess--and King Kaza were exchanging words, which the silent nature of scries meant she didn't catch, and their positioning made it hard to read lips. But it was clear from body language they were preparing to leave. The toll was too much and the scry faded as the figures headed out of the room.

Xaeryn's heart pounded with adrenaline and exertion in equal share as she sat back.

A lead. Oh, blessed God above, she had a lead. They were heading somewhere, the gamble was if it was where she wanted to find or something unrelated.

She was on her feet and halfway across the room before she remembered her promise to Darius. If Briony was with King Kaza, did that count as one of them knowing? Did she really have time...

Xaeryn groaned, turned back the desk, and called the place Darius had said he was staying. No, "Mr. Thrace" wasn't in, did she want to leave a message for him? Deep breath through her nose. "Tell him to meet his snooper friend by the Ashtown gate. She's not going to wait for him long." She hung up before the desk clerk could respond.

If she hustled, she could pick up the king's entourage at the gates and follow. If that's where they were going. If it wasn't, she'd be out of the office, should anyone try to reach her, and miss a vital update.

She had to follow this. To be so close, have this dropped almost literally in her lap...

What she'd seen of King Kaza's expression was eager--he was looking forward to wherever this would lead. That thought alone tipped the balance. There was only one course of action for her and she knew it.

Xaeryn didn't even bother with a hat this time. She only grabbed her handbag because it held her dagger, and if she'd chosen correctly, she would likely need it.

Please let me be right. Please let him be alright. There was no way to ensure someone knew what she was doing--she really should get a secretary--so she'd just have to hope. Hope Briony was truly along, or Darius wasn't out long to get her message, or something. This might very well be the culmination of her case, and all she cared about was saving her friend.

"Nothing. Happened."

"Did you want it to?"

Her hands were shaking as she locked the drawer, locked the door, and hurried toward the Ashtown gates, thoughts on Red and a fervent prayer in her heart.

[recordsfm]

╰   ☆  ◞ milo manheim / cis man / he/him  ———  no way is that dallon markham? you know they’re TWENTY-SIX YEARS OLD and they’ve been in los angeles for THREE YEARS. they’re chillin’ as the OWNER of BLAZED. oh and they’re notoriously known for being CLOSED OFF but there are some people who have seen them be LOYAL. i heard they’re a part of a BAND called THE WALLETS, yeah they’re a VOCALIST/GUITARIST/BASSIST to be honest they sound a lot like WALLOWS. they’re actually RISING STAR.

PART ONE: STATISTICS. 

basic information:

FULL NAME: Dallon Fable Markham

NICKNAME(S): Dally boy

AGE: 26

DATE OF BIRTH: September 28th 1997

PLACE OF BIRTH: Chicago, Illinois

GENDER: cis man

PRONOUNS: he/him

ORIENTATION: hetrosexual

LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: English, some Spanish,

NEIGHBOURHOOD: Riviera Beach

LIVING ARRANGEMENTS: Seaside oasis apartments

family ties:

MOTHER: Angela Anderson Bertuzzi

GRANDMOTHER: Abigail Anderson

FATHER: Brandon Markham Carmen Bertuzzi

SIBLINGS: Violet Bertuzzi, Michaela Bertuzzi (12)

SPOUSE / PARTNER: none

CHILDREN: none

PETS: none

occupational information:

OCCUPATION: Owner/chef at blazed

POSITION: Chef

SKILLSET OR SPECIALISATION:  Cooking, heat tolerance,

NAME OF THEIR ACT: Wallets

SO THEY PLAY INSTRUMENTS? IF SO WHAT?: Guitar and bass

HOW LONG HAVE THEY BEEN A PART OF THE ACT?: 10 years

ARTIST INFLUENCES: The wombats, the 1975, twenty one pilots

CURRENT MONTHLY SPOTIFY/APPLE MUSIC LISTENS ON AVERAGE: 510.2 K

personality:

WESTERN ZODIAC: Libra

CHINESE ZODIAC: Ox

POSITIVE TRAITS: loyal, hard working, comical

NEGATIVE TRAITS: closed off, Independent, stubborn

HOBBIES: Smoking weed, playing around with his guitar, cooking, surfing, having sex

AESTHETICS: fading hickies, empty bottles of jack, grease stained aprons

PART TWO: QUESTIONNAIRE. 

IF YOUR MUSE IS A MUSICIAN:

start at the beginning, who are you and why are you important?

"Uh yeah, my name is Dallon Markham. I play the bass and sing for a band called The Wallets."

how long have you been making music?

"Oh Jesus, uh...", Dallon trailed off as he scratched his beard, trying to do math while currently stoned out of his mind. Fuck. Why did they wanna interview us all separately? What was I doing again? Or right. "Since I was like 18. That's when we really started to do the band seriously. But I was in music lessons ever since I was a kid."

how would you describe the kind of music you make?

"It's pretty much just three kids fucking around with their instruments really."

who are some of your biggest musical influences?

"Definitely Cartel, Peach pit, Jimmy Eat World, and Finch."

what is the first record you ever bought?

"Oh god. My step dad got me take off your pants and jacket, by Blink-182 for my 5th birthday, when he was still just dating my mom. We always were listening to The Rock Show"

what has working in the music industry meant to you thus far in your career?

"As bad as this is gonna sound, it's not really a career to me... It's just a hobby. Something that I do because it's fun and I love it. A career to me is a legacy, and for me, I hope that's my food and culinary career."

what are some stand out moments from your career so far?

"Well touring was pretty cool. But that didn't last very long at all."

how would you describe your style of performance? what makes your shows worth seeing?

There was a grimace that spread across the man's lips, quickly erasing his smile. In that moment, he really wished that Ash was there. Or hell his aunt. Anyone who could feed him lines. "I think we have a good energy", the man thought on his feet. "I try and interact with the crowd as much as possible, and I know Ash does too."

what are you still hoping to achieve in your career?

"Honestly, I'm not wanting much more from my music career. Wallets was something I just did with my cousin. It's fun and all, but it's not my passion anymore." I just use being in a band to get laid really, the man silently added. Knowing more then enough not to let that thought slip past his lips.

what’s next for you?

"Uh well", Dallon paused to think. "My main goal right now is to actually focus on my business. About six months ago I officially opened a food truck called Blazed. We're the only food truck in LA that currently sells cannabis infused food. But we sell regular food too, because there is such thing as too many edibles."

PART TWO: BACKGROUND:

will be added

[cryinginsidebecauseofbrutasha]

Day 12: Natasha gets bad news

Natasha and Bruce were having a good time in the lab, redesigning her suit.

Suddenly, the glass doors rattled and Tony came barrelling through, making a mess everywhere. “Pep called in sick!” he shrieked. “I have no one to bring to the charity thing tonight!”

Natasha looked at Tony’s display amusedly. “And why does that concern us, Stark?”

“I’m here to collect on your debt!” the billionaire declared. “You owe me, Romanoff. You're also still my employee.”

Nat raised an eyebrow. “This wasn’t in the job description. Are you sure you need a plus-one?” she asked. “I’m sure you can—”

“— I need you!” Tony wailed.

“What happened to ‘I don’t give a shit about the media’, Tones?” Bruce asked from beside her.

Tony sighed. “Please, Natty?” he asked. “I’ll give you a house.”

Natasha shook her head, smiling. “Depends on the kind of house, Stark,” she mused. “Beachside? Not so much. Somewhere remote on a big forested island though…” she trailed off, glancing at the scientist beside her. “Lots of running ground.”

“Done!” Tony snapped his fingers. “One remote, big forested, island-ed, lots-of-running-ground house coming right up.” He paused and looked between the two. “I assume you want high, presumably 12-foot ceilings?”

Natasha nodded. “Where’s this party?” she sighed, grabbing a pen and paper. “And dress code?”

-

Nat turned in a circle, frowning at herself in the mirror. “This doesn’t feel right,” she complained.

Maria sat on her bed, sipping a glass of wine. “You look fine,” her friend said. “And I made sure you can still kick ass without flashing anyone. Now put on the necklace.”

Natasha sighed as she slipped the delicate gold chain around her neck. It was a gift from Bruce, a necklace with a green pendant hanging. It brought out her eyes, the scientist had said.

“Phone?” Maria called as Nat went into the bathroom.

“Got it.”

“Purse?”

“Check.”

“Gun?”

Natasha poked her head out of the bathroom. “No firearms,” she sighed. She perked up. “I’m bringing knives. Five throwing ones and a dagger.”

Maria rolled her eyes. “Is that why you wanted the–”

“Yeah.” Nat walked out of the bathroom via the walk-in closet holding two pairs of shoes. “Stilettos or platform?”

Her friend glanced between the two. “Stilettos for extra weapons, platforms for better balance.”

“Stilettos it is.” Natasha pulled on her shoes, grabbed her purse, her jacket, her phone, her keys, and turned to Maria. “Call if anything happens. God knows I need a reason to skip out on this stupid party,” she muttered.

Natasha met Tony at the elevator.

“You look nice,” he said.

“Thanks,” she sighed. “You clean up well. You don’t look like you were wasted this morning at all.”

“Brucie helped.”

The scientist in question came rushing down the hall and stopped in front of Nat. “Hey,” he panted. “Good. I caught you.”

“Are you okay, doc?” Natasha asked amusedly. “You need to breathe? I’m happy to be late to this party.”

Bruce waved her off. “I’m fine.” He straightened. “Just wanted to say goodbye.”

Nat put a hand on her chest in jest. “Will I ever see you again?” she said.

The scientist chuckled. “Hopefully.” He glanced at his watch. “If you stall any longer, you will actually be late. So you two should get going. But hey, text if you need anything,” Bruce said. He smiled and let them get into the elevator and waved as the doors closed.

Natasha and Tony got into the car.

“Is it okay if we got cheeseburgers on the way?” the billionaire asked Happy. “Please?”

“There’s food at the party,” the man said.

“But I want cheeseburgers!”

They got cheeseburgers.

Natasha slipped her phone out of her purse and sent a text to Bruce.

Tasha: It’s been seven and a half minutes since we left and we are getting cheeseburgers.

Bruce answered fairly quickly.

Bruce: That sounds fun

Bruce: Wait for it. Tony’s going to spill ketchup on himself

“Aw, geez!”

Nat glanced to her right and sighed.

Tasha: You were right

Tasha: Not five seconds later

Bruce: I don’t know how to feel about my knowing Tony this well

Natasha smiled.

Tasha: Call it long-term babysitting

Bruce: That’s funny

Bruce: I’ll tell Pepper later she’ll appreciate this

Tasha: Have you seen her?

Bruce: She stopped in after you left

Nat rolled her eyes.

Tasha: Of course

After a few more minutes of back-and-forth texting, Natasha looked up when Happy knocked on the divider.

“We’re here,” the man called. “Prepare to get off in a minute.”

Natasha sighed and typed out her last message.

Tasha: Banner, get me out of here

Bruce: Have fun

Tasha: I’m serious

Bruce: Good luck

Tasha: When I get back, I’m going to kill you

Bruce: Get in line

Nat scoffed.

Tasha: Fine

Tasha: I look forward to my vengeance

Bruce: I look forward to feeling your vengeance

Natasha huffed an annoyed laugh and got out of the car into what she later called the worst party of her life.

[sansxfuckyou]

the blinds are closed now

Summary: That old clubhouse they built is still standing, the same rule about shuttered blinds remain

Warnings: Swearing, suggestive themes, check Ao3 port for full tags

Authors Note: I fucking love it when characters are only intimate in private my god it gets me so fucking good. @kenmanweek2023 check it out!! day 2's prompt was clubhouse. I'm probably the only one whose doing kenman week, so it brings me pain to say that I probably won't do day 3 or 4 so I can try make day 5's extra good. anyways, if ya'll enjoyed consider dropping a reblog

"The fact this place is still standing is crazy," Kenny said with an amused hum. He trailed his hands along a peeling paintjob and blown out windows.

Cartman shrugged, holding up his flashlight as he led Kenny across creaking floorboards. He tensed up at the sight of a possum skittering along the floor, Kenny just gives a loud 'awe!' before crouching down and picking it up. The brunette stares at him, "Gross."

"It's Mr. Possy's great, great, great, grandson!" He held up the screeching possum with a grin on his face.

"Put that thing down," Cartman demanded, "If you don't put it down I'll never kiss you again."

Kenny dropped back down to place the ratty thing on the ground, it instantly skittered off. He wrapped his hands around Cartman's waist, "I won't touch diseased things, sorry," He whispered the words in his lovers hair.

"This place is fucking riddled with mildew anyways," Cartman sighed as he leaned into Kenny a bit.

"Remember when we had parties in here?"

"I remember,"

"Remember when we played video games in here?"

"I remember,"

"Remember when we fucked hard on that beanbag over there?" He gestured to the beanbag in the corner with an extreme amount of nonchalance to his voice.

Cartman burned bright red, "Not so loud Kenny!"

Kenny laughed, "Eric, it's fine, no one lives here anymore."

Cartman sighed, "I know, South Park is a ghost town."

Kenny let go of Cartman and made his way over to a blown out window, he reached for blinds and pulled them together. He made his way to another window, and then another, pulling the curtains shut on each window and gently tugging the door shut. He gave a small grin as he made his way back to Cartman, "Does the rule about the windows being closed still apply?"

"The rule wherein the blinds being closed means we can do whatever we want?" Cartman asked as Kenny grabbed his hands and led him over.

The blonde nodded as he stepped back and fell onto the beanbag, bring Cartman down with him. It forced the breath from his form with ease and he wheezed a bit as Cartman scrambled to get most of himself off of Kenny. He stuck to Kenny's form despite not resting entirely on top of him, the spread of the beanbags hoisted Kenny up a few inches.

He gave a laugh as he rolled partially onto Cartman, "God, I love you."

Cartman nuzzled up against Kenny despite his better judgement, "If you die of possum AIDs I'm gonna scream."

"I know," Kenny hummed as he wrapped an arm around Cartman, "We should fuck on this beanbag again."

"You better be joking, Kenny. You're lucky I'm tolerating sitting on it with you consider how much mildew must be on this," Cartman answered with, he ran a hand down Kenny's back, resting them on the back of Kenny's thighs. He dug his fingers into worn down jeans and Kenny giggled a bit.

Kenny pressed a kiss to the top of Cartmans head, "I'm gonna go see if we left any drinks in the mini fridge."

When he goes to stand up Cartman yanks him even closer, nails digging into thigh and back as he did so. The blonde just froze for a moment before melting into the touch.

"You're too cute," Kenny mused with a playful grin, "We should've stuck around when the place got abandoned."

"And live off of rabbits? I'd sooner die than live without cheese burgers," Cartman said, words muffled against Kenny's weathered jacket.

"I know, but it's been way too long to since we cuddled in this clubhouse," Kenny mused.

"We only cuddled here twice, Kenny," Cartman said.

"Yeah, but nothing beats cuddling on an old, musty, beanbag, in an abandoned building," Kenny said as though everyone agreed on the matter.

Cartman sighed, "I hate that you're right."

"Fuck yeah I am," Kenny said boldly, but that confidence whither when the grip on his thigh tightens. He grins, leaning back and tracing a hand along the edge of Cartman's jaw, "Someone's feisty."

"Damn right I am!" Cartman snapped, jerking away from Kenny and wearing an impatient look, "I haven't gotten any in a month."

"Well sorry, but you never asked me to have sex with you," Kenny smarmed before cling onto Cartman butting the top of his head against Cartman's chin, "I will be opening the windows, wanna see if I can get you to scream loud enough to disturb the local avian population."

Cartman burns bright red, "Fucking, fine, just do it already."

Kenny slides out of Cartman's grasp, "I'll be right back, love," He pressed a kiss to the top of his partners head.

Cartman just flipped onto his stomach and groaned out a weak, "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

[pinkoptics]

Artist’s Muse AU

McShep | 914 words | M | AU-gust 2022

Fluff | John is a little shit

on AO3

John discovers Rodney has a secret hobby.

“Whatcha got there?”

John reaches for the small notebook Rodney has been scribbling in intently, oblivious to John’s entrance to the lab. He jolts just before John can grasp it, his face a picture of comical horror. He clutches the notebook tightly enough to his chest to crush it and pushes his rolly chair with enough force that it flies back until it smacks another console.

John grins. Whatever it is, it must be good , but even if it isn’t, he’s always up for a game of keep-away.

“Working on a new theory you don’t want anyone to see yet?”

John takes a slow, deliberate step forward. Rodney re-angles his chair and pushes it again, slamming into another console.

“Or maybe it’s a ‘Dear Diary, Radek is more brilliant than I will ever let on.‘“

Rodney’s face gets all cute (ie. annoyed and pinched). “Sure Sheppard, right beside my Rodney+John heart doodles.”

John takes another few unhurried steps and puts a hand over his heart. “Aww, Rodney, I didn’t know you cared.”

He’s out of his chair now, trying to side-step John (he’s run out of room to retreat) in a maneuver that might have worked, if John hadn’t been the one who’d taught it to him. He catches Rodney’s wrist and with a precise squeeze, Rodney yelps and drops the notebook, right into John’s waiting hands.

“Entirely unfair!” Rodney bites off, ‘annoyed and pinched’ is now turning into a glower (also cute and, yes, John is entirely aware of how far gone this makes him in the Rodney-crush department). “You’re using your military ninja powers on me. Does privacy mean nothing to you?!”

They do a little dance, of sorts, with Rodney trying to grab his journal back and John deftly keeping it just out of reach. “C’mon buddy, if it’s not a diary or a top-secret Nobel winning theory…?”

He vaults over a console, temporarily stymieing Rodney’s progress, and flips it open. Whatever John was expecting, it wasn’t this.

“Huh.”

“Huh? That’s it? Sheppard, we are too old to be doing this. It’s ridiculous. Undignified. Give it back.”

Rodney’s rounding the console, but John has vaulted neatly over another, eyes never leaving the page.

“Damn. You’re really good. Why would you hide this?”

“Give. It. Back.”

Something in Rodney’s tone makes him look up. Glowery has been replaced by a mix of genuine anger, distress and… embarrassment? He can’t see why. Sketches of slender fingers, studies of eyes, a sort of imperfect bumpy nose, full lips, ears that look elven… oh.

Shit.

Rodney uses his stunned realization to snatch it back, stuffing it under his jacket and out of reach unless John really wants to work for it. He doesn’t. He’s seen enough and Rodney’s twisted red face is twisting guilt in his gut.

“It helps me think, okay? When I’m stuck. And I’m really stuck on this stupid transporter issue and everyone is down my god damned back about it because they have to walk everywhere. Like I want to walk everywhere? Are they fucking kidding me? I’m the poster child for not wanting to walk. My sciatic nerve is telling me every day just now not happy it is about it. So I sketch. I do things with my hands. I used to play piano but we don’t have one here, so I sketch and it clears my mind and so what if I sketch you. I’m with you all the fucking time, so your features are just familiar. But no, you’ve got to make it weird. Do you know what a challenge it is to sketch your stupid hair? Have you ever—”

“Rod-ney!”

“What?!”

John waits. A solid beat. Just to be sure the ramble isn’t going to forge on.

“Do you sketch Ronon and Teyla?”

Rodney doesn’t need to answer aloud. It’s written on his face from the moment the question leaves John’s lips. Rodney’s so truthfully blunt he’s never learned how to be a good liar. He starts trying to answer, to deny, but he’s stammering now and John grins, putting a shushing finger over Rodney’s lips. He hadn’t thought Rodney could blanch harder but he has.

John steps back and cocks a hip. Rodney’s gaze snaps there, then snaps back.

“How would you like a live subject?”

“Wait— what?”

“Because your sketchbook seems to be missing some things.”

“Missing…”

“Things you aren’t so familiar with…”

John places his thumbs in his front pockets and angles his hands just so. Rodney’s eyes dart helplessly again. His face is still very red, but it’s not anger anymore.

“Right. Things…”

“Yes.” John grins. “I’d be happy to help you with those… things.”

Rodney’s eyes are meeting his again, a little frantic. “O-okay. I-I can’t believe I’m going to say this out loud, but this is so far out from where I thought my day was going, and sometimes I really misread hints. Even hints this—” His hand flaps in John’s general direction.

John laughs. The frantic babbling is cute too. Yes, very far gone.

“My cock, Rodney. Things is my cock.”

“Oh thank god.”

John tilts his head to the side, angling toward the door.

“Now?” Rodney’s voice is a little strangled and damned if that isn’t cute too.

“Yes, Rodney, now.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. They end up in his quarters, where John models, naked, as promised. The sketch, however, day after day, remains mysteriously incomplete— no matter how many times they try.

[experthiese]

@zenigatakeibu asked: volumes / loud & deafening silence

volumes .   gaze  at  my  muse  in  a  way  that  silently  says  ‘i love you’

He can see the squad cars coming up the winding country roads. They're only tiny little blips of red and blue right now, pinpricks of light against the horizon, but he knows from experience it won't be long until they're tailing his little Fiat again.

It won't be long until the game begins anew, just like it always does.

It's almost a shame, really - he and his inspector make such a good team in times like this, when they can put their heads together and unite against some greater threat. A surprisingly vast crime syndicate, in this case, with their fingers in all sorts of pies across the country. Government officials, police, doctors, bankers... This whole place was rife with corruption. Now that the operation's head has been cut off, the leader of the syndicate buried beneath the rubble of his own hideout after shooting one too many bullets into the ceiling joists, he expects there'll be a lot of chaos for Interpol's puppies to investigate and clean up. Groups like this always unravel in the messiest of ways.

He could leave them to it. He could wash his hands of the whole affair and let the boys in blue work the long nights and early mornings, desperately chasing every lead they have. He could even take advantage of this sudden workload increase and push his next heist forward, snatch as many treasures he can while there's not enough security to stop him.

...He won't do that. It would break the rules of their game, for one, and he knows how seriously they both take these rules.

And, for two... Zenigata works hard enough as it is. Piling this on top of everything else just means less time delegated to the Lupin case.

The lights are getting closer.

A manila folder is fished out of the inside of his jacket, stuffed to bursting will piles of stapled-together papers. It's not the treasure he came here for, but he figures a compiled list of all high-profile persons associated with this particular syndicate might make his inspector's work a liiiiittle easier. Cut down the wild goose chase. Cut down the time taken away from his chase.

(It's not like he had any use for the information, anyway.)

The sincerity of the gratitude (the love) Zenigata's gaze holds in that moment steals the breath straight from his chest, his own eyes blown wide with awe. For as... complicated... as their dynamic can be, it's not often he gets to see such tenderness displayed so openly. It feels too vulnerable, he supposes, like any admission of softness would be remembered and used against him at some later date. God knows Lupin's found a way to weaponise every other weakness.

Does this mean that he's being trusted with this admission? Trusted to hold something so wonderfully delicate in his hands and not break it?

Or is it more of a surrender, something too great to be contained any longer? A recognition of how much this game has changed them, willingly or not?

He's not sure which option makes his heart beat harder.

The sirens are loud enough to be heard, now; a distant wail carried forward on the chilly autumn air. Lupin stretches up on tiptoe, butting their foreheads together like a cat seeking out pets, one hand clutched tight to the lapel of Zenigata's trench coat. He'll need the leverage for what comes next.

Just as the cars round the final hill, the blue and red lights painting the edges of his suit jacket, Lupin tilts his head and presses his lips against the other man's. The kiss is soft but demanding, an insatiable greed that always demands more, and Lupin doesn't step back until he's panting and lightheaded. Even then, he stays close enough to share breath, the aborted little pushes forward making it clear just how much more he wants to take.

...But he can't. Not right now, anyway.

❝ Catch ya later, Koichi. ❞

He starts to run just as the police cars roll to a stop outside the ruined hideout.

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

Ahh BMT I hope you're ok with this kind of 3-way conversation on your blog. I'm the original fashion anon and I just saw the most recent post and I have so many thoughts.

WRT Jimin/W Mag - I agree. I thought the styling was great. I think for me right now, what has my back up in caution against Dior is not their SS show (which is what Jimin shot in for the magazine), or even their pre-fall, which is what both Jimin and Hoseok showed up in to the show- it's explicitly the very distinct and almost odd turn towards both equestrian and explicitly British (and especially Scottish) styling that this specific FW show took. I don't think all Korean stars need to be in distinctly Korean-inspired clothing all the time, but putting them in kilts feels equally weird. It just doesn't fit. Like I said, only time will tell as far as my judgement goes.

And I agree neither Jimin nor Hoseok were show-stoppers, my favourite of all their celeb stylings was Jirayu Tangsrisuk that sheer coat was very good. But god if you want to see a bad suit fit, look at the picture they posed on instagram of poor Eddie Redmayne. If I was on his PR team I would have had that deleted immediately.

As far as a general sports inspiration goes, again we'll see. I think that tennis jacket that Jimin wore to the airport drowned him in a bad way (also LOL at your condom hat anon). It's not that sporty doesn't suit him, it's that this specific brand of explicitly almost hamptons sporty may not suit him.

I agree on the comments re: YSL and other brands. Ultimately, signing a brand deal means signing some freedom away. My desire to see Jimin in one of those glorious bow-necked blouses aside, I hope he chose a brand he feels happy and comfortable with.

Parting thought - some familiarity and observation on these kind of deals tells me that they're usually for "casual" wear only. Which is to say that typically artists reserve the right to style themselves as they see fit in things like music videos. These brand deals come more into play with airport fashion, red carpets, casual appearances, and even then only a portion of the time. It doesn't mean they're literally never allowed to wear any other clothes. See, as an example, how BTS wore all sorts of brands in the Butter music video mere weeks after being announced brand ambassadors for LV. See also how their red carpet styling was awful for a full sixteen months. I expect this is how the members individual contracts will go, but only time will tell.

So I have two fashion anons, it's now confirmed! Yes, I am open to this 3-way conversation or to anyone else with the knowledge. I'm having a good time with these posts.

The aspect of the British, but mostly Scottish influence and a Korean brand ambassador is something that I didn't really think about, but I think it's quite a nuanced situation altogether and sensitive/complicated to navigate. Inspiration and muses come from everywhere and borders are extremely relaxed (as long as it doesn't fall into cultural appropriation, but that's a completely different topic). Kim Jones is English, an artistic director for Dior Homme. He made a collection inspired by very specific British elements (plus the T.S. Eliot poem), as a tribute to YSL, all for a French fashion house. And this is quite common. Perhaps next season could be inspired by something else across the world and a different culture. But this is just the basics, you know this stuff. Sometimes the collection is really tied to someone's heritage or/and political message (remember McQueen's Highland Rape?) and other times it has nothing to do with it. So, in that vein, I wouldn't think of Jimin wearing clothes from this collection to be necessarily a weird choice. It does have specific influences, but the basis is that these brands are creating a globalized Western style. Be it Dior, Chanel, YSL, Valentino, etc. Ultimately, I think someone can make it work as long as it becomes individualized, to a certain degree. What I mean is, regardless of the influences, if Jimin is able to wear it and not be just a "mannequin", then maybe the result will be a good one.

It's interesting that, with Western celebrities that I'm interested in (usually actors) that have brand deals with luxury fashion houses, I never had these questions over their style freedom and identity. It all depends in this case as well. If I look in the past, Catherine Denevue and YSL was a match made in heaven. It's a style identity that everyone will associate her with. Sixty years later and her clothes in Belle de jour are still iconic. Or Givenchy with Audrey Hepburn. These are ideal cases. And now there's this online complain (obviously social media changes the game and we are part of it) about how boring it became all of Kristen Stewart's or Margot Robbie's event appearances because of their respective deals with Chanel. Perhaps a case by case situation makes the most sense. As to Jimin, this is still very early so we're not really shooting in the dark, but I'm also taking the position that we simply can't entirely know how it will turn out until it happens. Although it is fun to talk about it anyway.

I looked up those two you mentioned, Eddie and Jirayu. I saw photos of Eddie yesterday, he was completely forgettable. But in contrast, Robert Pattinson's outfit was something that it made sense for him and it worked. I'll add some photos here for everyone else.

Thanks to you as well for stopping by again. Since I don't have a background in this area, but given that these days this is the hot topic to discuss, I appreciate anyone with more knowledge than me adding some valuable insight to this.

[rubyredsiren]

📝

[send me   📝  and my muse will answer all applicable questions below: ]

what color reminds your muse of mine?

"Oooo, navy blue? Er maybe like a soft shale- I dunno, hun, yer just the first thing that comes when I see any shade of blue.

what song reminds your muse of mine?

"Two birds by Regina Spektor, but then again- we both listened to a lot of music when we were drivin' around Pandora."

what scent reminds your muse of mine? 

"Cotton candy. That an gunpowder from Chi's shop."

what meme reminds your muse of mine?

"The jabber that looks left an then looks back with no other emotion. I swear to god we've exchanged that look wit eachother so many times."

what sound reminds your muse of mine?

"Wind chimes? An like soft hissing, her shadowy powers make this weird humming-sand noise if ya listen close."

what setting reminds your muse of mine?

"Gotta be Ma's bar on Concordia where we first met, or Chi's gun shop. We hung out there a lot."

what fashion style reminds your muse of mine?

"Ponchos, rain jackets, an/or fleece pajama bottoms??"

what feeling does your muse associate with mine?

"Okay, so, this is a lil' weird to explain cause, Ellie is my big sister, but she's always been like- 10 years older than me? So I guess we didn't have as close of a sister-ly relationship as I mighta wanted-" "But, Audrey's also my sister, an she's always been the same age as me, so we got to do all the sister-ly stough y'see in movies an hear about. Plus, some of my best memories're with her."

what animal does your muse associate with mine?

"Uhhh, what're those lil' birds who's wings do the figure eight thing?? Hoverbirds?? Hummingwings??"

what holiday does your muse associate with mine?

"Bloody Harvest! I remember when we used to play pranks on folks an spend the rest of the night on the roof eatin candy. Man, good times."

what season does your muse associate with mine?

"Fall, or early spring when it's startin' to warm up."

[jnselfshipping]

Letter

✧This is a gushing kind of letter that I wrote to my lover (f/o) one night when the moon was a crescent. I wanted to let someone else read it, so I’m sending it off into the vast internet. Begone, emotions! /j✧

There is a person on the other side of the window. In the small hours where it was impossible to grasp the tail of evasive sleep, I peer out of the murky glass, and among the pearls of stars, along the furthest trails of celestial rocks, my lover lives, blissfully unknowing of anything. My lover doesn’t know of me, my poetry, my wandering in words, my dreams. My lover is alone in a small shed by the cemetery whose guests he had groomed in their last moments. He is working even now, in the maroon darkness that the sun had left in its wake. He puts a brush in one hand, and holds a pen in the other, he puts the signature on a vacant sheet of paper, cleanly perched on the dotted line. He is restless. There is a certain billow in the wind.

Sometimes he looks out of the window. There is a small one by the door that looks out to the fog-muffled London street, where traffic had begun to reach a decrescendo. Sometimes he looks into the night sky and wonders whether in a corner tucked somewhere, there is someone who is willing to live for him. It is, of course, only a moment. To my lover, such a thought is a waste of time, although a sudden pang of bitterness might have choked his rationality for a second as he peered: A sudden melancholy, a deja vu, that he is not where one is meant to be. My lover reasons it as nonsensical musing. But we are looking at the same moon, at the same time, the same shades and opaque shapes in the atmosphere, from different angles. If he had looked just a little below the moon, he would have seen a flicker of light somewhere reflected by the waters of Earth. Maybe he does. Maybe he doesn’t look for long.

I think of him on nights like this. I wonder if he thinks of me.

I’m sure he does. Just like I do. On those London streets as he walks home in the typical curtain of dew, he wonders what I look like, who I would be by his side, just like I do. He pictures the streetlight glistening on my hair, the billowing of my jacket in the wind, the warmth I radiate. He lets himself have a moment of irrational musing. When he reaches for the prick of his keys as he arrives at a mahogany door, he disregards those fantasies again, and returns to the dampness of life. He pushes it open as it groans, the click of leather heels on wooden floorboards ringing through the empty house. He bids goodnight to nobody in particular and feels like an idiot.

At the same time, I bid goodnight to him.

My lover, living so far away. In that corner of the cerulean sky. Sleeping with so many purposes and fears underneath his pillow, in that cold, damp, gray shroud of a city, each day following the same routine to the punctuation. I love him more than anything. I wish more than anything he could know. But my lover lives, blissfully unaware of anything.

Maybe it’s better that way. Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe he could fall asleep knowing someone in the world bid him good dreams. Maybe he could wake up knowing someone in the world wishes him a good day. Maybe he could come home in the dew and see that in another corner of the vast world someone left the living room lights on for him. Maybe he can know that someone loves him more than she has loved anything, pouring so much of that love out onto poetry and stories, but still has so much remaining that it almost bursts her heart.

My lover, my dear lover. And I write this letter for him.

If there is a god in the world, just like there is my lover, please let this be delivered to him. Through a guest, or through the mail, or through a glimpse of the moon on a winter night. Let him know how beautiful he is, how much I love him. Let him know my name, let him know about that little spark beneath the moon. That’s where his lover lives, hopefully, yet blissfully unaware of anything.

[mymanymerrymuses]

Once again I spent MUCH too long on an incorrect quote generator - only this time it was with my Hobbit muses (plus Dori and occassionally Thorin because it seemed right) so now I have many quotes to share with you because I found them funny.

Also because there are many I have categorised them. The categories are: The Ri brothers being amazing; The Ri brothers being brothers; The Ri brothers dealing with the princes; Fili and Ori playing as children; Fili and Nori hating each other for some reason; and Royal Family interactions.

There's a LOT of Ri brothers content. Enjoy.

The Ri Brothers being amazing:

Nori: "Does anyone know how to relax? Asking for a friend."

Nori: "I never tell people off the bat that I'm gay. I wait until they say some homophobic shit and then I laugh and am like 'you know I'm gay, right?' and watch the look of terror on their face. Thorin: Thorin: "I like you."

Nori: "This is a safety pin." cuts off end Nori: "It is now a danger pin."

Ori: "Be right back, gonna hit the toilet for a quick power sob."

The Ri Brothers being brothers:

Ori: "You spent all our money on THIS??" Nori: putting tiny raincoats on ducklings "They live outside. They need this."

Dori: knocking on the door "Ori, open up!" Ori: "It all started when I was a kid." Dori: "That's not what I-" Nori: "Let them finish!"

Ori: "Nori, is that my mug you're drinking out of?" Nori: "No, it's mine." Ori: "It...looks just like the one I have...." Nori: "You don't have one like this anymore."

Nori: "Am I going too far?" Ori: "No, no, no. You went too far about seven hours ago. Now you're going to prison."

Nori: "Ori, get that hideous thing out of the living room, would you?" Ori: "Dori, Nori wants you to get out of the house."

Dori: "I don't mean to be rude-" Ori: "Yet, sadly, accidental rudeness occurs alarmingly often."

Nori: "I'm totally useless." Dori: "You're not totally useless." Dori: "You can be used as a bad example."

Ori: standing on a balcony and sneezes Nori: standing on the roof "Bless you." Ori: "God?!"

Dori: "Pick a card, any card." Nori: "Fine." Dori: "Wait, that's my credit card!" Nori: "You said any card."

Ori: "I trusted you!" Nori: "Why?"

The Ri Brothers dealing with the princes:

Dori: "Swear words are illegal now. If you say one you'll be fined." Kili: "Heck." Dori: "You're on thin fucking ice." Dori: "Oh no-"

Dori, pointing to Kili and Fili: "Distract them! I'll be right back!" Nori: "Okay!" five minutes later Dori: returns to see Kili and Fili unconscious on the ground "What did you do? I said distract them, not knock them out!" Nori: "There's just no pleasing you sometimes."

Kili: "Is the pink panther a lion?" Dori: "Say that again, but slower." Kili: "I don't get it." Dori: "He's a PANTHER." Kili: "Is that a type of lion?" Dori: "No, it's a fucking panther." Kili: googles panther "They aren't pink?" Dori: "AND LIONS ARE?!"

Kili: peeling a banana "May I take your jacket, sir? Hahahaha." Ori: "Do you think other people can't hear you?"

Kili: "Nori isn't talking to me." Dori: "Enjoy it while it lasts."

Fili: "The results are in, I'm afraid you have updog..." Dori: "What's updog?" Fili: "Kili! Get in here! I told you I could do it!"

Fili and Ori playing as children:

Ori: "Here comes the lightening!" Ori, whispering: "You've got to imagine it coming out my fingertipes, wherein I am an almighty wizard." Fili: "Ok, currently imagining that. Hmm, not bad. Not bad at all."

Fili and Nori hating each other for some reason:

Fili: "Remember what I told you." Nori: "Don't be a dick."

Fili: "What it wrong with you?" Nori: "Loaded question. Elaborate."

Nori: holding a box of Lunchables "Ah, I loved these when I was your age...fine dining." Fili: "Fix yourself."

Royal Family interactions:

Kili: "I wasn't that drunk." Fili: "You coloured my face with a highlighter because you said I was important." Kili: "BECAUSE YOU ARE!"

Fili: "You look mentally ill." Thorin: "I am. Let's go."