#government at your doorstep

[townpostin]

Jharkhand CM Distributes Assets Worth ₹472 Crore in Seraikela

Hemant Soren inaugurates projects valued at ₹555 crore in special camp Key Points: • Assets worth ₹472 crore distributed to beneficiaries in Seraikela • Projects worth ₹555 crore inaugurated at ‘Government at Your Doorstep’ camp • CM Soren emphasizes ensuring welfare schemes reach intended recipients SERAIKELA – Chief Minister Hemant Soren distributed assets and inaugurated development…

[calumhoodgoss]

completely unrelated to 5sos - i just rewatched chernobyl, the hbo series, and its literally rocked my world all over again

you all have to watch it if you haven't yet

not joking its probably one of the most impactful shows ive ever seen

[stevviefox]

This post is fucking glorious!!!

i think more haunted houses should have haunted clawfoot bathtubs that move and exist as separate, distinct demonically possessed entities 

[writingwisterias]

Each Era of Leon finding out about your pregnancy:

Leon Kennedy x AFAB!Reader Warnings: Fluff, Pregnancy, Self- Doubt, Light Angst, Drinking, Alcoholism, Depression,

RE2, RE4R, Infinite Darkness, Damnation, Vendetta, RE6, Death Island

RE2:

You found out before he was set to go to transfer to Raccoon City.

Leon went ahead before you, falling into his old drinking habits making him feel awful. He spent the night in a Motel as he frantically tried to find a living situation for you both before you moved out with him.

Once that was settled, he was due to start his new job, only to be faced with the events of Raccoon City. He spent the entire night thanking the heavens you hadn't come out to him yet.

It was radio silence from him for weeks, he had given you a panicked phone call asking you to move in with your parents and he would try to get back, news slowly filtered into your town about the nuke going off. With the pregnancy hormones, it was a rough first trimester.

You didn't actually get to tell him until he showed up on your doorstep looking different, his eyes were tired and almost looked empty like he was being haunted by something.

He sat you down in your room, talking to you about everything. His head was in your lap as he silently wept mourning the loss of his life he was so sure was going to happen.

You broke the news then, pulling out a box full of tests that you had kept.

He was silent at first. His eyes were puffy and red as he stared at the stick in his fingers.

He wanted to give you an over-the-moon reaction but his fear was justified, he had just seen nightmares...living nightmares and now he was meant to bring in a child to this world.

You knew about his promise to the government to protect that little girl, that is how you knew he was going to be a good dad...was still a good person even if he didn't seen it yet.

Before he was sent off to his training, with a final kiss he promised to come back to you no matter what...back to the both of you. His way of telling you he had accepted his new title and a silent promise that he would do everything in his power to be there for the both of you as much as possible. Even with the circumstances.

RE4R:

You had known Leon for a while meeting him in the office with Hunnigan as you helped her deal with the long night on the Spain mission.

Neither of you had actually made anything official, Leon wasn't in the right headspace for that title. Which is why it was a panic when you saw you were pregnant a week after he came back from Spain.

Apparently in your drunken celebrations of him not dying you both forgot about protection.

Leon was still being thrown into work so the only time you really saw him was around the office or before he was sent away. Yet he still noticed something was wrong.

You were running to the bathroom more often and spent breaks at your desk instead of the break room. Avoided certain foods he knew you loved.

Eventually, he felt the need to ask you. What better way to do that than to send an ominous text about him coming over.

You were nervous, panicking thinking he wanted sex and if you could even keep up with him due to your extreme amounts of fatigue.

He was chill when you answered the door, expression gentle...even smiling compared to the normal brooding look he displayed.

Then came the question 'Are you okay?'

Hormones got the best of you there and it all came spilling out. He took it like a champ bringing you into his body to comfort you. (I like to think after Ashley he became more open to physical affection if he initiated it.)

Suspect he's silent with shock as he tries to process things. Probably making you feel worse. Eventually, he talks explaining that he's happy for it and I think it would be the final push for him to actually commit to you and use titles.

Goes home and feels all giddy inside; he's still young and this just gives him something else to keep fighting for

Infinite Darkness:

He's not given up fully yet with life, still has a spring in his step but he's busy. Really busy.

In what others would say is the height of his career he wouldn't be able to commit to a relationship really, optionally sleeping around instead.

He's hot and he knows it

Ending with a similar situation to RE4 Leon where it's really unexpected. You find out whilst he's there though, I imagine the relationship he has with you is more friends with benefits.

You were going to do it that night anyway he just interrupted. You had taken the test and were waiting for the results when he knocked on the door.

You answered and forgot about the test on the side, both of you getting lost in the TV etc.

He went to the bathroom and saw the test, he saw the results first. However, he doesn't know if you are sleeping with anyone other than him so he doesn't say anything.

It's not until you go to the bathroom that you remember and have your own mini freak out. You come back into the living room, face paled and tears in your eyes.

He offers comfort anyway, being respectful and waiting for you to tell him if you want to.

It slips out anyway.

He's scared at first and goes slightly frigid. I don't think he's really in a place to want the child so he tries to be respectful and working on your terms.

Despite not being ready to enter a relationship I think he would do it for you, every other person is a one-night stand compared to you he comes back for more. Even promises to stop sleeping around.

You try a relationship, ignoring the pregnancy, to begin with until everything sort of clicks in place. When it does he's super excited.

Buying all the books and anything you might need; if he's going to work lots might as well spend it on making sure you and his babe get a good start.

RE6:

I'd say things are where his life really starts to tip. He's a fugitive for months, pretends to be dead etc and afterwards, I think it's where he starts to go downhill.

That being said, you are already in a relationship with him and have been for a while. He's not sure how he got you but he did. It's been about 2 years since you got together.

You know what he does for work and you both try to do what's best for each other and that works well for the both of you.

You find out before the beginning of RE6, meaning when you hear a knock on the door you expect to find him coming home with some corny joke only to be met with the flag and 2 agents.

You fall into a slump, trying your best to keep going for the little one he gifted you before he died; watching the horrors on the news wondering if it's even worth doing without him.

So when you get a knock on the door around 2 months into the pregnancy you are shocked, angry and happy. I'm surprised Leon didn't get whiplash.

You knew it was not his fault, he had no other option and you're very glad he's okay.

But you are mad...very mad.

He hates that he's done this to you, falling heavily into his drinking when you've gone to bed. For the pain he caused you and the events themselves still haunt you.

The relationship would have failed if it wasn't for the baby being in the equation. So he works to keep it under control and you slowly pull yourself out of the depression you fell into.

Slowly you work it out together, moving only forward until you calm down and are ready for the next chapter.

Damnation:

Poor guy barely gets his pussy breakfast with the amount he's still being sent out.

He's genuinely surprised he even made a child with the amount of quick fucks he's had with you instead of the long loving sessions he assumed he would have had should you both make the decision to start trying.

When you tell him at first he's over the moon, probably actually gives you the biggest reaction off the bat out of all the eras.

However, that's until he's left with his thoughts. You're laying in his arms, his hand is resting on your stomach and he starts to doubt himself.

He's thinking about if he would be a good dad, is he going to treat you well, can he commit to you as much as he would want to.

Full-blown panic mode

You noticed, of course you did. Always observant. And you force him to talk about, set aside the bottle and actually voice the concerns allowed.

Then once he's calmed, he'll go back to being happy. Already boasting about it at work.

Vendetta:

Despite this being the worst time period of his life. Where everything just feels too much. I don't think he would react negatively or refuse to accept it in any way.

I think he just thinks he won't be able to be a good dad and it sours his mood even further.

You both took the test together after you raised concerns about your period. He went out and got them, the whole ordeal feeling strange. His stomach is gurgling and swirling but not because of the alcohol for once.

He's so happy to be a dad that he is now just panicking about it but in a way where he's more worried for you. And what could go wrong with you.

At this point you are the one constant thing in his life, the only thing he keeps actually going for. Anyone could reference you when they mention a mission to him and he's all for it. You are the reason he keeps beating and going.

So he goes down the rabbit hole of the worst that could happen. Googling things, reading them in books, the doctors talking.

He's in Colorado not because he wanted to leave you alone but because he just needed a minute.

Chris helps him get up, trust that you'll be okay. And to fight one last fight.

When he does he's fighting for you and the baby, it's so worth it when he comes back. Arms full of things for you.

And he really kicks in to get sober now, to better himself for you and the baby, to ensure he can be the best dad he can be.

Death Island:

He was prepared for this. It's a little later than he wanted, but his life has never really been his.

When you proposed the idea he wasn't keen at first considering himself too old to have children, then he got carried away with his thoughts and he needed to do it.

Like he was insatiable until you were pregnant.

When you were, he was over the moon. Telling everyone the next day; sending you flowers and bringing home treats. You are a goddess now and he will treat you as such.

He's reading all the books and knows more than you at this point.

I feel like he's the type to try and cook food based on the baby's measurements that week and either he's a really good cook meaning it's great or it's just nice he tried.

He's getting all the adverts on Facebook etc about useful products and buying with other a second thought even if they are a scam.

He's already planning out the nursery with you. Like you need to take away his access to money at this point.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Of course we can tax billionaires

On OCTOBER 23 at 7PM, I'll be in DECATUR, presenting my novel THE BEZZLE at EAGLE EYE BOOKS.

Billionaires are pretty confident that they can't be taxed – not just that they shouldn't be taxed, but rather, that it is technically impossible to tax the ultra-rich. They're not shy about explaining why, either – and neither is their army of lickspittles.

If it's impossible to tax billionaires, then anyone who demands that we tax billionaires is being childish. If taxing billionaires is impossible, then being mad that we're not taxing billionaires is like being mad at gravity.

Boy is this old trick getting old. It was already pretty thin when Margaret Thatcher rolled it out, insisting that "there is no alternative" to her program of letting the rich get richer and the poor go hungry. Dressing up a demand ("stop trying to think of alternatives") as a scientific truth ("there is no alternative") sets up a world where your opponents are Doing Ideology, while you're doing science.

Billionaires basically don't pay tax – that's a big part of how they got to be billionaires:

https://www.propublica.org/series/the-secret-irs-files

By cheating on their taxes, they get to keep – and invest – more money than less-rich people (who get to keep more money than regular people and poor people, obvs). They get so much money that they can "invest" it in corrupting the political process, for example, by flushing vast sums of dark money into elections to unseat politicians who care about finance crime and replace them with crytpo-friendly lawmakers who'll turn a blind eye to billionaires' scams:

https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2024/10/14/silicon-valley-the-new-lobbying-monster

Once someone gets rich enough, they acquire impunity. They become too big to fail. They become too big to jail. They become too big to care. They buy presidents. They become president.

A decade ago, Thomas Piketty published his landmark Capital in the 21st Century, tracing three centuries of global capital flows and showing how extreme inequality creates political instability, leading to bloody revolutions and world wars that level the playing field by destroying most of the world's capital in an orgy of violence, with massive collateral damage:

https://memex.craphound.com/2014/06/24/thomas-pikettys-capital-in-the-21st-century/

Piketty argued that unless we taxed the rich, we would attain the same political instability that provoked the World Wars, but in a nuclear-tipped world that was poised on the brink of ecological collapse. He even laid out a program for this taxation, one that took accord of all the things rich people would try to hide their assets.

Today, the destruction that Piketty prophesied is on our doorstep, and all over the world, political will is gathering to do something about our billionaire problem. The debate rages from France to dozen-plus US states that are planning wealth taxes on the ultra-rich.

Wherever that debate takes hold, billionaires and their proxies pop up to tell us that we're Doing Ideology, that there is no alternative, and that it is literally impossible to tax the ultra-rich.

In a new blog post, Piketty deftly demolishes this argument, showing how thin the arguments for the impossibility of a billionaire tax really is:

https://www.lemonde.fr/blog/piketty/2024/10/15/how-to-tax-billionaires/

First, there's the argument that the ultra-rich are actually quite poor. Elon Musk and Mark Zuckerberg don't have a lot of money, they have a lot of stock, which they can't sell. Why can't they sell their stock? You'll hear a lot of complicated arguments about illiquidity and the effect on the share-price of a large sell-off, but they all boil down to this: if we make billionaires sell a bunch of their stock, they will be poorer.

No duh.

Piketty has an answer to the liquidity crisis of our poormouthing billionaires:

If finding a buyer is challenging, the government could accept these shares as payment for taxes. If necessary, it could then sell these shares through various methods, such as offering employees to purchase them, which would increase their stake in the company.

Though Piketty doesn't say so, billionaires are not actually poor. They have fucktons of cash, which they acquire through something called "buy, borrow, die," which allows them to create intergenerational dynastic wealth for their failsons:

https://finance.yahoo.com/news/buy-borrow-die-rich-avoid-140004536.html

Billionaires know they're not poor. They even admit it, when they say, "Okay, but the other reason it's impossible to tax us is that we're richer and therefore more powerful than the governments that want to try it."

Piketty points out the shell-game at the core of this argument: the free movement of money that allows for tax-dodging was created by governments. They made these laws, so they can change them. Governments that can't exercise their sovereign power to tax the wealthy end up taxing the poor, eroding their legitimacy and hence their power. Taxing the rich – a wildly popular move – will make governments more powerful, not less.

Big countries like the US (and federations like the EU) have a lot of power. The US ended Swiss banking secrecy and manages to tax Americans living abroad. There's no reason that France couldn't pass a wealth-tax that applies to people based on their historical residency: a 51 year old French billionaire who decamps to Switzerland to duck a wealth tax after 50 years in France could be held liable for 50/51 of the wealth tax.

The final argument Piketty takes up is the old saw that taxing the rich is illegal, or, if it were made legal, would be unconstitutional. As Piketty says, rich people have taken this position every single time they faced meaningful tax enforcement, and they have repeatedly lost this fight. France has repeatedly levied wealth taxes, as long ago as 1789 and as recently as 1945.

Taxing the ultra-rich isn't like the secret of embalming Pharaohs – it's not a lost art from a fallen civilization. The US top rate of tax in 1944 was 97%. The postwar top rate from 1945-63 was 94%, and it was 70% from 1965-80. These was the period of the largest expansion of the US economy in the nation's history. These are the "good old days" Republicans say they want to return to.

The super-rich keep getting richer. In France, the 500 richest families were worth a combined €200b in 2010. Today, it's €1.2 trillion. No wonder a global wealth tax is at the top of the agenda for next month's G20 Summit in Rio.

Here in the US – where money can easily move across state lines and where multiple states are racing each other to the bottom to be the best onshore-offshore tax- and financial secrecy-haven – state-level millionaire taxes are kicking ass.

Massachusetts's 2024 millionaire tax has raised more than $1.8b, exceeding all expectations (it was originally benchmarked at $1b), by taxing annual income in excess of $1m at an additional 4%:

https://www.boston.com/news/business/2024/05/21/heres-how-much-the-new-massachusetts-millionaires-tax-has-raised-this-year/

This is exactly the kind of tax that billionaires say is impossible. It's so easy to turn ordinary income in sheltered income – realizing it as a capital gain, say – so raising taxes on income will do nothing. Who are you gonna believe, billionaires or the 1.8 billion dead presidents lying around the Massachusetts Department of Revenue?

But say you are worried that taxing ordinary income is a nonstarter because of preferential capital gains treatment. No worry, Washington State has you covered. Its 7% surcharge on capital gains in excess of $250,000 also exceeded all expectations, bringing in $600m more than expected in its first year – a year when the stock market fell by 25%:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/03/when-the-tide-goes-out/#passive-income

Okay, but what if all those billionaires flee your state? Good riddance, and don't let the door hit you on the way out. All we need is an exit tax, like the one in California, which levies a one-time 0.4% tax on net worth over $30m for any individual who leaves the state.

Billionaires are why we can't have nice things – a sensible climate policy, workers' rights, a functional Supreme Court and legislatures that answer to the people, rather than deep-pocketed donors.

The source of billionaires' power isn't mysterious: it's their money. Take away the money, take away the power. With more than a dozen states considering wealth taxes, we're finally in a race to the top, to see which state can attack the corrosive power of extreme wealth most aggressively.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/15/piketty-pilled/#tax-justice

[mockerycrow]

Emergency Contact (1/2) (Ghost x GN!Reader)

>> emergency contact concept here << PART TWO HERE!!

Summary: Simon is your roommate, and you haven’t seen each other in months, considering Simon’s job. An unfamiliar number pops up on Simon’s phone, and answering it makes his world turn upside down.

A/N: How you two moved in together is very vaguely inspired this ghost fic right here. please give it a read! If you finish the song above, I highly recommend listening to the entire album while reading. i’m not the happiest with this, but i’m happy enough to post!

[WARNINGS: Blood and injury, traumatic events/trauma brought up, gore, little comfort, medical inaccuracies, tbh ooc simon but it’s ok.]

Eight months, thirteen days, and nine hours. That’s how long it’s been since he’s been home, since he’s seen you. That’s how long he’s been stuck on base, or thrown into a foreign country to complete some mission, or to gather some intel, or to kill someone, just somewhere, anywhere but with you.

Eight months, thirteen days, and nine hours. That’s how long it’s been since you softly asked him to stay as safe as he can, and to come back alive, and to come back with at least eight fingers. It was a running joke between you two, a way to relieve the terrifying reality of his job; as long as Simon came home alive and with majority of his fingers, he could consider it a job well done. You didn’t know much of his job, of course—only that he’s military, and he’s gone a lot. You already guessed it was a lot of classified stuff, probably down top secret government type of things. That did make you scared, though. You didn’t want the day to come, the day where people in fancy uniforms show up at your doorstep like you’re some widow. The thought of someone informing you of Simon’s death makes your stomach twist.

Eight months is admittedly a long time. Simon.. he missed you, but he’s rather die that verbally admit it, but he sure as hell felt it. He missed the way he could hear you walk through the house, the weight of the floorboards creaking up your feet. Simon missed walking by the bathroom and the air vaguely smelled your shampoo and body wash, a clear indicator you had just taken a shower. Simon missed the way you carelessly have your shoes next to the shoe rack, not even on it, and despite his annoyance of your laziness? He misses it every single time he’s away. He never really realizes the difference of living on base versus being home with you, and he’s comfortable in both environments for completely different reasons. Simon is comfortable with you because you’re safe, you aren’t associated with anyone he has to deal with on a near daily basis. You don’t scan the kitchen to see which household items could be potential bombs in the vicinity like he does. On base, Simon finds comfort in the familiarity of being constantly on alert, the need for a gun to be against his hip—it’s not the best, considering he’s in fight mode majority of the time, but it’s comforting. It’s familiar. It’s.. home, in a way.

You and Simon call at least once every three weeks—it’s not more because you’re both busy, you have your life to tend to while he has to do something like protecting an American Embassy, or sneaking into a compound to retrieve some vital information. You two talk about all kinds of things; you complain about the neighbors for the nth time, or you talk about your job, just something that he hasn’t heard about in a while. Simon.. he’s limited on what he can talk about—what he wants to talk about. It’s a bit difficult, keeping details of his job hidden away from you. He also keeps you hidden away from them; his team. Price vaguely is aware of your existence, but all he knows is your name and your phone number—someone to alert when he eventually would pass away.

It surprised Price when he requested access to his own file to make a change. Simon went for years without anyone in that section, leaving it blank—and then suddenly ‘[Name] [Last Name]’ is written down, along with your phone number. Simon doesn’t want to die somewhere and then you sit at home, dreading the fact that you haven’t received a call from him for over six months. Other than that, no one is aware of your existence and he wants to keep it that way. It keeps you safe, and he doesn’t want the one thing he has going in his life to be taken away from him—not like everything else has been.

No, you and Simon aren’t together. You just are the one constant he cannot allow to die. How you and Simon became close was rather funny, really—before you were roommates, you bumped into each other at the local stores, the bank, even several public spaces like parks and such. You didn’t see him too often and you weren’t aware on why, but you didn’t really wonder why either. By this point, you knew each other for a couple of months. He introduced himself as SR—not Ghost or Simon, but as SR. You didn’t bother to question it because this tall, bulky man seemed like he was trying keep himself as anonymous as possible. Without fail, you always saw him wear dark colored clothing that hid any identifiable markings—tattoos and scars, that kind of thing. He usually has his hood up with a black face mask covering his nose down, but you do know one thing—he has to have bright blonde hair. Why else would his beautiful eyelashes and eyebrows be that bright? It would catch your eye every time you’d see them. Sometimes you would see him with a beanie on and the mask, with his hood down. This wasn’t too often, as it exposed some scarring he has on the back of his neck, as well as his forehead. This also silently lead you to believe he has a tough past of some sort, which is confirmed when you run into him somewhere you never expected to—your therapist’s building. You bumped into him right outside, and you apologized profusely before looking and going silent as you made eye contact.

A silent agreement was made between you two that day, one that you could never put into words. Something in that moment that dragged you two closer together. You had been through some shit in your life, shit that had permanent effect on you, shit that you wanted to work through. It was horribly tiring, but you knew you needed to work through it—so you could live a life you felt was worth living. Simon, was on the other side of the spectrum. He didn’t want this. He never wanted to tell anyone about anything, but Price, Price fucking made him. Simon spends his days and nights plagued with nightmares and memories—he’s woken up in the middle of the night enough times to know that he needs help, but he was so adamant about not talking to anyone about it. But seeing you there? Someone who he hasn’t known for long, someone who had always greeted him with a smile on your face, laughter spilling from your beautiful vocal cords, and someone who doesn’t touch him without permission? It made him so angry and hopeless about this world. Not even you, a stranger who he sees as the best human being he’s known in a while—despite not knowing you for long—could escape from the cruel and sharp jaws of the world. You found out you two accidentally scheduled the same days, so it became an unspoken agreement to wait for the other outside of the building so you can both go in. Even when you weren’t sure when his next appointment would be, you’d be right outside of that building, waiting for him. You would always be right there, and that’s something he quickly learned.

You lost your house to a fire, everything went with the burning embers that raged inside of the 4 walls of your previous home, the structure collapsing in on itself. You had gotten out in time, and you numbly watched the fire roar, the crackling burning it’s memory in your ears. The piercing sound of different sirens were approaching, but all you could do is stand there with your phone in your hand, watching the home you worked so hard for burn to the foundation built years ago. You felt a hand on your shoulder, but you didn’t bother to turn to see who it was. Everything was going so slow, almost like a movie scene in the worst way possible. Your nostrils burned from the smell of burning wood, drywall, and installation. The hand squeezed your shoulder and you slowly looked at who it was—and was him. Simon. His eyebrows were furrowed, eyes ever so slightly panicked and it was obvious he was asking you something, but you didn’t hear him. All you could focus on was that he was here. You blinked rapidly as your eyes began to burn from the smoke and from that choked feeling going from your chest to your throat. “I..” You croak ever so slightly. You couldn’t hold it back—you quickly grabbed onto Simon desperately, letting out a heart-wrenching sob because you just lost everything you owned, every memory, every piece of furniture, everything.. but he was here. He was the only thing was wasn’t crumbling away from your grasp, the only constant. Once you clung to him, Simon’s senses were flooded with you. Fuck, your touch burned, just like everyone’s else’s but he liked—no, loved how it felt. Despite the image of a burning house in his wake making dread bubble in his gut, your sobs and touch were the only thing he could focus on. Simon hesitates for only a second before pulling you into his personal space, his arms wrapping around you and weighing heavily on your body. Neither of you spoke, he just let you scream into his chest and sob, your fists gently banging against his chest—the anger, the sadness, everything was too much. Simon knew exactly how you were feeling, so he didn’t mind the twinges of pain your hands produced. Simon was the one who helped you while you chatted with the paramedics and the police. He was the one who helped you find your words when you had none left to share, the smell of the smoke imprinted on your clothes.

Without question, Simon took you to his house. He did not have another bed set up, so he had you sleep in his room while he slept on his couch. He hated the hollow look your eyes held, the way you were delayed with your answers, the ways your hands shook. Your everlasting smile had dissipated into a wobbly frown and he.. Simon couldn’t handle it. He grabbed you some of his clothes and helped you into his bathroom, quietly telling you to take a shower. He’ll take care of your clothes. Simon left you alone, and you showered for a long time. He didn’t count, but it was over an hour and a half. Simon didn’t say anything about you possibly racking up his bill, how could he when you had just lost everything? He wanted to.. to help you, and he wasn’t sure why. Even when he found himself scrubbing your smoke and tar covered clothes in his kitchen sink, he couldn’t find an exact reason why he wanted to help you. Maybe it’s because you made him feel human when he needed to be, maybe you were the one thing that kept him coming back to this town, the one thing that kept him from completely pulling away from the civilian world. You had found him in a corner like a dog, lips curled back and snarling—sharp teeth clashing together, and without a word, you gave him reasons to trust you. Although they may not be.. normal reasons to the regular eye, but they were enough for Simon.

You’re enough for Simon. He scrubbed your clothes until his arms burned, and then some.

That’s when he found out that you too, were also someone who could not stay asleep for long. When Simon awoke with his adrenaline pumping from the muffled sound of vomiting, he had to calm himself down because he’s safe, and you’re safe, most of all. Simon isn’t sure when he began to think that way, but it’s one of the many things he’s decided to not question—which also new for him. Simon is man who demands answers, yet with you? it’s like everything naturally falls into place, which is why he doesn’t complain when your stay at his house—which you swore would only be until you gathered enough money for an apartment—turned from a two week stay, to Simon carrying in an IKEA bed frame to put and assemble in one of his empty rooms. Many sleepless nights came and went, and each and every one you spent them with each other, sitting by a windowsill together, other times spending it in the backyard and looking at the sky. Sometimes you would wake up first, sometimes it would be him. You somehow always knew when he had woken up from a nightmare, his heart pounding in his ears—until your hands grab his and squeeze, to ground him. You burn him, and he welcomes the tickle of your ever-glowing flame. A year into this arrangement, Simon finally shows you his face and he appreciates that you don’t look at him any different. He usually hates the searching eyes, trying to memorize every inch of his face—but he’s greedy when you do it. When your eyes roam over every scar and acne scar, when you point out his messily cut hair and half-assed shaven stubble, he doesnt get angry. Simon doesn’t feel suffocated by your glances. He doesn’t wear his mask at home anymore, not when you’re there.

Then Simon gets the notice about his three month leave ending soon; and he knows that you need to know about his job. Or at least, the bare minimum you need to know. In reality, it’s how much he wants you to know, but he doesn’t want to admit that. He sits you down one morning, a cup of tea in his hand and he had a mug of your favorite morning drink on the other side of the table he had bought a few weeks you started staying here. Simon explains that he has a job in the military, that he can’t tell you much, but it means he’s going to be gone for weeks, even months at a time. You’re at a loss at first, because who is going to have an extremely positive reaction to “by the way, I work an extremely dangerous job and I can’t tell you anything and I’ll be gone for a while.. Oh yeah, you likely won’t know if I die!”? Despite your initial reaction, you grow to be okay with this situation. Or, we’ll, as okay as you can be with it. You also find out that he was here for way longer than he originally is, due to his boss demanding him to take a break—AKA, “go to therapy you dafty”.

For a little over two years, you two fell into a good rhythm. A call every three weeks, him coming home and you becoming the safest space he’s ever had in his life.

Which is why when his personal cell phone begins to vibrate in his pocket during some fuck-all meeting, his eyebrows furrow. The number is unfamiliar, but the area code is not. Simon quietly excuses himself from the extended round table, taking his call outside of the meeting room. Price’s eyes follow his figure as he exits, noticing it’s his personal cell phone in his hand. Simon answers the call and presses his phone against his masked ear, muttering a low, “Hello?”

A high-pitched, soft yet serious voice filters through the speaker, a woman. “Hi, is this Mr. Riley?”

Simon pauses, and so does his heart. “Who’s asking?”

He honestly regrets asking that in the moment—one part of him genuinely wishes he never answered this call, and the other part of him is glad he did. “I’m a nurse from Northern Manchester Community Hospital, you’re written down as [Name]’s emergency contact. They’ve been a victim of a hit and run situation, sir. They’re alive, but they’re in the ICU.” The nausea that suddenly bubbles inside of his guys, the stomach acid mixed with whatever he had eaten previously, threatening to travel up his esophagus, burn every inch and then exit with a horrific sound. Simon’s head began to spin—he’s your emergency contact? A hit and run, you were fucking hit?? By what, a car? A pick-up? A semi? God, Simon has seen the most horrible, gruesome, fucked up shit you would ever see in his entire life, yet he isn’t sure if he can handle the image of you spread out in a hospital bed, with one too many tubes circulating around you. His mind plagues him with intrusive images, ones he never wants to actually see played out. Fuck, his head hurts. It feels like someone is physically shoving a knife into his chest and twisting it, like God is laughing at him and playing with Simon’s pain for his own gain. How could he not think that, especially with everything that has happened to him? His friends, his family? His old CO? The fucking abuse he endured??

It’s like Simon lost his hearing for a moment, because he cannot bare fucking losing you, too. There’s a vague ringing in his ears, almost like there was an explosion and he stood too close. And then suddenly every sound comes rushing back to his eardrums, and everything suddenly everything is so fucking overwhelming. “Mr. Riley?” The nurse calls over the phone, her tone laced with worry. He clears his throat and when he speaks, he sounds wrecked, which he fucking hates. “I.. I’ll come as soon as I can.” Simon hangs up, not giving the nurse a moment to speak. He drops his phone and if he doesn’t sit down, he’s going to fall over like a tree that’s been cut down. Simon lets out a shaky breath, trying to ignore the way his stomach is screaming and twisting as he puts a hand on the wall, and he crouches down. It’s the first time he doesn’t look around to see if anyone is watching his sudden display of emotion. When he’s suddenly rocked with the feeling of home at work, especially with the news that you’re fucking injured—he’s overwhelmed and twisted all over the place. Simon finds himself stumbling back to his barracks.

Price finds his way to him after Simon never returns to the meeting. He knocks on the door, but his knuckles pause before they can knock against the door for the third time as he discovers the door is open—which is very, very, odd. He slowly opens the door while calling for Ghost, and is met with the sight of Simon shoving some of his clothes and belongings into a duffle bag, as well as his military travel documents. “Ghost?” Price questions, who stopped in his doorway to watch Simon lose his mind while packing. Simon doesn’t respond as he practically rips his phone charger out of the wall and stuffs it into the bag, zipping it up. He slings it over his shoulder and he turns around, pausing when he sees Price. Simon’s eyes tell everything he’s feeling—that something’s happened, something bad, and he needs to leave. Price bites his lip and quietly exhales, his fingers rubbing at his chin. “I’ll approve your leave. Just shoot me a text of how long it needs to be, yeah?”

Simon makes sure to note to send Price a thank you of some sort, because within the next two hours, Simon is boarding a plane, heading for Manchester, wearing some black clothing, a jacket, a black face mask, gloves, and his beanie. The entire time, he could not stop thinking about you—and how you could possibly die before he got there to send off his final goodbyes. Is that something he would actually want to do, though? See you in the hospital, knowing it’ll be the last place you’d ever be alive in? Go home, see how you left the house exactly as you left it? A house, but without his home in it? Simon stares out the airplane window blankly, his hands curled into fists, and his nails would be digging into his palms if he didn’t have gloves on.

He couldn’t lose you. Not like this.

The next part for Simon, it’s a blur again. Got off the plane, got his luggage, provided documentation, blah blah blah—he didn’t give a fuck about any of it. His focus was you. He didn’t bother to stop home to drop his stuff off, he took an Uber straight to the hospital from the airport. It was a fairly expensive Uber too, but he could worry about the costs of everything later. It took another half hour to get there.

His heart began to hammer in his chest as the sight of the hospital’s signs began to pop up on the road, the anxiety taking hold in his stomach and his head begins to hurt again. Simon quietly thanks the driver, tips them, and exits the car with a swiftness once they pull up. Simon walks through the main entrance’s sliding doors, going up to the desk. A woman behind the counter hangs up the phone, murmuring a goodbye, and then she looks at Simon with her pretty blue eyes. “How can I help you, sir?” She murmurs sweetly, noting how anxious he is. She can see the sweat on his brow line. Simon clears his throat, his voice rumbling in his chest when he speaks. It takes everything in him to not yell at this innocent woman and get thrown out. “My.. My name is Mr. Riley, I was called ‘cause my friend is here,” Simon manages to push out. “[Name] [Last Name].” The woman turns to her computer and clicks the couple of buttons and types a couple of words and holy fuck, Simon just wants to go to your wing already—“Ah, yes, I see you’re listed as their emergency contact,” The woman grabs a sticky note and writes with a pink pen your room number and elevator floor, handing it to Simon. He barely gets a “thank you” out before he nearly jogs to the nearby elevator. Fourth floor, room 283. Fourth floor, room 283. Fourth floor, room 283—it’s the longest minute long elevator ride in his entire fucking life.

Simon changes face masks whilst facing the wall, and then he finds your room number—and his heart is beating out of his chest. There’s cops standing outside of your room who stop him from entering. Simon’s anger flares up so quickly, he nearly makes a scene until a doctor exits your room. She’s wearing her usual blue scrubs, her coat, and she’s dawning a N95 and some sterile gloves. She’s holding a clipboard. “Mr. Riley?” She questions, holding the clipboard close to her chest. Simon nods without hesitation, and she responds, “I’m sorry, but due to the nature of this case, you’ll have to provide some identification for me and these officers.”

Usually, Simon would hesitate—he gives anyone outside of his team the bare minimum, hell, he only introduced himself as SR until he knew you for a while. This time, he takes out his military ID and shows it to the officers. He ignores their looks of surprise, and ignores the murmurs that come from them. Simon puts his ID away and he holds back the urge to shove them out of the way as he glares down at the doctor on accident. “Come in,” The doctor opens the sliding door and steps into the hospital ICU room with him. Simon follows behind her and he immediately smells the sickening smell only the ICU gives off. There’s a small wall blocking his view from you that he hasn’t past, and he can already hear the machines working. A heart monitor, a ventilator, combined with other machines he doesn’t know too well. The doctor flips through the papers pinned to her clipboard. “They were hit by a vehicle of some sort, the scene suggested they were walking home from the local corner store. [Name] has multiple broken bones and fractures, a punctured lung, a fractured jaw and internal bleeding. They lost a lot of blood at the scene.” Simon doesn’t respond as he slowly walks forward, and he finally lays his eyes on you. It’s.. traumatizing, to say the least. You were never supposed to be in a hospital bed like this, hooked up to machines he can’t even name. He slowly walks over to you, dropping his duffel bag somewhere on the floor. He doesn’t care to look where. Simon barely pays attention to what the doctor is saying—his hands tremble as he stands by your side, his heart thumping harshly in his chest. Fuck.

He drags over one of the chairs next to your bed. Simon takes off one of his gloves slowly, and then he tears the other one off in a frenzy. He feels so unlike himself, so.. different.. human. He reaches over to your hand and his fingers grab your wrist, so gentle as if you’re glass. Simon presses his fingers against your pulse point, counting your heartbeats despite the monitor. The thumping under your skin makes it more.. real. Feeling you, your heartbeat, your warmth and your skin—it’s comforting. Simon clears his throat and fights the urge to vomit once a gain, watching your chest rise and fall, produced by the ventilator.

He moves his hand to intertwine with your fingers and he uses his other hand to feel your pulse. Simon closes his eyes, muttering the beats per minute under his breath.

At least you’re alive—you’re here, you’re alive, and you’re with him. And that’s all he asks for.

tags;; @alwaystired--neversleeping @handsomeunderwear-art @indefenseofkara @kaysav608 @1-is-loneliest-number @rosee-sensuelle @kitty-satan1 @k4marina @rahmown @royalty-purple @bowtruckleninja — if you are not tagged, it’s not allowing me :-)

[ki-yomii]

down on you | jjk

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.5k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dirty talk, pet names, mild praise kink, squirting, hair pulling, standing missionary, rough sex, porn w/ plot, mafia!jk, detective!reader, established relationship, mild angst, mild violence ➥ summary | It’s true, he owns you: blood, bones, and all. ➥ notes | the mafia!jk au no one asked for aka an excuse to write smut w/ feeling lol.

💚 masterlist | inbox | AO3 💚

On his knees staring down the barrel of a loaded gun with a mouthful of blood, he knows this is the end of the line. He’s going to die like a rat in the gutter - no mercy to be found, loopholes to exploit or bribes to be made.

This is the real deal, and there’s no coming back.

Judgement Day comes in the form of a man with dark eyes and a dangerous smirk: Golden, the deadliest guard dog of the underground.

Credited with dozens of hits, you won’t know he’s there until it’s too late. Trying to keep him pinned is like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands, or a whisper on the wind.

And you won’t know he’s coming until you feel the breath on the back of your neck, hear the crack of a bullet ringing in your ears.

Belonging to one of the most powerful men in the world: Kim Namjoon, he’s more war machine than man.

“Go ahead, do it!” He spits at Golden’s feet, a mess of blood and drool staining the crisp leather of his combat boots. “Killing me won’t change a goddamn thing.”

A coy smile tugs at Golden’s mouth, his grin all sharp teeth and violence. He stays where he stands, his silhouette haloed by distant streetlights.

Water laps at the docks, the tang of salt heavy in the mid-summer Seoul air. There’s no rush; they both know he’ll be dead and dumped just like all the rest of the garbage in this rotting city.

“Come on, you prick! Pull the fucking trigger already.”

Golden cocks his head, and hums in the back of his throat. 

“Tch! I hope you’ve got a lot of bullets - we’re gonna knock the crown off Kim’s head one way or another.”

Golden thumbs at the safety of his gun, the barrel glinting through the shadows. “Ahh, is that what you think?” He shrugs, a lazy ripple of muscle. “Well, I have to say: I’d love to see you try.”

The night is shattered by the resounding crack of a gunshot and an echoing splash of something heavy dropping into the water below.

You climb out of the nondescript government-issue car. The faintest tremble of your fingers nearly gives you away but you’re able to reign in the impulse to smooth your hands over your clothes at the last second.

Showing weakness is the last thing you need to be doing right now.

Especially here.

Right in front of where you’ve parked - shoved between two looming apartment complexes - sits a quaint, vintage building. The rough brick face is at odds with the sleek surroundings, but tinted windows keep prying eyes at bay while the classy signing hanging above the door reads The Red Bullet written in caps.

If you didn’t know better, it would be hard to believe this otherwise mundane storefront is a cover for one of the most dangerous international organizations based out of South Korea.

Not only do they hold the keys to the kingdom, but their success is largely in part because they spearhead operations from government espionage all the way to simple blackmail.

Even though it’s been several months since you darkened its doorstep, the familiar sight is enough to steal the breath from your lungs. Send your heart galloping into a tailspin as your stomach swoops.

While time away helped clear your head of stolen kisses and promises whispered in dark rooms, it also drove the longing bone deep.

In those quiet moments to yourself, when you have nothing else to distract from how lonely you are, you miss this place like one misses a limb.

You didn’t realize how attached you were to these four walls until it was too late: the hazy air filled with whorls of smoke, the overhead lights that bathe everything in red, the plush chairs you spent many nights sprawled across, the glossy black stages.

You don’t know how, you don’t know when but at some point it (he) started feeling like home. A luxury you can’t afford. Not again. After all, if you give in, any progress you made outside of his gravitational pull will be for naught.

Which puts you in a dangerous position as you find yourself back where it began; feelings at war with duty, mind vs heart. Because even if it leads you to a place you could go a million years without ever seeing again, you have to follow the trail of bodies.

A bouncer grants you access, the heavy door slamming shut behind you like a death knell as he herds you towards the back of the club.

It’s outside of official operating hours but it’s no less busy inside, men and women alike in scattered conversation as you pass through.

“It’s nice to see you again,” the bouncer murmurs, chancing a quick glance at your profile. “Been a while.”

You swallow, gaze darting down to your shoes. “Ah - yeah… Got busy with work. It’s - it’s nice to see you too.”

The small talk fizzles out, a snuffed candle as you arrive at a cordoned off room, “Here we are. Mr Kim is already expecting you.”

Any further pleasantries grow stale on your tongue as you enter the private booth, fighting against the lump in your throat to manage a hoarse ‘thank you’.

And then you find yourself left alone with the man himself, Kim Namjoon. He’s as intimidating as you remember, lounging back into the leather booth with his ankles crossed.

A lukewarm smile stretches across his lips, the slightest hint of a dimple peeking out from the valley of his cheek. Standing at attention on either side of his reposing form are two massive bodyguards. Their hands rest on the butts of their guns, daring any who enter to try and make a move.

“It’s good to see you again. But I gotta ask - what’s the occasion, Detective?” Namjoon hums. “I thought we were past all this.” He waves a nebulous hand between your bodies. “After all, you’re practically family.”

You ignore the hidden barb with a wince. “Mr Kim, you know why I’m here.”

“I used to know why a long time ago.” A well-groomed brow raises, his gaze glacial as it spears you in place. “But now I’m not so sure.”

“Please, Mr Kim. I don’t want to make this more difficult than it is. I just need to know about the man they fished out of the harbor, and then I’ll be on my way. So… who was he?”

Namjoon scoffs. “What makes you think I know more than the police?”

There’s a flash of a smirk, barely noticed, before his face returns to its neutral expression. As calm and cool as a placid river. “A john’s a john. What I do want to know is why you care so much?”

The underlying question is clear; why are you really here?

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss such matters with civillians.”

“Oh? So I’m a civilian now.” His expression is not unlike the cat that caught the canary: vicious and delighting in the discomfort his evasions are causing. “Gotta say that’s a new one for me.”

Sighing in defeat, you say, “Alright, enough. I get it. I’m wasting my time with you. Let me ask this instead: where is he?” 

“He doesn’t know any more about this than I do,” he says, waving a blase hand towards a door off to the left, “But if you insist, you can find him in the office. Oh, and Detective?”

“...Yes?”

“Take your time, I’ll be out on business all afternoon.”

With a curt nod, you flee the room amid low-throated chuckles and enter the office. Standing near the desk, his broad back turned towards the door, you find the man you simultaneously want to see the most and run from the fastest.

He turns around, the muscles of his back rippling with the movement. Your breath stutters in your chest, and you nearly swallow your tongue as your eyes trace over the cut of his body.

The moment your eyes meet, those many months spent cultivating time and distance turn to ash. You forgot how even the mere sight of him affects you, any resistance to his many charms virtually nonexistent as the world falls away.

Rich, coffee dark; his gaze sucks you in until it’s all you can do not to reach out, to brush your fingers over his edges and feel them soften beneath your palms.

Rocking back on your heels, you clear your throat and glance to the side as you remain standing in the entryway, more than a little off-kilter.

Coming back after so long apart, only to find him the same as the day you left… How do you reconcile everything that’s changed with everything that was?

“Well, hello there.” Jungkook croons, leaning his hip against the corner of the desk with a roll of his shoulders. His arms cross over the trunk of his chest, accentuating the bulk of his chest, the flex of inked bicep. “Long time no see.”

Shifting, you gulp. “Ah - yeah…”

The burn of his gaze - a palpable sensation prickling across your skin - tracks a path from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes as he gives you a thorough once-over.

“You’re looking good,” Jungkook hums in approval, “real good. I’ve missed those pretty eyes of yours.”

“You - you too.”

Your attention doesn’t know where to settle: drifting from the curve of his shoulders to the jut of his bloody knuckles, the tuck of his trim hips to the thick-soled combat boots.

Tiny hairs at the back of your neck stand on end, and your palms slick with sweat.

“I mean, you look… y’know, uh, good too.”

A flash of a crooked smirk, the raising of a pierced brow gets your blood pumping, your heart tattooing a rhythm against your ribs. Emboldens you to reach back with shaky fingers to turn the lock. The sound grates down your spine, bolts of anticipation slicing through you.

It was dumb to think coming here, seeing him again, would end any other way than his taste on your tongue and his cock in your cunt. Hope makes fools of us all.

Should’ve known better but you’d been hopeful those days were long behind you. Now you realize it was inevitable.

After all, Jungkook is magnetic.

The black hole at the center of your universe, consuming everything in its path until he’s what remains in your head, your heart. You’re helpless, ceaselessly drawn to him like a moth to flame.

And try as you might, you can’t say no to a face like that.

Never could, in fact.

Failure to extract yourself from his orbit during your not-relationship is nothing new. That doesn’t mean you can’t make it difficult.

After all, you still have some dignity intact.

So try, try, try again.

“Ahem.” You try to banish the heat from your cheeks, guiding the conversation into the correct territory. “I’m not here on a-a social call, Jeon. I need to know: were you the one that killed and dumped the john in the harbor?”

Stalking closer, a lazy jungle cat on the prowl, Jungkook crosses the distance between you. He only stops once your bodies brush with every labored inhale. Heat radiates from him, and you’re achingly aware of every point of contact.

The light scent of his cologne teases your nose, and his eyes - god, his eyes. They’re shaded and hungry, devouring your expression with single-minded possessiveness. 

“What makes you think I know anything about that?”

“Jeon -- Jungkook.”

He hums.

Your heart thrums, pulse rushing hard through your head until you feel faint, blood surging the longer you stay in close contact. The shameful clench of your cunt makes your cheeks burn all the brighter.

The last time you were looking up at him like this, his hand was on your jaw while his cock thrust balls deep.

“C’mon, you know that isn’t going to work. This is me you’re talking to, not some rookie.”

“Mm,” he purrs, “it is you I’m talking to, isn’t it?”

You manage to bite back the groan but can’t stop your eyes from rolling even if there’s the slightest hint of a stutter when you reply, “Please, I just need to know if you killed him.”

Jungkook looms tall and proud, crowding closer. “And if I did, baby?” he asks.

Instinctively you back up, only to be followed step by step. A game of cat and mouse that finds you pinned against the wall before long. With nowhere to run, you watch, heart in your throat, as Jungkook dips his dark head.

His nose runs along the length of your neck, breath puffing across your sensitive skin as he inhales the pleasant scent of your perfume.

“I - I…”

“Would you see me in handcuffs?” His lips caress the underside of your jaw, a soft groan escaping him. “… C’mon, answer me. Would you?”

“I would - if I had to.”

As much as you wish that was true, you know in your heart of heart's you would do everything in your power to make sure that never happens.

No matter how much you like to think you’d do the right thing when push comes to shove, you’d choose him a thousand times over.

His eyes dance playfully. “Careful, I might like it.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” you say with a snort.

Jungkook chuckles low and warm, using the arm around your waist to tug you into the safety of his body. The softness of your breasts presses into the hard planes of his chest, your nipples pebbling through the thin cotton shirt you wear.

With a deep-throated groan, his hands encircle the curves of your hips as a thickly muscled thigh slots between yours.

An answering quiet sigh gets his blood pumping and his cock twitching.

“Mm, something tells me you’d enjoy it just as much, Detective.”

The use of your title is a rude awakening.

“Jungkook,” You warn, moving to push him away. Only once you start touching him, you can’t stop. His muscles flex beneath your curious fingertips. “We really shouldn’t.”

You’re sure if he could, Jungkook would spend days worshipping between your thighs, velvet heat wrapped around his tongue and hands in his hair as he brings you to peak again and again until you’re a sobbing, sopping, boneless mess beneath him.

“Come on, I know you want me - that you’ve missed me. I can see it in your eyes.”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, tongue flickering out for a brief taste before a rough thumb skates across your bottom lip, tugging down to expose your teeth, the glitter of your tongue as it darts out to flick over the pad of his finger..

“I’ve certainly missed you, baby. Want me to show you?”

Even though you refuse to admit anything out loud, you can’t help but angle your throat back and grind into his hips pressed against yours.

Jungkook tsks, “That’s alright. I’ll get that pretty mouth open one way or another.”

Before you can retort, a mouth swoops down to fuse with yours in a fierce, all-consuming kiss. A low, broken moan punches from your chest.

Reaching up, your fingers sink into the mane of dark hair that brushes the cut of Jungkook’s jaw. Soft, thick, and wavy in your grip; you tug at the roots.

Jungkook hisses. 

Teeth nip at your lip, kittenish licks soothing away the string as blood bursts across your tongues. The thigh shoved between yours grinds up with every wet, sloppy pass of your lips.

Thick muscle spreads your pussy open through the thin slacks of your work uniform. Sparks of pleasure dance down your spine with every rock against your swollen clit.

“S-Shit!” Your shoulders curl in, a shudder jerking through you. “K-Kook, I… !”

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me.” Jungkook growls, rutting his cock against the jut of your hip. The wet patch you’re making on his jeans grows larger with every filthy grind. “You’ve been gone too fucking long. Never again, you hear me?”

You claw at his shoulders, stuttering out, “there’s noth-ing you can do t’stop me.”

“If you don’t come back to me,” his eyes are dark and stormy, voice whiskey rough, “I’ll find you.”

It’s not a threat - it’s a promise.

“Then make sure I never want to leave,” you challenge breathlessly, staring into his blown out pupils, “Make me want to stay.”

Above all else, you think.

The words are barely past your lips when Jungkook accepts your challenge with gusto (just like you knew he would). Without delay, he thumbs open the button on your pants.

Refusing to let you look away, Jungkook yanks them to your feet and swings you up into his arms one-handed. They hang from your ankle like a chain.

Your surprised squeak is quickly swallowed up by a moan when he settles you over the bulge in his pants, your cunt hovering over his erection.

The heat of his skin sinks through the thin cotton of your panties, so, so close to where you need him. Slick soaks into the fabric, and clings to your inner thighs.

Every shift is a smooth, sticky glide of folds that stirs, and stokes the ember of desire smoldering behind your navel.

“Kook,” you breathe. “Please.”

Your head rolls back, and you sag into his chest. Your hips twitch in pathetic little attempts, trying to get pressure where you need it. Having him hot and hard and all for you; any distance between you is suddenly unbearable.

He needs to spread you wide and stuff you full with every inch of his thick cock until he’s so deep you won’t be able to walk for days.

“Shh baby, I’ll give you what you want,” he says, gaze heavy and possessive. “I’m gonna ruin you so good, you’ll have no choice but to come back. You’re mine.”

“Says who?”

“Hmm. You don’t think you are?”

Nibbling on your ear, Jungkook slips a finger under the hem of your panties. He smirks when you keen, rubbing his knuckle up and down your sloppy folds with teasing pressure.

“How about I show you what your body already knows?”

Wasting no time, he lifts you off his cock, the scrap of cloth fluttering to the ground. His free hand dives between your bodies. Then comes the clink of a belt, the sound of a zipper pulling down.

Your heartbeat thunders in your ears, your body coiled with anticipation as your stomach swoops at the brush of his fingers along the underside of your thigh.

“Look so pretty like this, baby.” Jungkook twists his wrist, hips arching back. “And it’s all for me. Fuck, I can’t wait to get inside this pretty pussy.”

Any response dies on your tongue, brain short-circuiting as the slick, fat cockhead rubs along your slit. Pressing against your entrance the slightest bit before slipping up to nudge at your clit - coating himself up in your sticky juices.

The ultimate tease - something Jungkook’s always been overly fond of doing until you’re out of your mind with desperation.

“Please, please, please,” you chant, cheeks on fire and eyes half-lidded as you circle your hips. “Stop playing around. I want it - want you, Kook.”

“Oh, baby,” he smiles, ducking down to kiss your forehead. “You’ll take whatever I give you.”

You can’t stifle the broken sob, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. Liquid fire surges through your veins, a thousand bolts of lightening crackling beneath the surface of your skin. Your pussy is tender, swollen. Walls fluttering in time with your heartbeat. 

“Ha, you’re so needy for me.”

Jungkook’s lips brush away the moisture around your eyes, his thumb drawing soothing circles into the base of your spine. All the while, his torturous grinding never ceases.

“Aren’t you?”

You croak, “I can’t – Kook, please. Anything, I’ll do anything you want just fuck me.”

The flash of his eyes is your only warning before he’s right there, your walls embracing the girth of his erection inch by inch. Every ridge, every jerk as he seats himself as deep inside your silken heat as he can is absolute heaven.

The stretch as you take him to the hilt sends you careening towards the edge, eyes rolling back and toes curling in your shoes.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” you whimper.

“Shit!” Jungkook grits his teeth, squeezing the base of his cock as you tighten  around him. With every deep inhale, his pelvis brushes your swollen, needy clit. “Forgot how good you feel wrapped around my dick, baby.”

“Me too,” You gasp, tightening your legs around Jungkook’s hips.”Me too, Kook.”

Dropping his forehead to yours, he says gruffly, “‘m not gonna last long.”

Making a noise of acknowledgement, you wiggle your hips. Sinking your teeth into the side of Jungkook’s jaw, you bite and suck at his skin, wanting to leave a mark to remember you by. His reaction is instantaneous, releasing the grip on his shaft to grab a fist full of hair.

He yanks back.

The long, elegant line of your throat is exposed to his butterfly kisses and scolding love bites.

“Now you’ve really asked for it,” Jungkook huffs out with a dirty chuckle.

“Then give it to me.” You lick your puffy lips, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. “Show me who I belong to.”  

The brewing hurricane in his eyes is unleashed. Wide palms and strong fingers grip your hips so tight you feel bones grind together. His stance widens, his unwavering gaze locking onto your face, brow pinched, and mouth slack.

His lip piercing glints in the light, his tongue sliding out to wet his bottom lip. Dark curls tussle about his head, a wild halo that sweeps down into the burning umber of his eyes.

Helpless, you succumb - enchanted by the darkness peering at you from behind those dangerous eyes. He’s ethereal; a siren song that threatens to drown you, swallow you whole.

You’d happily let him, you realize with a shiver.

It’s true, he owns you: blood, bones, and all.

“Hold on tight,” Jungkook says, hooking his hands under your bottom. 

And then, he’s jackhammering into your cunt so hard and fast all you can do is hold on for the ride. Punch drunk and moaning as he manhandles you how he likes, spreads you wide and stuffs you full until you’re panting for breath and clinging to sanity by your fingernails.

“Fuck yes, that’s it. Look how well your pretty pussy always takes my fat cock.”

His low voice whispering filthy praises in your ear makes you whimper, whine, and writhe as the band of pleasure coiling tight in your belly comes close to snapping. It’s the fastest he’s ever fucked an orgasm out of you, and it feels so good you don’t even care.

The pace is brutal, slamming into you so hard you’re sure you’ll have bruises on your hips come morning. But it’ll be so fucking worth it. You’re going to cum hard and long, you just know it.

About to melt as Jungkook fucks the slick out of you, groaning as you drip down the base of his cock, his balls - his very own pretty little mess.

“Yeah, you gonna cum, baby?” he laughs, pressing a sweaty kiss to the side of your face. “Can feel how - haaah shit - how tight you’re squeezing me.”

“Uh-huh,” you cry, holding onto the tops of his wide shoulders. Every thrust has his cockhead dragging over the spongy patch of your g-spot, sending fissions of pleasure rocketing through your nervous system. “So - so close, baby. Just a little more, I--”

Balancing yourself, you lift up only to slam back down, meeting Jungkook’s thrust with all the force of gravity. “Oh fuck, oh fuck!”

Crashing over you like a tsunami, your orgasm shoots through your limbs and zips down your spine. A warm rush of cum soaks Jungkook’s shaft, the wet and messy sound of your squirt splashing against the floor secondary to the cry that claws its way out of your throat.

“K-Kook!”

Jungkook grunts, his fingers digging into the fat of your hips as he helps you keep bouncing up and down on his erection. “Yeah, that’s it - keep going, baby. Wanna feel you keep cumming all over this cock.”

Aftershocks slice through you like lightning, tiny jolts of electricity. As you come down from your high, your gummy walls pulse, milking at Jungkook’s thick shaft.

He groans softly whenever your muscles tense, release; your body a worn-out rubber band as your breath stutters from you.

Then a hand pets down your flank, your skin shivering with hypersensitivity at the tender touch. “S’okay. Just breathe, baby.”

Peeling open your heavy eyes, you look up at his face. Take in the crinkle of his brow and the ravenous expression. Even floating on a sea of bliss, white noise fills your ears, you want more.

You slur, determined, “Kook, baby, please. Cum in me, want you s’bad.”

“Fuck! Can’t just say shit like that to me or I…” Jungkook bites down onto the tender crook of your neck, muffling his grunts in your flesh. “Shit - ’m so --”

You cry out, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders, “A-haah, K-Kook!”

Snapping his hips forward one last time, Jungkook grinds as deep as he can get and lets go. The fat head of his cock kisses your cervix, his length throbbing in time with his heartbeat as a rush of cum floods your insides.

“Yeah, just like that,” he grunts, rutting once - twice into the cradle of your body, “take it like a good girl.”

He croons when you whine at the press of his pelvis against your oversensitive clit. Thready sparks of pain shoot down your legs that hang limply over his forearms. Every breath stutters from your lungs, slow and deep.

“No more, can’t - can’t…” Shifting, you arch your spine and burrow your head into his chest, nearly catatonic in his arms. “S’too much.”

“Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” Fingers brush over your closed eyelids, smoothing over the arch of your brow. With every kiss dropped to the top of your head, he mumbles in dulcet tones, “I really have missed you, you know.”

You mewl in response as strong fingers knead the backs of your thighs.

“You’re not allowed to go anywhere.”

“Oh,” you can’t muster up enough energy to say anything more, body tender and trembling with little aftershocks, “s’that right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” He chuckles. “You’re staying here - right where I want you.”

In lieu of a response, you pick your head up off the pillow of his chest and seek out his gaze. Liquid soft; he’s looking at you like you hung the world on a string.

“I’ve missed you too, Kook,” you say with a gentle smile.

You’ll allow yourself this moment of weakness when there’s no space between your bodies or hearts. Titles don’t matter much when he’s cradling you to his chest like a piece of precious china.

Between the two of us, you’re the one who hung the moon and stars, you think while combing back his sweaty bangs.

And I think I love you, you whisper voiceless against his lips.

[unorthodoxfaithxx]

Yandere Soshiro Hoshina SFW and NSFW headcannons

Soshiro as a yandere is a menace. Don’t let his laid-back, casual demeanor fool you. This man is very clever, and exceptionally manipulative. This means he always gets what he wants out of you, whenever. 

You don’t even realize it until it’s too late, but he gradually isolates you from your loved ones and friends.

Loves to monopolize you. Guilt trips you when you try to spend time with anyone else but him. He’ll bombard you with questions when you try to hang out with your platoon outside of work. Do you not love him anymore? What did he do wrong? He promises he’ll change, okay? Just don’t go. 

You’re not allowed to go on dangerous missions — when asked why, he’ll tell you it’s because he worries about you too much and can’t handle not knowing if you’ll return home safe or not. It distracts him from work, apparently. 

If you’re a civilian, expect him to appear at your doorstep anytime he’s off work. Don’t be surprised when he knocks on your door late at night after a strenuous mission, holds you, marches straight to your bedroom, and silently throws you on the bed with him to sleep.

And working with the government has its perks. Because of his standing, no one bats an eye when he does a full person lookup. He knows more about you than he ought to, private information like your workplace, daily schedule, identification, family background, blood type are all ingrained in his memory. 

Does it even need to be said? He’s strong. Really, strong. Which means if push comes to shove you’d never be able to run from him or escalate a fight - he’ll overpower you real easy.

NSFW

Soshiro would most likely be into BDSM. He’s a leader, and is used to power. He loves to be in control, and having you submit to him in bed drives him wild.

An absolute sadist sometimes. He loves to tease you. Overstimulating you and having you cry for him is one of his greatest guilty pleasures. 

He’s not interested in causing you harm, but enjoys spanking and other stuff you as long as you like it, too. 

Very much into a good game of chase, prey/predator.

He makes love very differently based on his emotions. If you made him jealous, regardless of meaning to or not, expect to be fucked into your mattress until you’re a ruined mess and can barely stand. If he’s in a good mood? Well, expect a gentle lover who’ll do anything you want. 

Loves the way talk to him in bed. Easily turned on the by sultry way you speak in the mornings, or during sex. Even without meaning to you get him going.

Soshina is a clean man, so don’t expect him to steal any of your used undergarments. DO expect him to have photos taken of you when you’re unaware, or straight up nude pics from your last fuck session.

(stay tuned for some much needed Soshina smut!)

[chelseeebe]

never leave (nevermind)

18+ mdni. canon compliant sorta kinda. takes place during the events of s4. violent scenes described. r and eddie are exes. reader gets vecna'd. lots of angst.

a/n: i've been writing this on and off for what feels like months and it's definitely noticeable in parts where my writing improves drastically. howeverrr, i've been wanting to write something s4 related for a while bc most of my fics are au's and as fun as they are, the canon material is also v fun (just very difficult to translate into a fic)

8.9k words.

being home for spring break meant one thing; avoiding eddie munson like the plague. 

it wasn’t exactly easy what with being practically neighbours but you’d certainly tried to make yourself invisible around the trailer park. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

you hadn’t seen him for eleven months, not even a trace of that wild hair until one friday night when his van screamed down the gravel road, music bleating loud enough for you to hear inside. you’d known it was d&d night, he still held the club at the high school and no doubt would still be in charge of it, even after he eventually graduates. 

you shouldn’t have even looked. it’s not like you wanted to see him. just curious as to why he felt the need to make so much noise so late at night. 

that’s when your eyes saw her, green hawkins high skirt and the fluffy ponytail to match, flouncing out of the van without a care in the world. 

chrissy cunningham wasn’t exactly who you’d imagined eddie would go for. she was prim and proper, wasn’t into smoking weed and talking about ozzy osbourne but pom poms and cheer routines instead. 

it shouldn’t even hurt. 

you’d been broken up for the best part of a year, away to college, living what was supposed to be your best life. 

but it does. 

pangs through your chest in insurmountable waves, rushing to duck down beneath the window before either of them saw you peeking. 

you don’t dare look out again, maybe it was the fear of being caught or more likely for fear of hurting yourself anymore. 

eddie’s single, he can do what or whomever he likes. 

slinking back into the couch, hoping the crackly tv would drown out any of the lingering thoughts. 

a sharp, stabbing sensation rings through your head, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to shut it down. 

only since you’d been back here, in hawkins had you felt it. people always whispered about how this town was cursed, perhaps it was you after all, bringing the bad luck to the innocent people of this shit hole. 

you drag your feet along the corridor to your bedroom, deciding that being buried beneath your blanket was better than constantly punishing yourself with sly glances out the window. 

-

a multitude of fists pummel at your door, sunlight just barely breaking through the clouds as your eyes open. 

nothing in this world could be so important to cause this reaction, especially not at this time of the day. 

you slink to the door, grumbling your way through the trailer. 

the door swings open, revealing a very out of breath dustin henderson and max mayfield, looking frantic as they pant on your doorstep. 

“what the hell? it’s nine am,” you grunt, wondering how the two even knew you were home. 

being with eddie had meant you’d come to adopt the gaggle of kids he played d&d with, driving them to and from games, offering a place to stay when their parents thought they were at each others houses while they were actually fighting monsters. 

the usual. 

the monster stuff was secondary, getting thrown into the deep end last summer after what was supposed to be a shitty mall job to save up for college, had turned into slimy monsters trying to kill you. 

eddie had only really seen the aftermath, the piles of what remained of starcourt on the floor and the cuts that littered your limbs. you had told him that night what had actually happened, terrified that the government were listening at your door, ready and waiting to throw you in jail for speaking about what you’d seen. 

dustin had made it very clear that you had to be careful not to talk too openly about it, delving into the whole world that rumbled beneath your town. 

you weren’t exactly eager to relive that night in the mall, a haze of slobbering monsters and telekinetic little girls. putting it to the back of your mind as some weird fever dream, a symptom of living in hawkins. 

“eddie’s in trouble,” dustin frowns, “is your mom here?” forcing himself into the trailer, max at his heels. 

“no she’s not-” closing the door behind the rude tweens, “i’m sorry- what’d you say?” hoping you’d misheard him. 

he peers down the hall, lousily checking the perimeter, “eddie’s in trouble,” completely serious. 

“and what does that have to do with me?” putting your hands on your hips, hoping to display some sort of authority, though it rendered useless against their stubborn attitudes. 

“remember the mall?” he deadpans, grabbing the phone from your wall as max pulls out a list of numbers. 

“yeah? i’m still not.. why’re you here? you can’t help him at his trailer?” 

dustin sighs, long and exaggerated, “he’s not at his trailer. we don’t know where he is,” aggressively punching in numbers, “and why didn’t you tell me you were back? i thought we were friends!” ever the sarcastic little dweeb you’d always had a soft spot for. 

“i didn’t tell anyone,” shrugging as you slink into the kitchen, deciding that if they were going to stay, you were at least going to need coffee, “i still don’t understand what’s going on!” 

“we’ll explain later,” max yells, fumbling around in her backpack. 

you tut, relieved that the pounding in your head had subsided at least. 

-

you’re somehow roped into driving the two to family video, receiving the details on the drive over. 

cops had swarmed the trailer park by the time you were ready, piling into wayne’s trailer, talking in hushed voices and yelling at anyone that dared to leave their own homes. 

wayne had come back from work this morning to find chrissy cunningham’s body on his floor. limbs broken and her eyes weeping with blood. 

any sane human would assume it was eddie’s doing. he didn’t exactly hold the best reputation in this damned town, but you knew murder wasn’t anything he was capable of. 

“that monster, from the mall,” dustin continues, leaning over the centre console, “that has something to do with this, i know it,” speaking with such confidence that you had no choice but to believe him. 

“how do you know that?” you question wearily, pulling into the parking lot, “i’m not saying i don’t believe you, but how do you know for sure?”

“well,” he buffers, “i don’t, but i’m 99.9 percent certain,” hopping out of the car before you can get another word in. 

you contemplate just waiting in the car for them to be done with whatever the fuck it is they’re even doing. not keen on seeing more people you really didn’t want to. 

you follow them in either way, ducking your head in some half-assed disguise. 

“-dustin!” robin squeals, reaching out to grab his arm, “those are my returns, you dweeb!” 

she and steve turn to you, perfectly in-sync, “when the hell did you get back?” speaking in unison. it’d be unsettling if you hadn’t spent the entirety of last summer with them both. 

you shake your head, “uh..” regretting your decision not to just wait in the car, “a few days ago.”

“and you didn’t tell me?” robin huffs, thankfully distracted with the mess dustin was inflicting upon her store to chastise you too badly. 

“sorry,” you say meekly, picking up the fallen tapes from the floor as a shitty kind of apology. 

she smiles gently at you, before turning back to dustin with a seeding hatred in her eyes, “what are you little nerds even doing here? do you not have anyone else to piss off on a saturday morning?”

“eddie’s in trouble,” dustin repeats for what is probably the thousandth time today, holding the receiver up to his ear. 

“oh eddie?” steve quips, “what’d he do this time?”

dustin holds his finger up to shush him, unloading his rehearsed spiel down the phone to whoever. 

steve looks over to you for some clarity but you just shrug, not really any wiser on what was actually going than he was. 

this goes on for what feels like hours, listening to dustin and max inquire about eddie to each and every person on their call list, just to end up with a dejected frown when absolutely nobody has heard from him. 

“rick,” dustin nods, drumming his fingers against the desk, “rick! he said he was going to meet rick today! d’you know where reefer rick lives?” swivelling in his chair to glare at you. 

“reefer rick?” robin repeats with such disdain, it’d honestly have been nicer if she’d just laughed in his face. 

you shrug, “i don’t know.. maybe?” offering absolutely zero insight whatsoever. 

“you know, you were only together for four years,” he snarls, doing nothing to help his cause. 

“oh i’m so sorry that i can’t remember every single place we went together,” you hiss back. 

dustin eyes the empty computer and you can almost see the lightbulb go off above his head. tapping into the family video system as if he had any right to be here. 

“you’re not supposed to be on that!” robin hollers, reaching for the mouse though his hands are quicker. 

“stop it!” he screeches, typing rapidly into the computer, “jesus christ, how many rick’s are there?” scrolling the plethora of rick names that had appeared. 

he figures it out pretty quickly. 

realising that reefer rick probably wasn’t using the local video rental store to watch sixteen candles or risky business. 

“you know where that is?” he asks steve, tapping the address on screen. 

“uh.. i think so,” steve wavers, squinting his eyes. 

“great,” dustin shoots up, grabbing his backpack without a second thought, “you drive,” pointing at steve, “you follow,” turning to you, giving zero alternative or chance to protest before he’s out the door, tugging at the handle of steve’s car. 

-

you do as he says, obviously. fearing that if he were to be left alone with robin for too long, she might just wring his neck. 

eddie’s nowhere to be found, the house looks empty and his van isn’t here leaving you back at square one. 

“he has to be here,” dustin frets, pointing at the large shed on the other side of the yard, “let’s just have a look.. you wanna find him don’t you?” turning to you specifically. 

a few years ago you would’ve said yes with zero hesitation but now you’re not sure if you even care. the thought of seeing eddie again makes you a little nauseous. not even owing to the fact that he was a potential murder suspect. 

“why’re you looking at me?” you scowl, “i think we should just leave this to the police.”

“no!” stopping dead in his tracks, “they’ll kill him and you know that,” his eyes sharp as everyone falls into silence. 

he was right, as he often is. which makes this all the more irritating. 

you nod, gesturing for him to continue to the rundown shack behind the house. 

there’s nothing in there, at least no signs of one eddie munson. 

it all just seems useless. if eddie had used the neglected brain in his head, he’d be far away 

from hawkins by now. he was nifty enough to survive on his own, you were sure about that. 

steve jabs at the tarpaulin as you peer out of the door and into the quickly darkening night sky, spinning rapidly as the tarp crinkles and something comes flying out. 

eddie. 

with his hands now pinning steve back against the wall, chest heaving with sheer, seething anger. 

only dropping his hold on him when it registers who it actually is, eyes wide and startled. 

a million and one feelings rush through your veins. you hadn’t prepared to actually see him again, to now be stilled by the sight of him locking eyes with you. 

the slow realisation dawns on him, quickly forgetting that he was a wanted man, all encompassed by your presence in this suddenly stifling shed. 

steve gasps for air, breaking the tension and pulling the attention back to him. robin’s quick to soothe his arm while dustin launches into a quick scolding for eddie. 

it’s not long before he moves onto the next phase of his master plan, dragging max to the corner to loudly discuss what they should do. 

“when’d you get back?” eddie asks, leaning against the dusty wood panelling, “i haven’t seen you..” his voice cracks but he’s unwavering. 

good, you thought. though really it was all useless now. 

“couple’a days ago..” picking at the wood splinter on the wall, “when’d you start murdering teenagers?” hoping it wasn’t too harsh of a dig. 

“ha ha,” he deadpans, running his hand over his face, “you don’t think i did it, do you?” worry seeping through his tone. 

you shake your head no, choosing to meet his eyes, a little reassurance that even if you did think he was a loser, you definitely didn’t think he was a murderer too. 

he nods, sighing into his palm, “fuck,” deflated, exhausted by the day he had endured, “they’re gonna kill me,” shrunken into himself, resembling a dejected little puppy. 

“they’re not gonna kill you,” but your voice shakes a little, not unnoticed by eddie. 

“you don’t sound so sure,” he chuckles, turning his gaze to the rotting floorboards. he looked horrible, to put it nicely. the bags under his eyes were dark and his hair an even wilder mess than usual. 

“i’m not really,” refusing to lie to him, even now. 

he looks up again, unwavering melancholy in his eye, “how’d you find me?” 

you glance over at dustin’s busybody, passionately explaining the next steps to an exhausted looking steve, his hands gesturing for a fight. “he tracked down rick’s address from family video and then wouldn’t let us leave until we found you.” 

eddie grin grows, finding the motivation to get himself off of the dirty floor, “yeah.. sounds about right.” 

you’re too close for comfort now that you’re eye to eye, uncomfortably close while your relationship was still so fragile. 

he breaks away first, striding over to dustin, “what’s the plan? i really need you to save my ass, dude.” 

dustin nods, vowing to keep eddie alive, no matter what it takes. 

-

dustin doesn’t hang around. 

the minute the suns risen, he’s pounding on the bedroom door, waking the sleeping pile of limbs you’d collapsed in. 

“i’m gonna kill him.. i’m gonna fuckin’ kill him,” robin grumbles, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, staring daggers at the door. 

“eddie’s not answering!” he hollers, busting through the door, “we have to go back to rick’s! now!” pulling at nancy’s arm, presuming that steve had told him no to driving him around this early. 

you rouse just enough to really see the panicked look on his face, swinging your legs off of the bed to grab his shoulders, “what happened? we can go i just need five minutes.”

“he’s not answering,” panting between his words, “i told him to check in at six! it’s nearly six thirty.. something’s wrong.”

“okay,” you nod, trying to wake yourself up, “okay.. let me get dressed,” finding your discarded pants and practically jumping into them. 

dustin’s in the passenger seat before you can even run a brush through your hair, only just able to brush your teeth before he’s got his fist on the horn. 

“jesus christ dude,” you exclaim, shoving the keys into the ignition and speeding off before he has the chance to chastise you again. 

you’re grateful that it’s still early and the chances of getting a ticket are slim because you most definitely had broken some kind of speed limit, but truthfully it was mostly to get dustin to shut the hell up. 

knowing eddie meant that you knew he was probably fast asleep, ignoring the cracklings of the walkie for the sake of a couple extra minutes of shuteye. 

you turn down the long wooded drive, wondering if rick was back yet and just how he’d react to eddie’s ex-girlfriend and some random kid showing up on his doorstep at seven in the morning. 

you’re forced to slam on the breaks, almost sending dustin through the windscreen as eddie’s face appears before you, his hands slam the hood, screaming something nonsensical. 

“ohmygodohmygod,” he rushes, throwing himself into the backseat of your car, “you need to drive!”

“what the hell happened?” dustin probes as you turn around, only now seeing the barrage of cars parked outside of the house. 

“jason..” he gasps, “those fucking meatheads he hangs around with.. they just showed up,” sliding down into the footwell just as jason rounds the corner of the house, yelling something about your car as you hightail the fuck out of there. 

“they.. they- they think i’m the devil or some shit,” eddie gasps, his petrified face appearing in the gap between your seats, “they’re fucking crazy man.. fuck!” 

your fingers tighten around the steering wheel, hoping to speed away before they got wise enough to follow you. 

jason wasn’t much but his lackeys would have zero issue beating the shit out of eddie, or you for that matter. 

you instinctively go to the first place you can think of, which in hindsight seems like a mistake now the gravel is crunching beneath your wheels. 

forest hills was still crawling with cops trying to determine who or what had killed chrissy, though thankfully at daybreak their presence seemed to have dwindled a little. 

“we should be okay here for a while.. stay in the car until i get the door open,” flashing him a harsh glare to make sure he really understands. 

the three of you barrel into your trailer, grateful for the silence, unsure of how you’d ever explain this entire situation to your mom. 

“shit man,” eddie marvels the walls, mouth hung open, “haven’t seen the inside of this thing for.. a while,” a sadness to his tone. 

“yup,” choosing to ignore his glum cadence in favour of keeping the peace, “you can sleep in my bed,” tossing your keys into the bowl. 

“you sure?” eddie asks, though he’s already making his way up the hall, all too familiar with your trailer. 

“knock yourself out,” collapsing onto the couch to resume your own interrupted slumber. in a time not so long ago, you’d have relished crawling up next to eddie in bed, wrapping his arm around your shoulder to tuck you up under his armpit. 

you brush off the glum feeling, wrapping your own arms around your body instead. 

dustin gets to alerting the wheeler residence, informing them all that eddie’s okay and you were going to hang out here until he came up with some plan.  

it’s almost noon before eddie rises again, asking if he can take a shower before dustin unleashes his plan. 

that horrid buzzing niggles it’s way back into your brain. a dull pain that quickly becomes sharp, stabbing at the sides of your head. 

“are you okay?” dustin questions nervously, ditching his notebook to step closer with caution. 

your fingers clutch your temple, unable to form a coherent sentence as the pain throbs through your frontal lobe. features screwed up in searing pain. 

“eddie!” he screeches, his fists pummelling against the bathroom door. 

eddie emerges, towel slung around his waist, barely able to turn the water on yet, “what? what the hell is going on?” quickly shutting up when he sees your sorry state. “are you okay? what happened?” rushing over without a second thought. 

dustin stands in horror just behind, watching as eddie’s thumb swipes the underside of your nose, coming back an unexpected shade of maroon. 

“she just dropped! i-i don’t.. i’ve never seen this before!”

“you’re bleeding,” eddie fuses, “dustin.. tissue now,” tilting your chin upwards. 

the pain subsides slightly, allowing your eyes to reopen and meet his, “there’s.. tylenol in the drawer,” letting him keep your chin between his fingers.

dustin speeds around the room, collecting supplies as your laboured breaths become easier, the ache dissipating as quickly as it came on. 

eddie dabs at your nose until it’s clean, shaking out two of the pills onto his palm for you to take. “what the hell was that?” nagging yet concerned all rolled into one. 

“i dunno, i’ve been getting these.. headaches, since i’ve been back,” looking between dustin’s horrified face and eddie’s distressed one.  “it’s probably nothing.” 

“that didn’t look like nothing,” dustin adds, still wary of your state. with all of the supernatural happenings at the moment, he had right to be. 

“it’s fine,” shrugging them both off before the questions got too much. “what’s the plan dustin?”

he and eddie share another glance, pretending that you weren’t right there in front of them. “uh..” erring the line of caution before jumping right into it, “okay so we need to go down.. down there.”

-

it’s stupid, reckless even. 

but what other choice do you have when the world is caving in and your ex-boyfriend is on the run from the police? 

eddie climbs through the window of the rv, pulling your eyes away with a quickness as his shirt rises up to reveal his lower back. 

the door swings open some moments later, gesturing for you all to climb inside as he gets to hot-wiring the gargantuan vehicle. 

you pile into the back, ducking below the windows while his fingers fiddle with the live wires. 

“do you even know what you’re doing?” nancy asks, her eyebrow raised in quiet concern. 

“nancy please,” eddie huffs, “while your dad was teaching you how to ride a bike, my dad was teaching me how to hot-wire a car.. i know what i’m doing.” 

she hums, settling into the passenger seat without another word. 

it shouldn’t be attractive. you should think it’s utterly reprehensible to steal and engage with such criminal behaviour. 

but you can’t. 

not with his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth like that, his hands whirring away as robin looks on with a screwed up face. 

the engine roars loud, alerting the entire trailer park to your existence. eddie hightails it into the back, choosing the empty spot next to you as he yells for steve to drive. 

this all so ridiculous, flying about the back of the rv as steve speeds out of town. finding somewhere solitary for you all to prepare. 

-

everyone seems to be in cahoots about something, scarpering from the rv the second you walk inside. leaving you and eddie to navigate through the uncomfortable tension alone. 

you take a seat anyway, picking up the discarded knife on the table, running your finger along the dull blade with a sigh. 

you’d never imagined that the two of you could ever be so awkward together, having been close for the entirety of your lives, it felt awful to not even want to look at him now. 

“i’m sorry.. about chrissy,” you swallow, still sharpening the knife, hoping he won’t say something to make you drive it into his throat. 

the rest of the group ‘prepare’ loudly outside. dustin screeching at the top of his lungs for steve to put him down while robin tuts in annoyance. 

eddie looks up, a little glum, “yeah.. she was a good girl, she didn’t deserve that,” dropping his own knife on the table in front of you with a clatter. 

“i didn’t realise you two were.. together or whatever,” the look on his face immediately forces you to regret your words, hoping the ground would just swallow you whole. 

he scoffs, “together?” knocking his knee into yours softly, “you thought we were together?” 

oh my god. it’s worse than you could’ve ever imagined. cheeks burning as your eyes meet his, “oh! i thought.. someone said.. i don’t- i don’t know,” clinging onto the knife with sweaty palms, deciding whether to slice your own mouth off so nothing else could fall out of it. 

“she was buying weed,” he laughs quietly, “pretty girl but.. not really my type, you know?” 

you nod, looking back at the table in hopes that he’d just drop it now. so much for being the nonchalant, cool ex. all you’d done is solidify your psycho status. 

“i haven’t really..” he begins again, never knowing when to leave well enough alone, “i haven’t moved on, i guess,” shrugging as his own gaze slips. 

if you were going to live through the end of the world, you hoped it’d come soon. the tension in this cramped rv was enough to make whatever was happening with the underworld seem like a dream. 

“oh!” is all you can conjure up. unsure of what response he was expecting from you. the breakup had been amicable.. sort of. to you, it made sense to breakup. you were away to college and he was repeating senior year again. you had almost died in the town you grew up in, he hadn’t. 

it was a multitude of happenings that forced you apart. grief and it’s intertwining webs of despair had proved too much for your relationship. too much for you to handle on your own. 

eddie hadn’t agreed. 

he couldn’t understand it, why you needed out of hawkins so bad. but he wasn’t there, hadn’t seen the things you had. 

the guilt had wrecked you for the first few months, afraid that you’d abandoned him in that very town for a new life after promising for so long that you wouldn’t. 

“sorry, i shouldn’t have said that- i didn’t mean anything by it,” he fumbles, pulling on his bottom lip, “well i did! just.. not the time or place, you get me?” digging himself further into his hole. 

your eyes meet his again, gnawing at the skin on your bottom lip, “it’s okay.. you don’t have to explain yourself to me.” 

“i think what i meant to say was that i missed you.. i’m glad you’re back,” eddie coughs, un-jumbling his words at last. 

it’s simple enough and really shouldn’t make your heart swell the way it does. you weren’t together. he wasn’t yours. that was that. 

but maybe there’s something about experiencing the end of the world with someone that makes you a little reminiscent. 

“i missed you too,” you smile, hoping that the overwhelming feeling of adrenaline is just from the interdimensional monster that lay beneath you and absolutely nothing to do with his doe eyes and plump lips. 

his eyes flicker, trailing from your eyes to your lips. the air seems to shift around you, leaving the room at an expedient rate. 

“you missed me?” eddie growls, looking back into your eyes, “then why’d you leave me here?” a deep set frown forming on his lips that wasn’t there a minute earlier. 

“what?” you question, taken aback by his sudden change in demeanour. 

“you left me. you left me here to die after you told me you wouldn’t,” he snarls, leaning closer. 

his eyes are glossy now, glazed over with what looks like tears. 

“i didn’t.. no,” backing away from him, “you were supposed to come with me.. you.. you..” shaking your head. 

eddie’s eyes change completely now, pupils turning a slick grey. a dark cloud fills the room, overflowing out of the tiny window, covering the furniture and your body with the thick smog. 

“it’s your fault,” the voice rumbles, no longer bearing any semblance to eddie’s, the walls decay in front of your eyes, wallpaper rotting as they crack and crumble. 

“it’s your fault,” it repeats, louder this time, “he’s going to die,” it cackles, filling the room with the booming voice. 

“no,” you scream into the void, thrashing around to find the source, “take me! take me instead!” yelling as loud as your throat would allow, but it’s futile. 

there’s no one here. 

eddie had gone. crumbled into a pile of ash on the floor, left on your own in some barren wasteland, the blood-curdling screams of menacing creatures travel through your body. 

“you can’t save yourself,�� the voice booms, pulling your eyes to the horrific humanoid figure stood amongst the ruins. 

“what do you want?” you scream, stepping backwards over the rubble. 

the man.. thing just smiles, “i’ve been watching you for some time, you shouldn’t have come back here,” walking towards your cowering frame. 

“w-why? who are you?” fingers trembling as you attempt to grab onto something, anything to bring you back to earth. 

everything you grasp crumbles into ashes, disappearing before your eyes as you struggle to breathe. wheezing through the dark clouds, not an inch of relief. 

“we’ve met before,” completely ominous, “you don’t remember me?” tilting his head to the side. 

it feels like you’ve seen it before, somewhere in a far away dreamland. 

that’s when it clicks. 

the bad dreams you’d been having, there had always been something there, a presence you couldn’t ever see clearly. 

but now it makes sense. 

“h-how did you do that? how did you get into my dreams?” the rubble beneath your feet disappeared with every step. 

his head shakes and the landscape rumbles, a clattering of stones fall to the ground, jolting your body backwards. 

“you let me in,” he rumbles, stepping closer, “you’re the reason any of this is happening.. it’s time for you to pay.” 

his spindly fingers reach out, forcing you further and further back until your foot catches against  a stone, sending you flying backwards into a sudden abyss. 

you awaken with a harsh gasp, eyes opening to find eddie towering above, his brows threaded together in fear as the others screech around you. 

“she’s awake! are you okay?” eddie rushes, holding your face between his palms, “oh my god,” as white as a sheet, shock rippling through his body. 

you nod, blinking in the sudden bright light, exhausted from doing nothing at all. nothing felt real except eddie’s fingers brushing over your worn skin. 

too tired for tears, too afraid to speak. your eyes shut on their own, trying to ground yourself back in this reality. 

you relax into his hold, your breathing falling into line with his as their voices turn into humming background noise, focusing on the path of eddie’s fingertips instead. 

-

eddie hadn’t dared to leave your side, following you around like a lost puppy, watchful eyes widening every time you moved or breathed too loud. 

it would’ve felt suffocating if you weren’t scared to death. instead, it was a welcome comfort. a sense of familiarity in the most awful time. 

you felt immense guilt, knowing that the end of the world had to happen for you to speak to him again. the man you’d gotten married to a thousand times in your head, the man you’d had a plethora of baby names with. it was all so insane. 

dustin hadn’t exactly instilled much confidence in you. with news of fred benson and patrick mckinney’s deaths, he had figured out the pattern of attack. 

they’d all died the same way, eyes burst and their limbs snapped one by one. 

eddie had recalled how chrissy went into a similar trance, her eyes glossed over, completely unresponsive. though the moment he’d said it, his heart sank, realising that chrissy wasn’t the only one he’d witnessed like that. 

logically, that meant that you were next. 

dustin had uncovered what was essentially a countdown to your death. nobody wanted to say it, or even acknowledge it, but you weren’t stupid. 

that meant that whatever plan he had, he had to perfect tonight, ready to attack tomorrow. 

before it’s too late. 

he’d said the quiet part out loud. a shared grimace encompassing the room, pitiful glances in your direction. 

despite the fact that your demise was quickly approaching, you had felt a strange sense of peace. perhaps actually knowing your fate was better than not knowing. 

there would be an end to all of this. 

-

steve had offered his house for you all, his parents away on some trip for the next week meaning eddie could hide out in peace. a much better arrangement than the wheeler’s house again, ted had started to despise the groups of teenagers in his basement. 

sleeping bags and blankets strewn across his gigantic living room, sleeping bodies filling every spare inch of carpet. none of you wanted to be apart for more than five minutes. sleeping on top one another was the ultimate comfort. 

eddie had volunteered for first watch, keeping his eye steady on you from the corner of the room. 

it’s a little difficult to fall asleep knowing that he was watching you like a hawk, surveying every tiny change and movement. 

dustin was supposed to take over at some point in the early hours, but judging by the sounds of his rumbling snore, that wouldn’t be happening. 

you sit up, shuffling over to eddie’s perch, avoiding your sleeping friends on the ground. 

his eyes dart to the floor, as if he hadn’t been staring intensely at you for the last hour.

“d’you have a cigarette?” you whisper, knocking your knee into his. 

he nods, raising his brow, “you don’t smoke?” baffled by your question. 

you shrug, smiling into the darkness, “how would you know?” hoping it didn’t come across as snappy as it seemed. 

he doesn’t reply, just shuffles around in his pocket, producing the scuffed up box with his lighter. 

you nod towards the door, getting up from the floor with a small groan. limbs still aching and weary from your run in with death earlier. 

he follows behind, glancing at the room of sleeping teens before slipping out onto the porch with you. 

steve’s house was secluded, the massive back yard and the trees that surrounded it made sure that no one would find him here. 

you perch on one of the lounge chairs, gesturing for eddie to join you, watching the steam from the pool dissipate into the chilly march night air. despite being in the same tiny town, his house was worlds apart from the trailer park you two grew up on. 

he places a cigarette in your palm before sliding one between his own lips, passing you the lighter first. 

it’s a silent exchange, unsure if you could talk about anything without crying, though it’s meaningful. eddie had been selfish plenty of times during your relationship but at his core, he’d put you before himself each and every time. 

you light the cigarette, gazing off into the distance. hoping to god that he wouldn’t bring what had happened earlier up. 

“when’d you start smoking?” he asks, keeping a respectable distance between you though he wishes that wasn’t something he had to worry about. 

“when i found out that i was dying tomorrow,” exhaling slow, trying not to let your voice wobble. 

he sighs, “you’re not gonna die,” with less conviction than you’d have liked, “you can’t die,” shaking his head at such a ridiculous thought, “you won’t.. you won’t,” mostly for his own sake. 

your eyes squeeze shut, heart aching, squeezing your chest tight. last week you’d been terrified about your literature final and now none of it even mattered. 

“what if i do?” you ask earnestly, finally meeting his eyes, “everyone else has? we don’t know if dustin’s right.. if we can beat him,” shrugging helplessly. 

chrissy had died, patrick had died, fred had died. that meant you were next. 

his jaw clenches, wishing you’d stop, “you’re not,” throwing his cigarette butt to the side, “i won’t let you, okay?” 

you nod, albeit not believing a word he said. it was difficult to be so optimistic when the only evidence you had, said otherwise. 

“this vecna..” eddie begins again, “he doesn’t know what’s about to hit him,” sounding slightly more confident than before, “we’re gonna kill him and you’re.. you’re gonna live and graduate and do all that great shit you still have to do.” 

you don’t mistake the pain in his voice, the knowing that he should be there for all of that and that it had been his own fault for now being a footnote in the story of your life. 

“i really do miss you,” you clarify, “i’m not sure how much of our conversation earlier was a vision or not..” 

eddie chuckles, breath shaky and unstable, “no.. you said that before, you know- before you got possessed,” bumping his shoulder into yours, thankfully injecting his fucked up humour into the otherwise dark conversation. 

“was it scary?” 

he scoffs, almost offended that you’d even ask, “i shit my pants,” smiling with the side of his mouth, not fully committed, “reminded me of that stupid movie you made me watch.” 

he had never liked horror movies, this tough guy exterior that exclusively listened to metal was all a guise. he’d watched the film through his fingers, clinging onto your arm. 

“you were very brave though,” letting your cigarette fall to the floor, sure to be lectured by steve in the morning. 

he shies away, looking down for a brief second, “i’m not gonna let what happened to chrissy happen to you too..” meeting your gaze once more, “i promise.” 

“i don’t think you can promise that,” sharing a meaningful glance. 

“i can and i will.”

you nod hesitantly. his words, as much as you’d like to believe them, meant nothing when the supernatural was at play. 

his eyes flicker down to your lips, just like they used to so many months ago. but you don’t pull back, only leaning in further. 

if you lived past tomorrow, you’d no doubt regret this but as that wasn’t looking at all likely, what was a kiss between traumatised exes? 

eddie makes the first real move, his palm coming to cradle your cheek. you hope to god this isn’t another vision, that he won’t be cruelly torn away from you this time. 

“is this real?” you can’t stop yourself from asking, sighing as you do. 

“this is real,” he assures, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “d’you want to stop?” 

“no,” closing the already dwindling space between you, placing your hand on his in such earnest intimacy, a sensation you’d missed so deeply for an entire year. 

your lips touch, your eyes falling shut as his breaths start to steady, humming into your mouth in satisfaction. 

it didn’t feel so bad now, nothing could be so utterly terrifying while you’re touching him like this. 

eddie breaks away first, only a few inches of distance, just to gaze into your starry eyes, “i never thought i’d be able to do that again,” with utmost sincerity. 

“you weren’t supposed to,” shaking your head. if things had gone according to your plan, you’d have never seen him again. 

but it doesn’t work that way. 

fate had other plans for you. 

his lips twitch into a small smile, thumb drawing over your tired cheeks, ��can i do it again?” 

“please.” 

connecting your lips once more, the cold tip of his nose bumping softly against yours. it was impossible not to notice how well you fit together, moving in synchronicity and with such tenderly care. 

inside, dustin wakes up in a cold sweat. looking over at the empty spot on the floor where you should be, but now we’re not. 

“shitshitshit,” he panics, whispering loudly to himself as he crashes around the house, stepping over the sleeping bodies. 

dustin’s panicked face shoots up from the window, gawping at the barely visible sight, straining to make out what the fuck he was even seeing. 

it only dawns on him when your lips leave eddie’s, foreheads resting together that it would be in his best interest to not interject and end up with his ass beat. 

you come back in some twenty minutes later, after a plethora of shared kisses and soothing words. deciding to settle in the same empty spot on the floor, his hand only comfortable enough to grace your waist, under the blanket. 

now wasn’t the time for questions or prying eyes judging your decision. you weren’t even too sure yourself. 

it’s the only time you’ve felt comfortable enough to sleep tonight, watching his chest rise and fall, knowing that he was here, alive and that for right now, you were too. 

-

the carnage pulls you from your sleep, people yelling over pancakes and glass clattering as max’s shrill voice scolds lucas for being too loud. 

you look around at the mess of blankets and empty sleeping bags, the door to the living room was closed though it made no difference. 

you’d have preferred to stay in the empty room, unwilling to address the situation with eddie last night but your stomach rumbles, pulling you out of the room and into the bright, bustling hallway. 

robin swings out of the kitchen at the sound of your presence. she’d clearly tried to help with the breakfast efforts, though unsuccessfully, emerging with flour down her shirt, jeans and somehow in her hair. she smiles gently at your weary eyes, “we didn’t wanna wake you.. you were knocked out.”

“thanks rob,” even though their incessant arguing and yelling did eventually rouse you from your sleep. 

in the kitchen, dustin sits with his feet swinging off the tall stool, a too-wide, toothy grin growing on his face the second he spots you, “well good morning! how’d you sleep?” a sarcastic little quip that you know holds something deeper. 

“great thanks, you?” narrowing your eyes as you fill a mug with coffee. 

he waits for steve to exit the room, turning back to you with the biggest shit-eating grin imaginable, “yeah, really good,” he twists his body to peer out of the door, ensuring no one could hear, “so you and eddie huh?” 

“me and eddie what?” refusing to entertain his cryptic questions. 

“i saw you two last night, k-i-s-s-i-n-g,” wiggling his stupid brows as he shovels yet another pancake into his uncontrollable, jabbering mouth. 

“and i saw you wet the bed last year, do you want to go there?” flinging his taunting right back at him. 

dustin’s mouth falls open, “you can be a real bitch, you know that?” taking his heaped plate back into the living room. 

steve strolls back in, staring down dustin’s scowl before his eyes trail to you, “what’s wrong with him?” 

you smile, tight-lipped and fully loaded as you pour a cup of coffee, “oh nothing,” looking over the food with slight disgust. the hunger hadn’t really hit you yet, too occupied with trying not to die to care about pancakes. 

eddie interrupts your noisy brain, cackling as he comes into the kitchen, “maybe you should stop being such a smart-ass then,” immediately quietening down when he spots you. 

you don’t speak, instead communicating with a shared look before you focus on the cup of coffee in your hand. 

steve looks slowly between the two of you, “you good?” 

“yeah.”

“yup.” 

you both simultaneously reply, refusing to acknowledge the tension in the empty kitchen. 

“o-kay,” steve whistles, deciding that sitting with dustin and his terrible attitude would be far better than whatever this was. 

it’s not supposed to be awkward. 

it was just a kiss. or multiple. 

a few kisses between exes during the end of the world. that’s all. 

“d’you sleep okay?” he dares to ask, feeling comfortable enough to make eye contact now that steve had left. 

“yeah.. thank you, for looking after me,” smiling gently at the bleary eyed boy. 

“i told you i would,” he reaffirms, “you’re not doing this on your own.” 

“i know,” you nod, swallowing the growing lump, “but i’m scared eds.. i don’t want you to die because of me.” 

eddie tuts, rounding the counter to place his hand on your arm, “that’s not-,”

dustin hollers, falling through the kitchen door, giving away the groups prying position, “ow shithead!” shoving lucas backwards as they materialise one by one. 

dustin, lucas, max, erica. 

in that order.

“are you fucking serious?” you screech, throwing your arms into the air. 

this was low even for dustin. 

“sorry! sorry! go back to confessing your love or whatever the hell was happening!” scurrying off to finish his pancakes and no doubt inform robin and steve what they’d witnessed. 

“i can’t believe him,” you frown, turning to eddie who’s stifling his laugh. “it’s not funny,” but your lips twitch anyway. 

“it’s kinda funny,” his hand still lingering on your arm, his smile reaching his eyes, “you don’t care if they know.. do you?” 

you shrug, perhaps you did care a little bit. you were the one who’d broken up with him, deserted him for college. maybe you didn’t deserve a second chance. 

“it’s okay..” he nods, as understanding as always, “this is weird, i get it," as understanding as he was, he wasn't able to conceal the dejected puppy gleam in his eye.

"it's not that," pathetically reaching for his hand, "i'm just.. i'm supposed to die today, i don't want to.. lead you on, or get your hopes up or whatever," putting your finger up to stop eddie from interrupting, "i don't need you to tell me that i'm not. just let me spiral about this," smiling as you speak, truly a means to soothe yourself, not just eddie.

"o..okay," his whole speech shut down, leaving him with nothing. his eyes flit over to the mountains of food steve had whipped up, "you should eat.. you've got a busy day of not dying to get through," smirking right through your snide glare.

-

something feels off, a nervous twisting in your stomach that makes you want to call the entire thing off. 

you could go down there and fight this with them. screw whatever prophetic visions you’d had. 

eddie hadn’t even wanted to go, desperate to stay in the attic with you, watching over in fear of losing you again. 

“what if.. what if something happens and they don’t know how to fix it? they’re kids.” he’d pleaded, sat on the porch outside of the large house in your final moments of peace. 

“dustin can’t do this on his own,” you cooed, only slightly wishing that he could execute this plan on his own. “you have to go. i’ll be okay..okay?” not entirely certain about the truthfulness of your words. 

he takes a sharp intake of breath, fingers forming a weak fist, “you better be,” the moon reflecting off of his caramel iris’, capturing the entire universe in two tiny orbs, “i don’t want to lose you again.” 

your head dips, quickly losing the ability to look him in the eye, overwhelmed with guilt and the reminder that you had been the one to end things. 

“it’s okay,” grabbing your hand to place on his bouncing knee, “i’m not.. mad about it, or upset and you shouldn’t be either,” squeezing your fingers in a bid to draw your eyes back to him. 

“i don’t-,” huffing a frustrated sigh, unable to form a coherent thought when the impending battle loomed over your heads. “everything is so fucked and i don’t know if we’re gonna make it this time.” 

eddie’s fingers lace between yours, holding your hand tighter, “we’re gonna be fine.. okay? everyone is gonna be fine,” inching closer in the thick of the night, “i’m gonna be right back here, as soon as that bastard is dead.. i promise.” 

this time, you punctuate his sentence for him, springing forward to latch your lips to his, using your free hand to cradle his stubbly cheek. 

you long to kiss him forever, never escaping this embrace, knowing that there’s a chance it won’t happen again. his lips soft, desperate to stay attached to you, too. 

“oh! shit! uhm-,” robin stutters, clattering out of the door. 

you break apart, containing the low groan of disappointment, “sorry rob.. ‘s everything okay?” eddie’s as bashful as ever, his cheeks flushing a deep scarlet, even in the darkness. 

“yeah! uh.. nancy told me to tell you that we’ve gotta go now or it’ll be too late,” swinging from the door as she speaks. 

he glances at you again, longing for just one more minute of this peace. one more second of your touch. 

but it doesn’t come. 

they leave in a hurry, cycling maniacally away to the trailer park, leaving you, lucas, max and erica to conduct the rest of the plan. only fragments of hope left as you watch them disappear over the hill, praying for someone, anyone to just keep him safe.

-

everything is eerily calm, far too silent for the situation at hand. 

you sit cross-legged in the attic, looking between lucas and max who had taken it upon themselves to converse through a notepad. 

they reminded you of you and eddie once upon a time, giggling teenagers trying to navigate love together. 

it’s sweet, full of the same adolescent innocence you were desperately trying to regain. 

eventually they break apart, lucas traipsing over the creaky floorboards to check on you, equally confused by the serenity. 

he turns to walk away, almost frozen as his brows furrow and his pupils dilate, “you killed them.” 

your mouth falls open, immediately hushing him so as to not screw up nancy and dustin’s carefully thought out plan. 

“you killed them all,” he parrots, a sinister air surrounding him. “eddie trusted you and you killed him.. you’re a murderer,” the venom flying off of his tongue, severing your heart in two. 

the plan had worked. you were back in wherever it was you were taken before, confirmed by the sudden darkness, the wallpaper splintering and putrid stench that had filled your nose. 

lucas isn’t lucas at all. 

a mimic to the higher power cursing your town, only a small part of his master plan to destroy hawkins. 

your surroundings melt away, lucas nor max no longer appearing before you. instead, you’re faced with a flash of red, and a maniacal cackle. 

henry, as you’d since learnt he was called, begins his tirade, just as you’d planned. 

“why didn’t you stop them?” he booms, appearing in the corner, “you let them go after everything i showed you.”

he didn’t scare you, not anymore. when the time was right, lucas would slide max’s walkman over your ears and pull you right out of this hellscape. 

“they’re going to kill you,” standing stoic, resistant under his thumb. “you can’t hurt anybody else.. not anymore,” gritting your teeth, such determination to have him hear you. 

his burnt frame disappears right before your eyes, a loud, blaring laugh appears from behind. 

once again turning to darkness, only this time it’s accompanied by a chorus of screeching. feral creatures and familiar voices circle around your head. 

his torment is ruthless, voices, namely eddie’s rattle around your brain, wailing and screaming, loud enough to make your ears ring and your head ache. 

your eyes open to your trailer, watching yourself argue and cry at eddie. 

the day you broke up. 

“you’re just gonna leave me?” he despairs, just as feeble as the first time he’d said it. 

“i can’t stay here eddie! you don’t get it! i nearly died.. i can’t do that again,” and yet, here you are. 

a shrill, shrieking sound fills the room before the scene crumbles before your eyes leaving you to the decaying scene you bore witness to before. remnants of the creel house float through the scarlet sky, threatening to crash into each other. 

“maybe i can’t hurt you, but you can hurt yourself,” vecna’s voice squawks, flashing forward to a scene you’ve never seen before. 

eddie, with his back against a door, you can only assume he’s trying to keep something out. a grotesque mix of blood, sweat and tears seep down his cheeks, the door beginning to thump from the pressure of whatever was on the other side. 

“this all could’ve been so easy,” rapidly wiping the imagine from your view, only to appear mere inches away, decrepit hand rising above your face. “don’t you wish you had just listened? don’t you wish that you had just come with me?” now mocking with his tone, condescending even though he’d gotten you exactly where you’d wanted. 

“no.. no no no,” arms suddenly restricted by a slimy tendril, forcing your face to meet his, “you’re not real.. you’re not-“ a sudden, awful constriction wraps around your lungs, squeezing the air from your body. 

“i’m not.. real?” he mocks, the corners of his mouth creep upwards, “i didn’t want this to happen this way but you’ve left me no choice.” 

you gasp loudly for breath, struggling within his grasp for a means out of it. where was lucas? or max? what happened to the plan? 

over the last few days, you’d become quite comfortable with the idea of dying. it became fact, an inevitable consequence of getting yourself tangled up in this entire thing. 

but now, as it looms over your head, you want out. 

you want to be with eddie. you want a dozen kids and a quaint house on the corner of maple. maybe a dog or a cat that he’d picked up on the side of the road. slow dancing in the kitchen after a day of warm sun. 

you want to live. 

his fist closes, leaving your lips blue and begging for oxygen. “this is what had to happen.. your time-“ his rambling cut off by a ground shattering boom, the tendril dropping your body at once. 

he stumbles backwards, grabbing onto his chest. your vision too blurry to coherently make out what was happening, a mixture of colours that swirls away quickly. 

your aching bones thump to the floor, gasping for air as the familiarity of the creel’s attic fills your peripheral. 

max and lucas swarm your body, muttering over one another, their small hands shaking in fear as your head is placed on max’s lap. 

“what the fuck? what the fuck do we do? lucas!” she hollers at lucas, as if either of them had any idea. 

they shouldn’t have to be concerned with any of this, nor tasked with the pressure of keeping you alive. your breathing steadies though your chest still heaves, leaving the comfort of her hold to scan the room. making sure that this was real, that you were home. 

four pairs of feet appear before you and not one of them the dusty pair of reebok’s you were waiting to see. 

collapsing once again, in a crumpled heap on the dusty floorboards, your voice cracks, broken as you speak. still reeling from the onslaught of abuse you’d endured. 

“where’s eddie?” 

[fanaticsnail]

Pretty Red Ribbon

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 2,700+

Synopsis: After your birthday was ruined last year at the hands of a certain pink-feather-donning, glasses-wearing gentleman who you love to hate, your fellow warlord, Sir Crocodile, gives you a little gift you did not expect to darken your doorstep.

Themes: Doflamingo x f!reader, birthday, enemies to lovers, nsfw themes, suggestive content, not explicit - but mdni just in case, warlord!reader, platonic crocodile x reader, dom!reader x sub!doflamingo, gendered terms used

Notes: I had been wanting to write for Doflamingo for a while, and the art by @wesaier gave me the final shove that I needed to get it done. (Their Rosinante also has me in a chokehold. I adore their work. Also, happy birthday!) First time writing a proper fic-length for Doffy before his series.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @carrotsunshine @vespidphoenix @mfreedomstuff

The soft growl of the den-den-mushi atop your kitchen bench began rattling and humming in an awakened dance. The steam from the scorching water in the kettle whistled in unison to the rumbling call, the rattle of teacups on trays causing your attention to pull in a variety of directions in your large kitchen.

“I’ll get it, Miss,” your employee called from the corner of the room, his body carrying his vast height towards the den-den in three lengthy strides. He picked up the transponder end of the snail, elevating the mouth and earpiece to his face. Thanking him with a smile, you returned to continue readying yourself a cup of your desired tea. 

“You really shouldn’t be making this for yourself, Miss,” your lady’s maid addressed you over your shoulder, “You employ us to take care of you and your needs. You should let us do our jobs and spoil you, especially on a day like today-.”

“-And that will be the last I hear about anything regarding ‘today’, Dinah,” you scolded her with a playful wink, “It’s just another day, and I would like to have it remain as such,” you moved the loose-leaf strainer in your teapot, collecting the remnants of the scorched leaves and discarded them, “Besides, I always love being in the kitchen with you all after another stupid meeting at the world-government headquarters. They always seem to gather any excuse to call us all in: exercising their rights as masters and holders of the tight leash. Absolute bastards, the lot of them.”

“And we adore you down here, Miss,” Dinah lulled her head on your shoulder and laced her hands around your midsection, “We love the gossip about the other warlords, and we always enjoy hearing about your day. You take such good care of all of us, but I think we all just wish you’d let us celebrate your birthday-.”

“-Absolutely not, Dinah,” you giggled at the younger woman embracing you, unlacing her hands from your waist and collecting your teacup and saucer from the tray you had prepared, “Last time I attempted to celebrate this day, I was held up for a multitude of times because that stupid Donquixote continued to ask stupid questions that had the meeting at the marine base go overtime. Missed reservations, didn’t make it to check in time at the homestead - and didn’t even get to enjoy that bottle of wine I ordered for myself. I swore that would be the last time I attempted to celebrate, and that’s that.”

“Just because your last birthday was ruined last year doesn’t mean you should swear them all off, Miss,” your handmaid smiled at you, “We’d adore making you feel special if you’d let us. Today is free of Donquixote Doflamingo, after all.” You growled at just the mention of his name, feeling your disdain elevating in your throat as a sour bile. 

“I despise that tall pelican man. I loathe him, hate him even,” you confessed, prompting Dinah to huff a small laugh in response. You groaned out more frustrated admissions to your lady’s maid, “I would have him drawn and quartered, hung and splayed, whipped and chained. I could wring his neck and spit in his face if I knew the sick bastard wouldn’t like it.” 

“I’m sure he would appreciate any scrap of your attention,” Dinah teased you with a sly tone, her eyes twinkling with mischief, “He seems to vie for your head to turn, by any means necessary.”

“He vexes me, torments me,” you continued, much to your handmaid's delight, “He needs to be knocked down a couple of pegs. Be made to crawl on all fours and beg like a dog-.”

“-Apologies for the interruption, Miss. I’m sorry to disturb your polite conversation,” the larger man holding the den-den-mushi to his ear held out the earpiece and transceiver to you, “Sir Crocodile is on the other end of the call. Says he has something for you.” You groaned out an exasperated breath before taking the shell into your hand.

“Thank you, Arturo. I’m sorry you had to hear that. I got a little fiery for a moment there,” you nodded to the man, who straightened his back before taking your saucer from your hands. He smiled down at you, moving to his place next to Dinah, anchoring his hips and leaning back against the sink with a smirk.

“What’s the call about?” Dinah whispered in a hushed rush to Arturo beside her.

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” Arturo hushed back his own scratchy whisper, attempting to hold back his laughter. You shot them both a sharp look, your smirk still drawn up on your pursed lips. 

You raised the end to your ear and huffed out a sigh, calling into the piece, “Sir Crocodile? To what do I owe the pleasure of your voice gracing me today?” A rumble of silence purred through the receiver against your ear, a lengthy puff of smoke coursing through the grimace of the crocodilian man.

“I heard it was somebody’s birthday,” the rattle of his drawl taunted you through the crackled speaker. You shot your employees a dark look, prompting them to immediately spin on their heels and return to their duties. You groaned as you turned to face away from them, still holding the shell to your ear. 

“Not a cause for celebration, Sir,” you purse your lips, examining your fingernails and cuticles, “But I appreciate your call regardless.” Your tone depicted your smile, truth spilling from your lips as you truly meant every word. 

Sir Crocodile was your closest and oldest ally of all the warlords presented to you. You enjoyed sitting by him, both basking in the aura of one another. You held each other in the highest regard, you could even call each other ‘friend’ without it stretching too far out of the ordinary. What solidified your bond the most with one another was your complete and utter dislike for Donquixote Doflamingo. 

“The appreciation is reciprocated, Highness,” Crocodile’s smirk purred through the receiver, “Which is why I decided to send you a little gift. Should be darkening your doorstep right about now.” 

“Sir Crocodile, while I appreciate the sentiment,” you acknowledge his gesture with a kind and even tone, shaking your head as you take your den-den to the front door of your manor, “The only thing I really want is that feather-wearing asshole: stripped down, bound and gagged, on his lanky knees and looking up with his eyes all watery and pleading,” you reached the door, opening it and shrieking in shock as your eyes met with the gift presented before you.

His body was bound in a thick length of red ribbon, chest bare and hands bound behind his back in seastone cuffs. Pointed glasses lay askew on his face with his lips gagged by a ball strapped to his face. Drool gathered at the base of his chin, his glassy eyes looking up at your face with bewilderment. His bare chest was strangled beneath the red ribbon, his pants hanging limply over his hips as the top button and zipper exposed his slender adonis belt. 

Lips falling slack, you almost dropped the shell from your ear as shock wrote itself over your features. Donquixote Doflamingo was bound, gagged and on his knees on your front doorstep: entirely at your mercy. 

“I thought topping it with a pretty red bow would be too on the nose,” Sir Crocodile called over the mushi, “But he is apprehensively allowing himself to be on the receiving end of your retribution, given his disruption of your last birthday celebration.”

No words gathered in your mind, all thoughts racing as the wealthy Donquixote continued to hold his gaze against your own. His lips trembled around the gag, his brow triangulating in an upward peak as he darted his eyes between yours to gauge your intent. 

He had no idea what possessed him to accept this little adventure, and he did not remember agreeing to be cuffed, gagged and without his entourage. As he witnessed the wicked streak spark within your eyes, he truly had no idea what you were going to do with him like this. Without a whisper of admission to it, he truly did everything in his power to gain your attention and hold it for as long as he could. He’d go through great lengths to be subject to your steely gaze.

Ruining your birthday last year was when he felt he truly went too far. You kept your private life quiet for the most part, only a select few were privy to the knowledge of your innermost thoughts. When he was made aware by Sir Crocodile how far he managed to spoil the occasion, he was given a choice by the cigar-smoking gentleman: “Your left hand, or to be subject to her mercy?” 

He thought he made the appropriate choice. 

Evidently, he did not know the extent Sir Crocodile was going to take his punishment. 

“Do you like your gift, Highness?” the voice cracked through the receiver after several moments pause, “Or would you like to return it? Got one in a similar shade and style?” You giggled into the mouthpiece, prompting Sir Crocodile to chuckle his own sinister laughter. 

“I think I’ll keep it,” you purred, holding your eyes half-hooded as you reached your index finger down to swipe the collected drool from his chin. Doflamingo whimpered as you hooked your finger beneath his jaw, prompting him to fall forward and lean into your touch, “How long do I have it for?” you hovered your face above his, uttering a final question, “And in what condition should I intend to keep it in?”

“Your prerogative, Highness,” Sir Crocodile confessed, drawing up a large breath of smoke in his mouth and exhaling, “Use him, abuse him, torment him, torture him: he is yours to play with for the next fourty-eight hours. Happy birthday, Dear.” At the final utterance, Sir Crocodile clicked the end of the receiver off: leaving your snail to crackle its muffled voice shut. 

You hummed in deep thought, gazing down your nose at the tall man who, even on his knees, is nearly at eye height. Moving his face in your hands, you clicked your tongue as one would when examining an object intended for purchase. He whimpered further when your hands began exploring his torso as you circled his body. Your fingertips felt like lightning on his skin, igniting his expectations and triggering his wanton intrigue. 

“If I remove the gag and seastone cuffs,” you whisper into his ear, trailing your fingertips down his spine, “Will you behave yourself, pelican?” He nodded frantically, lulling his head back on his shoulders to bring himself closer to you. You hummed in thought, hooking your fingers over the material tugging the gag over his lips. 

“Feel better?” you asked him, maneuvering around his body to face him once again, “Less restricted and more of your repulsive self?” 

Taking a moment to roll his tongue in his mouth to regain the sensation, he felt himself relax into your touch as you loosened the cuffs. He moaned as your hands caressed his wrists to reignite the blood flow swelling down into his fingertips. 

“Always so kind,” Doflamingo commented with his signature smirk rising to his lips, “Do you ever grow tired of being so good all the time?” His eyes searched yours, still unsure of how you were going to respond to him on his knees. 

“Would you prefer if I were cruel to you?” you arched your brow up and lowered your tone, “Abused you for my own sick entertainment?”

“You could choke me, flog me, spit in my face - better yet, in my mouth,” Doflamingo listed, his pupils blown with lust beneath his pink glasses, “You could step on me, rake me over nails and hot coals, and all I would say is: ‘thank you for a scrap of your attention’. It is your day, after all.”

“Obsessive and excessive, Donquixote,” you scolded him, tugging at the red ribbon constricting his chest to have him rise to his feet and follow you into your manor, “Why must you always provoke me?” 

“Because I want you,” he whispered after you, a small whine in his voice as he followed closely behind you. His heavy feet trotted like a prized pony after you, allowing you to lead his body throughout the halls to your manor, “I want you so badly. I want all of your attention, all of your focus. I want to be at the very center of your universe, by any means necessary.”

Making eye contact with Arturo and Dinah, both of which shot you quizzical looks as Doflamingo pranced behind you attached to a line of red ribbon. You shot them both a look to forbid them from uttering a single phrase in questioning you, prompting them to hold up their hands in defense. 

“Should I bring you your tea, Miss?” Arturo called after you as you exited the frame of the door to the kitchen, “Perhaps a couple of glasses of wine?” 

“Perhaps later, Arturo. I’ll send for you if I need you,” you mentioned over your shoulder. 

As you looked behind you, there was a foreign expression painted over Donquixote Doflamingo’s face. His cheeks were tinted with a pink dust, his eyes glassy and eyelids half-closed and gazing at you through thick, blonde eyelashes. His signature smirk was replaced by a dumbstruck, goofy smile and his giddiness adamant in each of his pepped steps. 

Scoffing and rolling your eyes at him, you lead him into the master suite of your manor and force him to kneel in the center of the room. You took a seat on your plush armchair and gaze at him disinterestedly. He was all but vibrating in anticipation for your next movement. 

“Anything to say for yourself, Donquixote?” you purse your lips crossing your legs by hooking your right knee over your left and rocking your foot at him. He crawled forward on his knees, hypnotized beneath your cold stare. Eyes meeting with yours, his lips fell agape in a perfect circle as your foot met with his chest to halt his movement. 

Looking down at your heeled shoe, he bowed low enough to brush his forehead in a deep nuzzle against your shin, rocking his head to the side and attempting to become the very picture of innocence. You leant forwards, removing his glasses from his face and glaring into his expressive eyes with a wicked glint. 

“Go on, pet,” you spat down at him, “Unless you have nothing intelligible to offer me in conversation.” He pressed his lips against your shin, grazing his mouth up your legs and inadvertently slotting himself between your knees. 

“Happy Birthday,” he uttered against your skin, pressing a lengthy kiss against your right knee and integrating his entangled self between your legs further, “And I apologize for ruining the one prior.” Peppering kisses over your knee and up your thigh, his tongue flicked out over your flesh and swirled against you. 

Patience wearing thin, you redraw your right foot back over his chest and nudge him backwards to look into his eyes. Your lips curled into a snarl, eyes narrow and accusatory as you gnash your teeth at the tall blonde on his knees in front of you. 

“If you want my forgiveness, Donquixote Doflamingo,” you whisper in a warning tone, danger written over your features enough to cause the large man to shudder beneath your wicked stare, “Beg for it.”

Forty-Eight hours was more than enough time for Doflamingo to become a begging, pleading, whimpering mess beneath your skilled and expert hands. His mind fell blank, his body not experiencing the amount of sensory overload and sensory deprivation with a partner in encounters prior.

He was always the one in control, him only ever taking and taking to provide himself the pinnacle of pleasurable experiences. To be the one out of control, to simply have to take what he was given with his mind vacant of all thoughts aside from being subject to your desires.

The only things he continued to manage to befall from his lips were three phrases: “I’m sorry,” “thank you,” and “forgive me.” Just how you wanted him: complacent, dumbstruck, and all wrapped up in a pretty red ribbon.

[thatfanficstuff]

Unexpected - Twilight/TVD crossover

Pairing: Mikaelsons x Reader

a/n: In this AU the Originals are far older than 1000 years. The cold ones are the result of a failed attempt by Esther to fix her 'mistake'. The Mikaelsons are the ultimate vampire authority but generally leave the cold ones to govern themselves.

“You don’t understand. You’ll never understand,” your cousin Bella yelled before storming out of the house, slamming the door behind her.

You clenched your teeth in irritation and sighed. You were frustrated with your baby cousin to say the least. She was dramatic and childish and aggravating. Some allowances could be made due to her age, but most of her bad behavior you laid at your aunt’s feet.

Renee had always spoiled Bella. Likely part of it was because Renee was notoriously flighty and Bella had to do more than her fair share of caretaking which made her mother feel guilty. Whatever the reason, it hadn’t done the girl any favors.

Your uncle Charlie, who had always been your favorite member of the family, had begged you to visit after Bella’s asshole ex left her and she’d sunk into a severe depression. One that was way out of proportion, complete with screaming nightmares and catatonic behavior. Obviously the relationship was not good for her if that was her response to a breakup. Cry, eat some ice cream and get your shit together.

And now Bella was starting to exhibit that same obsessive behavior with one of the boys down at the reservation. Charlie didn’t share your concerns, just happy her attention was on anyone other than Edward. You bringing it to her attention caused the argument you’d just had. Fuck it. You were so ready to go home.

The house was clean and you’d nearly finished the laundry by the time a knock at the door caught your attention. You swung it open to find an unfamiliar brunette with a pixie cut on the doorstep. She was cute. Dead, but cute. What the hell was a cold one doing on Charlie’s doorstep?

You narrowed your gaze as you looked her over. “Can I help you?”

Her brow furrowed. “Yes, I—I’m sorry, who are you?”

“I’m Charlie’s niece, who are you?”

“I’m Alice. I’m a friend of Bella’s.”

You leaned against the doorframe and crossed your arms over your chest. “Okay, Alice, Bella’s not here at the moment.”

“Charlie?” She tried to peer past you into the house.

“He’s helping his best friend’s wife plan his funeral. Which is where Bella should be but she went cliff diving instead.” That was more information than the vampire in front of you needed but you were still pissed at your cousin.

The pixie’s eyes went wide as she took a step back. “Cliff diving? Like for fun?”

“So I’ve been told.” You were quickly growing bored of this conversation.

She shook her head. “But I thought…” She trailed off. “Can I come in and wait for her? It’s important.”

You sighed and stepped away from the door. “Why the hell not? She shouldn’t be too much longer.”

And in fact, the girl in question ran into the house not more than ten minutes later. You observed quietly as she reunited with what you now gathered was her ex-boyfriend’s sister. If you would have known that you would have kicked her ass off the property instead of inviting her in. Leave it to your idiot cousin to date a cold one while she was still human. They had notoriously poor self-control.

You kept an ear on the conversation while the two of them talked. Apparently the pixie was something of a seer and thought Bella was committing suicide. Several minutes passed before Jacob Black walked in the house without knocking. You scowled at him as he walked past you to look in the living room where the girls were talking.

Seriously? You knew he was a dog but did he need to have the manners of one? The phone rang, pulling you from your thoughts. Before you could answer, Jake grabbed it. “Yeah? No, he’s not here. He’s planning a funeral.” And he hung up the phone.

“Who was that? Was that Edward? Why didn’t you let me talk to him?” Bella yelled as she stomped into the room.

“He didn’t ask for you,” the wolf snarked.

That was it. You were completely done with your cousin and all of her friends. You’d stay until after Harry’s funeral strictly for Charlie’s benefit and then you were heading home. A gasp drew your attention to the pixie like vampire.

“What? What is it?” Bella suddenly sounded far more worried than she had a moment ago.

“It’s Edward. He thinks you’re dead. He’s going to the Volturi and asking them to kill him.”

You rolled your eyes. For fuck’s sake. He was as dramatic as your cousin. Maybe they deserved each other after all.

“We have to go. I have to save him,” Bella said as she moved toward the door.

You blocked her way. “Really, Bella? Charlie just lost his best friend and now you’re going to take off after a boy that doesn’t give a shit about you instead of being here for your father?”

Your cousin’s lip lifted in a sneer as she pushed against your chest. You held your ground and glared at her.

“You don’t know anything. He left to save me, to protect me. He thinks he’s not good enough for me.”

“He’s not.” Jacob smirked while Alice sent you a nasty look. You lifted a brow and ran your eyes over the boy who stupidly thought he’d won something with your words. “Neither are you, furball.”

“Look,” Bella stated, reclaiming your attention. “I’m going to Italy whether you like it or not. Tell Charlie I’m sorry.”

You sighed. “Italy? Do you even have a passport?”

She nodded once. “Mom insisted.”

Fucking Renee. “Then I’m going with you. Write your dad a note.”

Bella shook her head. “That’s not a good idea. You should stay here.”

Alice laid a hand on your cousin’s arm. “No, Bella. I think it’s a great idea.”

You eyed the cold one wondering what plot she was concocting. Your fingers flew over the screen of your phone sending multiple texts as you followed the girls to the car.

***

As it turned out, you’d arrived just in time to stop Edward from revealing himself in the middle of the town square. Because he thought he’d be justified in putting his entire race at risk to get what he wanted. Asshole.

You leaned against the wall, responding to another text as you watched the interaction between the Volturi guards and the Cullens. You honestly didn’t care much about their politicking as long as your cousin remained alive-ish. You didn’t want Charlie heartbroken over the loss of his only child.

When you glanced up again, Demetri’s gaze met yours. He gave a little smirk and lifted a brow in question. You’d met him once and the two of you had gotten along famously. The compulsion to forget you was lifted now that he was once again in your presence. You shrugged and sent him a little wave as you slid your phone into your pocket.

Edward watched the exchange with narrowed eyes. “Listen, she doesn’t know anything about this. She just came along with Bella. You should let them both go.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Demetri said as he looked you over. “What do you say, bellisima? Do you know anything?”

“I know about a great many things,” you answered.

“See? She knows things.”

“They come with us. Both of them,” Jane stated.

Edward grabbed your upper arm in a bruising grip and jerked you into his side. “Don’t be stupid,” he hissed.

“No. That’s your job and if you don’t release me immediately, I’m going to tear your arm off and beat you with it while you sparkle in the sun.”

His grip loosened in shock and you pulled away. “See? I do know things.”

Demetri laughed as he steered you to follow the others.

You grinned. “This one likes me, Eddie. Don’t be so grumpy.”

“You shouldn’t be happy they like you,” Bella snapped. “They’re evil.”

You blinked at the back of her head. “You’re an idiot.” Personal feelings aside, why the hell was she announcing her opinions about the Volturi?

When you arrived at the throne room, Demetri gestured for you to stand to the side near the back. You gave him a nod and watched the proceedings in silence, simply taking everything in unless you needed to intervene.

After reading the Cullens and attempting to read Bella, Aro Volturi turned his attention to you. He hadn’t missed your interaction with one of his elite guards and, other than their dislike, he’d been able to get little from the Cullens about you. “And who might you be, my dear?” he asked with a spark of interest shining in his eyes.

He held out a hand fully expecting you to take it, when your phone dinged with an incoming text. You put up a finger telling him to wait a moment while you pulled it out to respond. Aro blinked in disbelief as the other two kings shifted on their thrones in annoyance.

“Are we boring you, human?” Caius asked.

You glanced at him as your phone rang. You answered without looking at the screen and passed it to Aro. “It’s for you.”

The room was quiet save for some sounds of agreement from the raven haired king and a final “I understand,” before he ended the call and handed your phone back to you. He smiled before turning back to your cousin and the Cullens as if nothing had happened. “Now, what to do with young Bella and more importantly the Cullens for violating our most sacred laws.”

Caius’ gaze shifted between you and Aro. “You already know what you’re going to do. Get on with it.”

“I assure you that we had no intention of violating any laws. Bella will be one of us. I’ll change her myself,” Alice said holding out a hand.

You huffed a laugh. “He has no intention of changing her. The pixie might but not soulless here.”

Bella spun to face you, her hands fisted at her sides. “What the hell is wrong with you? You’re my cousin. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“Bella, shut up.” Ignoring Bella’s offended expression, you held your hand out for Aro. “See for yourself.” Leaving your cousin alone in the woods with all her knowledge intact while they took off with no intention to return didn’t speak well for any of the Cullens.

Aro gently took your hand in his and read the memories you allowed him access to. Before he even had a chance to release you, the doors to the throne room flew open. A blur flashed across the room until it came to a stop between you and the Volturi king.

Your view was suddenly full of the back of a finely tailored suit. “You dare?” came the familiar baritone and you smiled at being in his presence again regardless of the circumstances.

You placed a hand on Elijah and he turned to look at you. “I asked him to.”

The look your mate leveled on you was entirely unimpressed. You knew better than to invite anyone into your brain without good reason.

“I assure you, I meant no harm,” Aro said. “I already spoke with Niklaus.”

Elijah hummed in thought as he looked from you to the king. Finally he looked past him to the other two, giving them a nod in greeting. “A pleasure, as always.”

“Elijah,” Marcus returned with a nod. “I’m afraid you have us at a loss. Aro was the only one to speak with your brother.”

“Ah,” the Original said in understanding. He stepped aside and placed his hand on your back to pull you to stand beside him. “In that case, allow me to introduce my mate.”

A slight widening of the eyes was the only indication of the kings’ surprise.

Apparently annoyed at having been forgotten, Edward spoke up. “I’m sorry, but can someone fill us in? The thoughts are too chaotic to follow and I can’t read either of them at all.”

“You’re a rude thing, aren’t you?” you said. “Quit digging in people’s brains without their permission.”

“It’s not like I can control it.”

“Liar.”

Elijah glanced at you. “I take it this is the boy that left your cousin in the woods to be eaten by wolves?”

You nod in answer. “Edward Cullen and his sister Alice.”

Elijah shifted his attention in surprise. “Cullen? I know Carlisle though it’s been a while. Is Jasper still with your coven?”

“How do you know Jazzy?” Alice asked.

“How remiss of me,” Aro interjected. “Allow me to introduce Elijah Mikaelson.”

Edward’s eyes snapped to you and his sister looked a little sick. “You’re mated to a Mikaelson?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Eddie boy. I’m mated to all of them.”

Aro giggled. “Which means she’s the most protected and deadliest woman on the planet. And she’s rather displeased with you, dear Edward.”

Bella scoffed. “Her? As if. She’s nobody. Always has been. Always will be.”

Edward pulled her back into his chest. “Shut up, Bella.”

When she started to protest, he covered her mouth with his hand. His gaze shifted between you and your mate. “I assure you, I was only doing what I thought best for Bella. I will always do what’s best for Bella.”

“And you think that’s you?” Elijah asked.

Edward shook his head. “No, but it seems I don’t have much of a choice.”

You looked at Aro. The Volturi were in charge of the cold ones. It had been that way for thousands of years. Your mates didn’t get involved unless they were asked. “I don’t like him, but he has a point. She graduates in May.”

Aro nodded slowly. “Very well. We expect her to be turned within a week of her graduation. Until then you may go.” He waved them away, no longer interested in the Cullens and their pet.

“Oh, Cullens,” Caius called, stopping them at the door. “Should you fail, it won’t be us you answer to.”

Edward shot another glance in your direction before giving a nod and dragging Bella through the doors, his hand still firmly covering her lips.

[twilightkitkat]

OK QUESTION with the one series with the different universe we see how you think the X-Men would react to a similar Logan being so close with Deadpool.

BUT

How do you think our main universe reacts to the relationship especially when they compare this new Logan to the fallen hero?

This is such an interesting question that I thought about it for a while before answering because I wanted to do it justice. Firstly, I want to clarify that my answer takes place in a world where all the X-men are miraculously alive somehow except for Logan (maybe by some time shenanigans or just twisting the plot).

---

The world at large would be shocked to see The Wolverine again, especially after he was confirmed dead and his bones were buried. The TVA wouldn't want the entire world to know about them, and Logan and Wade would probably be the type to never really formally address his existence (since they aren't actually official heroes or a government body).

His resurrection would likely spark a lot of conspiracy theories and people wondering if he had a secret mission where he pretended to die or if he had a reason to stage his death. It's almost like the urban legend of Bigfoot with how rarely he shows up (somehow always next to the same red vigilante).

Aside from the initial shock, the public reception would be very positive. Who wouldn't want to see your childhood superhero back in action again? People would be excited to see him rejoin the X-men only to be extremely confused when he showed no interest in returning to his superhero work (especially when they assumed he either died and came back or was on a mission and so would naturally want back his spot).

As a matter of fact, after initial sightings of him in his suit, he just sort of... fades away. He never really makes public appearances or is involved in much of anything. He looks different than he did before and he always dresses casually. This combined with the lack of media about him after the initial outrage means that he only occasionally gets recognized in public.

(Something he's secretly very grateful for. He disliked being reminded of his past, of a world where he wasn't a failure. Of the version of him that was revered instead of feared and hated. He has to stop himself from flinching sometimes when people loudly yell out, "It's The Wolverine!" He lays low for a while in Wade's apartment, only accompanying him sometimes on covert missions until people mostly stop caring about his existence.)

But more than public confusion is the confusion of the X-men. They heard the truth through Colossus that this Wolverine was from another universe than their own and that he'd helped save their timeline.

(And most of the X-men were very confused because... why does Colossus know this of all people? Why didn't Logan just come to tell them himself? They knew Colossus was in cahoots with this vigilante vaguely from the time he visited the mansion, but they didn't know he was actually close to him. And why did being Deadpool's friend give him exclusive access to The Wolverine and his situation?)

They expected Logan to show up at their doorstep, one day. He apparently had the X-men in his own world, and while Colossus never really elaborated further (despite their prodding) they could surmise something happened to them if Logan was staying here. It's a perfect fit: the X-men who lost their Wolverine and the Wolverine who lost his X-men.

But he never does. At first, they chalk it up to him going on one of his solo trips. He liked to do that—to go out into the wilderness or disappear on some unspecified mission. He never really stayed in one place too long. (It was his personality, wasn't it? He got antsy being tied down to commitment and wanted to be free from everyone. It was fine even if it was inconvenient, it was just how he was.)

But then he never makes an effort to get involved. To reach out to them. He doesn't show any interest at all in returning to his old life or taking up the helm of an X-man again.

This Logan couldn't be all that different from theirs, right? Even if he was a lone wolf type who kept up his guard and acted gruffly, he only really had them. They took him in and fed him and clothed him and he showed up when shit went sideways in return. A perfect, neat, package with a bow on top.

But then a month passes. Then two. And even if he was the type to do his own thing, this was a little ridiculous. He'd just come back to life and didn't even bother showing up?

They all cornered Colossus, one day. Asked him about his well-being and what he was doing. Why he wasn't reaching out and when they should expect him to come back.

His answer shocked them. Apparently, Logan wasn't out on a mission at all. Instead, he was staying with Deadpool at his apartment and just... living there. Existing. He wasn't even particularly busy, he just hadn't visited. When they inquired further, Colossus smiled slightly and said that he seemed happy there. Content. That Wade was good for Logan and Logan was good for him, too.

It was... hard to wrap their heads around. Logan—fierce, closed-off, restless—just staying in one place? Content to just live with someone and accompany them on mercenary jobs.

Since when did Logan prefer teamwork? He always tried to turn joint missions into solo ones, and went out of his way to brush people off.. More than that—Logan, a mercenary? He'd rather pick up illegal work for some extra cash than return to being a hero? To being with them? Why did he decide to stay in a shitty apartment taking shady jobs for rent instead of just staying for free at their mansion? It made no sense.

It all came to a head when Laura (who'd been staying with them but largely kept to herself around the X-men) had her birthday party. They had parties often for the children in the mansion, that wasn't anything new. Except for the fact that the Wolverine was coming. She'd been excited when she mentioned that both Logan and Wade were going to show up (they didn't even know she'd stayed in touch with them).

(Why was the first time they saw Logan at a birthday party for someone else? Were they not enough? They'd taken him in despite his... difficult personality. What more did he want?)

And Logan comes. But he's entirely different than their Logan, the one they remember.

He's more... relaxed, somehow. He looks less hostile and cagey, letting his muscles relax and his head lean back. He looks like a man content with life instead of the guy who ran away the first chance he got, who always had an itch under his skin to move and never stayed too long.

He sticks to Wade like glue. They're always touching, somehow. An arm around the shoulders, a hand placed firmly on Wade's waist, fingers intertwined, legs pressed together. Logan is touchy in a way he never was with them.

And the way he looks at Wade—like he hung the stars and the moon and the sky itself. Even when they try to catch his eye from across the room, to get him to come over, he doesn't pay attention. His eyes are firmly locked on Wade's face, a warmth there (a softness) that they'd never seen before.

Wade gawks at the mansion and its decoration, flitting between Colossus and Negasonic and Yukio, gleefully grabbing some of the food. And Logan stays by his side the whole time, only watching him, murmuring in his occasionally which makes Wade either jab him in the elbow or cackle.

(And Logan lets him. He doesn't even retaliate aside from a grunt when Wade punches him in the arm, rolling his eyes and flicking his forehead in return but entirely content to let Wade at him. The trust there was so obvious it was painful. The familiarity. The warmth.)

The first time Logan takes his eyes off Wade is when Laura comes up to them. His eyes soften as he looks at her, almost imperceptibly if not for the fact that in their memories, his eyes were always hard. Guarded. They could count on one hand the number of times they saw even a semblance of that expression, normally involving Jean or Rogue.

Laura hugs him, grinning as she prattles on about whatever she'd been doing lately. Logan hugs her back, arms coming to wrap firmly around her. Easy affection. She pulls back and Wade hugs her too, spinning her around in the air as she laughs and hits him and asks him to put her down.

When Logan looks at them, the fondness is so obvious it's painful. They were used to seeing Logan show emotion—anger, sadness, fear, arousal. But never softness. (Especially not for a tumor-ridden mercenary and an experiment built off of his DNA.)

The party continues like that, with Logan leaning against Wade and basking in his presence. Hiding in his shadow when he's tired, leaning his forehead against Wade's shoulder.

Until they finally decide to approach them. Scott and Jean hold hands as they approach him for the first time, tired of observing him all night. Storm follows closely behind.

"Logan, nice seeing you man. It's, uh, been a while," Scott smiles crookedly at him. He expects Logan to respond how he normally does. To grin back, insult him, and start up their typical banter.

Like a well-oiled machine, they kept their rivalry going. Logan and Scott would act like they hated each other in public and fight like children over Jean until she inevitably chose Scott (and then it'd repeat). Sometimes, in the quiet of the night or an emotional moment, they'd become more. But that was rare, and Scott preferred the comfortable rhythm they normally kept to.

But Logan barely looked at him, nodded, and then turned back to Wade as he talked about some kid's show.

"Logan, that was a little rude, don't you think? We haven't heard from you in a while, it's good to see you're doing well." Jean lightly scolded him before letting her face melt into a smile. It was meant to be welcoming. Kind.

Scott tightened his arm around Jean. He knew Jean would always choose him, in the end, but it was annoying to see Logan flirt with her. She'd entertain him enough, and occasionally the three would wind in bed together in a moment of passion. But Jean was his, in the end.

Except, Logan didn't react. He just grunted in response. When his eyes met Jean's they were completely devoid of any attraction. He didn't flirt with her or pay her any attention. His eyes were solely on Wade.

It was only when Wade's eyes flicked toward them and he waved that Logan bothered to acknowledge their existence.

"Oh, hey! You guys are the real deal! The original X-men! The ones that took the 2000s by storm and made Marvel a shit ton of money," he rambled. His face was... interesting, to say the least.

Logan snorted. "Did you not expect to see the X-men in the X-mansion, bub?" The first time he verbally admitted they were even there.

"Considering the budget on my previous movies? Fuck no. It was too expensive to even have a good cameo, let alone actually have them on screen for more than a minute to have a conversation."

...What the hell was he talking about? He sounded clinically insane. And Logan was living with this guy?

But Logan laughed, genuinely, and it was like the world stopped spinning. He smiled and his eyes wrinkled, forming crescents. He teased Wade back in response, but they were stuck in that moment.

Logan was never like that. Never open, never soft. He cared, in a distant way, but he never really stayed. (Was it really that? Was it that he never tried to stay, or that they never gave him reason to? That they never gave him the chance before shutting the door in his face.)

But here it was. Physical proof that he was capable of looking at someone so softly. Of melting his hard exterior and becoming someone softer. Someone capable of cherishing the person they loved, of being domesticated.

Because there was really no other way than "domesticated" to describe him. He used to be like a wild animal—all sharp edges, jagged teeth, and razor-sharp claws. He snarled and growled at anyone who got too close and cornered him. He'd drop by for food, but snatch it and run off.

(But that's the thing about wild animals, isn't it? To get them to calm down, to stop seeing you as a threat, you need to be patient. To reach out. To prove you're safe. Did they ever really try?)

And now he even looked different. His hard muscles had filled out with a layer of fat. He looked healthy, like he wasn't just a tool built to fight and gnaw on the scraps he was given. He looked like a person who went home and ate a warm, balanced dinner at night. Who got adequate sleep and had all of his needs taken care of.

They thought that Logan's personality was rough, sharp, and jagged. That he was just Like That, and that it was useless to try to change it.

(After all, the bad boy is just someone you flirt with. Not someone you take him. Jean had said that, hadn't she?

And Logan had told her he could be the "good guy." Tried to show that he was capable of being more than just how he acted when he was hurt and alone. But she brushed it off. They all did.

And yet here Logan was. Soft and entranced by Wade in a way he never had been, even with her. Looking at him with something so much deeper than lust or attraction or infatuation. Looking at him with devotion. Reverence. Complete and utter love.)

But Logan wasn't Like That. He had always wanted to be soft. To be able to curl up next to somebody and trace the curve of their spine with his fingertips. He'd always yearned for a home he could feel genuinely warm in, where he'd be accepted and allowed to be vulnerable even if it wasn't pretty.

He'd only been hard because he had to. Because if he wasn't, the biting words and indifference of everyone around him would cut so deep he'd never recover. Because if he let himself love and be vulnerable with the X-men and they still viewed him as a passerby, as a tool, as an outsider, as just someone to sleep with—he'd break.

But Wade gave him a home. Gave him the chance to finally love and be loved and not feel afraid. To finally relax and open up. To show his emotions without fear of being scorned and to know he'd always be taken seriously. To not just be seen as the bad boy, but as a broken man desperate for anyone to cling to and feel cared for.

He was finally seen as more than just a stereotype. He was seen and loved for he was.

He was used to being hidden. Like a shameful secret. Jean was embarrassed to like him. Scott hid him away during the night and fought him during the day. He was a temptation, but that was it. They'd always choose each other first. Every member of the X-men had their person, but he was nobody's.

But with Wade, for the first time in his life, he was the first choice. He was the priority. He got to eat at the table instead of being fed scraps thrown onto the floor.

Logan thought it was natural to be treated as lesser. To be an afterthought. But with Wade, who cradled his face like he was something precious and was willing to die for him, he realized that he could be loved just as fiercely as he loved Wade. As an equal. As partners.

And so when he saw the X-men, he reacted the same way they had all those years ago: with indifference. With the same detached care he'd grown so used to. He spared them the effort of a few words, of reluctant acknowledgment, but that was it. If they never wanted to look closer at him or care about his needs, it was fine. But he'd do the same.

After all, there was so need to scramble to collect crumbs when he was well-fed. There was no need to look for a shitty room in an empty-feeling mansion when he already had a home.

[urhoneycombwitch]

hold me like water

Eddie Munson x shy!Reader in the aftermath, you and Eddie learn how to live again.

foreword: followup to my unofficial eddie x shy!reader series. not necessary to read in order but here’s one and two if u want. this takes place after the events of s4 but everyone (including the trailer sorry i’m too attached) is mostly fine and so is the town. except for all that pesky PTSD… lol. written epilogue-style but I just wanted to give them something soft… not done w them yet!!

cw: PTSD, nightmares, trauma bonding, medical stuff, scarring/wounds, light smut post-traumatic event, R has breasts+a vagina, R wears a bikini

wc: 3k

___

For the first month, you don’t leave the trailer.

More specifically, you don’t leave Eddie. 

While he’s recovering from the attacks, you confine yourself to his room; Wayne had pulled in a comfy armchair for you when he realized you’d been sleeping on Eddie’s floor for three nights in a row, just to be closer to him than the guest bed down the hall. 

Now, with the chair, you’re actually getting some sleep at night- enough to tend to Eddie’s wounds every morning and evening without yawning comically loud. 

After the first few weeks of healing, while Eddie is still tender but learning to walk shakily with the use of a cane, you still stick to the boundaries of the trailer. Neither of you really want to go anywhere, anyways: Hop’s instructions to keep a low profile while the dust settles on the murder investigation have to be taken seriously. 

Plus, Eddie and you are very well taken care of by your friends-turned-family. Anything you could ever want for shows up on your doorstep and kitchen counters by a rotating crew of familiar faces; Mrs. Byers brings groceries and finds excuses to stay longer, busying herself by making tea, doing the dishes; Mrs. Wheeler brings casseroles and her son, who steals Eddie away for intense D&D discussions (Eddie made Mike interim DM, and the power’s really gone to his head). 

The trailer is almost always filled during the day, bikes in a heap on the front strip of grass, Beemer parked at an angle to avoid a popped tire. Steve picks up Eddie’s medication every Friday, brings it over along with a bunch of VHS’s and Robin. Sometimes Jonathan and Argyle join in on movie nights, too, and Nancy when she’s not busy with work.

It’s easy and peaceful, spending time with people who understand and share the same traumas. People who don’t stare at the bandages or Eddie’s cane or ask why you won’t leave the trailer any more. 

The government officials from the now-defunct Hawkin’s lab call every few days, wall-mounted landline ringing like a toll bell at 3pm sharp. You tell them the same thing, every time, curt and firm- if they want to interrogate you and Eddie, they’ll damn well have to come here. Or drag you, kicking and screaming.

Steve asks about it one afternoon, naive and confused with the force of your phone slamming- “Y’know, they probably just want you to sign one of those Don’t-Talk-About-This papers and give you a bunch of money. I heard they’re setting up college funds for all the kids-”

“Good for them.” Your dry remark cuts in smoothly from the couch, hand on Eddie’s knee as a lifeline. In a voice wobbly with anger, eyes glittering with unshed tears, your chin tilts up, defiant- “It’s the least they can do. I want them to look me in the eyes when they try to grovel for my silence. For Eddie’s. After all they fucking did to us, to the town-”

Eddie’s hand slips over yours, squeezes. Steve raises his hands in a placating gesture, surrendering with haste, then retreats to the kitchen for movie night snacks. 

“Never heard you so bossy before,” Eddie murmurs, at the shell of your ear. Goosebumps cascade across your neck when he rests his heavy palm there, cold rings warming to the temperature of your skin. “Goin’ to bat for me. It’s hot.”

You’re a couple of steps removed from the quiet, shy thing Eddie’s known for years. Seeing the love of your life almost bleed out in an alternate dimension will do that to a person.

Owens shows up at the trailer one morning, at the end of summer after all the phone calls provide no results. Him and two of his muscliest-looking lab guys are met by you in the threshold of the door, arms crossed and somehow looking fierce despite the fuzzy blue bathrobe you’re swathed in.

“The goons stay outside.” Your word is final. Even the doctor knows it.

The two men in coats settle on either side of the porch, while Owens is allowed to sit at the kitchen table indoors, accepting a mug of coffee Eddie generously supplies (you certainly aren’t in a hospitable mood, glaring daggers at him from the opposing chair).

Predictably, the doctor explains he’s here with some NDA’s for both you and Eddie to sign, the shiny promise of a government-allotted chunk of change waiting on the other side.

Hidden from view under the table, your fingertips skate over Eddie’s palm, lying open and pliant for you. Calmly, like you’re stating the weather, you tell Owens to double his offer.

By the time he’s done using your phone, Owens is wiping sweat from his forehead with a kerchief. Once the papers are signed, him and the lab goons load back into the shiny black car like silent sentries. 

They leave, and Eddie laughs, a full, rich noise that makes your heart ache. His fist slams the table in excess of humor, mugs jumping with a clink. “Goddamn. You just made the richest guy in Hawkins run off with his tail between his legs.” 

“Pretty sure Harrington Senior has him beat,” you mutter around the rim of your coffee, unable to repress the satisfied smirk that tugs at your lips. 

The payoff is a sickening amount, more money than you or Eddie have ever seen- enough to send you both to college, twice, with a hefty nest egg for the future leftover. You put the bulk of yours in a savings account, just so you don’t get dizzy looking at the numbers. 

Eddie does the same, with the exception of a down payment on the vacant trailer at the end of the park. Along with the new place, Wayne gets a fresh mattress, a couch that doesn’t have holes, and a proper, working stereo to play all his “old man country” tapes (in Eddie’s words). The quiet and deep thankfulness Wayne gives you both makes you feel like you’d do it all over again, like the fight was all worth it for the Laz-E-Boy in the corner and the new mug collection shelf. 

Eddie floats the idea of college again, now that you’ve got the funds to make it possible. You’ve certainly got the time, too- neither of you have any need to work long shifts at the diner or garage anymore. 

Unfortunately, this makes it all the more easy to form reclusive habits. By autumn, the solidness of your refusal to leave the trailer has less to do with helping Eddie than it does with your own fear of what lies beyond the comfort of your home. 

Most days, you work on healing. Eddie’s still your lifeline, gentle encouragement turning stern when you need it the most- he talks you into visiting Max by yourself, a veritable feat; the short walk between the two trailers feels like death, your knock shaky with nerves. It feels horrifying, to walk the thin line of being both braver and more scared than you’ve ever been.

You stay for an hour. The next day, for two- Max has a new kitten that passes the time easily, the girl giggling behind her new thick-rimmed glasses while pulling string across the floor for the tiny thing to pounce on. One night, you bring dinner for both the Mayfields and stay well past supper; it’s nearly 11 by the time you return to Eddie’s open arms, triumphant in your success with a tupperware of Mrs. Mayfield’s cookies to boot.

Your bravery builds in increments. Eddie cleans the rust from his van that’s been sitting untouched since spring, and takes you on drives that go a bit farther each time. The Byers’ place for lunch, Dustin’s to pick up an extra radio, then all the way to north Hawkins for more of Mrs. Wheeler’s plastic-wrapped dishes she asks you to relieve her of. 

When winter rolls around, Steve takes advantage of his now-permanently empty home to throw a holiday party. It’s loud with chatter and overwhelming with noise but it feels so good to be surrounded by it, by everyone, Eddie’s hand a steady comfort on your waist or lower back as you eat and drink and make merry with your friends. 

Hop pulls it off, a Christmas miracle- all the murders get pinned on Jason, buried six feet under with parents who skipped town ages ago. You’re out for groceries one cold morning and realize that not a single shopper has even given Eddie a second glance, conspicuous as he is in black leather and flashy silver jewelry. 

The strings loosen with a sigh, fluttering in release, allowing some space for you both to breathe.

Sex has been… different, lately. There’s been lots of readjusting, both physically and mentally- accounting for unforeseen muscle spasms, bone-deep bruises hidden beneath rippled skin, tissue and scarring pulled taut, testing the limits of new pains.    

The first time, just a few weeks after the attacks, Eddie had begged to go down on you. He wanted the comfort of your thighs, your taste and scent, all-consuming, to think about anything else other than his wounds. 

You’d been more than hesitant, terrified of hurting him, of letting your focus shift inwards. More in your head than ever, it took Eddie over an hour to coax an orgasm from the walls that’d been built back up around your pleasure; even with his lithe tongue and long, seeking fingers, it took forever and an age to get you anywhere close to the edge.

Eddie didn’t complain once- in fact, he kind of got off on the amount of time you let him spend between your legs. The muscles in his right arm were trembling by the time you clamped down on his fingers, jaw burning but keeping the suction at your clit even while your hips rolled strong as a tidal wave against his face.

And before you could open your mouth to apologize, or say something equally silly, panting and wrung-out and heartbreakingly beautiful against the pillows, Eddie’s teeth flashed at the inside of your thigh. 

You’d jolted, breathless and giggly, endorphins soaring as he’d tenderly crawled up the length of your body to slip his tongue between your lips, sharing the earthy tang of your release. 

“One more,” he’d said, uninjured arm taking the bulk of his weight while he dipped down to mouth at your breast. “And this time, put your hands in my hair. I’m getting jealous of the sheets.”

As Eddie’s physical limitations lessen with time, your mental barriers ease, as well. There’s still some stilted moments of relearning, of working together in bodies that don’t always respond the way you want them to. 

There are raw, stripped-open emotions that have you clawing at Eddie’s back, his nails leaving indents on the flesh of your hips. To keep pressure off the worst of his side wounds, you find new positions, usually some form of your thighs draped over his or the welcome weight of you in his lap. 

He’s endlessly patient. The kind of patient that makes you want to run, far and fast, and he knows it; when your pleasure recedes, frustration in the form of tears and hands pressed to your face, Eddie’s there to soothe. To try a new angle, to slow down or speed up, offering a break or an extra pillow to keep you comfortable and feeling good. 

If you were comforted by each other’s presence during the night before the Spring Break from hell, it’s tenfold now. Neither of you will sleep a wink if Eddie’s not wrapped around you like a koala, snoring gently, overheated and tacky with sweat by morning but neither willing to compromise the closeness. 

Nightmares are easier to handle, too- you’re there to soothe the sweat-coated bangs from Eddie’s forehead when he wakes up whimpering in fear, coaxing his panic and adrenaline back down. He’s so fine-tuned to the rhythms of your body that even though your own nightmares rarely end in noise, Eddie often wakes anyways from the disturbance in your breaths. 

Just as you do for him, sometimes all it takes to get you back to sleep is a tender voice, a stroke of the arm, a reassurance in the dark that he’s with you. 

A year after it all happened, Eddie hears you singing in the shower.

If he wasn’t craning to hear the gentle splashing noises as confirmation of your presence, he would’ve missed it. Eddie leans with his good shoulder on the wood frame, door partially cracked to let the melody of your voice float through.

Stevie Nicks is crooning sweetly from the handheld radio on the bathroom counter, and you, just as sweet and twice as pretty singing along. 

Eddie closes his eyes, puts a hand to his chest; through the fabric of his shirt he feels the raised, bumpy edges of scar tissue, but there’s something beyond it. Curling around his heart, making it ache- it feels like healing. Like getting better, at least well enough to sing.

He’s dumbstruck with it. 

That summer, he takes you to Lover’s Lake.

It’s just the two of you, which makes it easy for Eddie to go shirtless; currently, he’s enjoying the way you’re watching him from the back of the van, bare feet swinging and paired with a killer black bikini that he begged you into.

He’s not so sure the scars that criss cross his front and sides are as “metal” as you claim they are, but he’s trying. He’d drag himself over hot coals just to get half a smile; going shirtless is nothing. 

You reach for him, and he walks into the V of your legs willingly, your arms wrapping around his torso, head pressed to the middle of his sternum. Eddie plants his hands on either side of your hips, drops his chin to fit you under it.

“Come swim with me.”

In response, you sigh- a longsuffering, worried sort of noise that leaves your lungs and enters his. He’s been trying to talk you into it for weeks- it’s a miracle he’s gotten you both this far, dressed and ready to take the plunge. 

Eddie’s not really sure why this swim is so important to him. It might have something to do with the fissure at the bottom of the lake, all scabbed over and sewn back together; or maybe it’s the surface, skimmed by a light breeze  and rippling gently, nothing of monsters or alternate dimensions leftover to disturb the placidity. 

Eddie wants to prove that it’s safe, for you and for himself. That the nightmares and the sticky feelings and the tears, they all mean something, of course they do- but the only way to is through. 

So he takes you by both hands and you only drag your feet a little until he’s walking backwards on the shore, water lapping up to his ankles, and you freeze. Heels digging into the wet earth, tense under Eddie’s grasp, eyes wide and darting around like something might come crashing through the treeline.

“Hey. Look at me.” In a voice that’s reserved for you and you alone, Eddie speaks softly, calmly, letting out all the tension of his pull to just hold, instead. “You’re safe. There’s nothing out here that’s gonna hurt us, okay? Steve went all the way back down to the bottom to make sure. No more gate. No nothin’. It’s just a lake.”

“Just a lake,” you repeat, like a mantra as you take another step. The water rolls over your feet; Eddie murmurs his encouragement while leading.

“That’s right, sweetheart. It’s just a lake. Our lake.”

The water rises, up the back of Eddie’s calves, swishing around your shins; the pebble-rock floor shifts with each step. You and Eddie used to spend long summer days here, swimming and picnicking and fucking in the back of the van, syrupy-slow and stretched with time. 

“Our lake.” You’re shivering, teeth chattering, even though the air is hot and the water is just-cool.

Eddie rubs at your upper arms, allaying the goosebumps; waterline up to your waists, now. The rock you’re balanced on beneath the surface jolts, and you stumble forward into Eddie’s arms; in a smooth maneuver, he catches you while sinking into a crouch, pulling you both from the safety of the shallows.

Then, your kicking feet meet nothing but the vastness of the lake, nails biting into Eddie’s arms, fear rattling through your spine until Eddie- treading water while valiantly supporting you, too- tosses his black hair back and whoops. 

The sound is loud, joyful, ricochets across the lake and bounces back from the other shore. He crows at the sun, startles a laugh out of you as he clings harder, kicking to keep you both afloat- “Holy SHIT! We’re swimming in Lover’s Lake!”

“Holy shit,” you agree, giddy and breathless, nerves turning over into disbelief, excitement. “We’re swimming in our lake.”

Eddie kisses you. It’s sloppy and he misses the middle of your mouth as you both try to keep the other from slipping under, teeth clashing, giggles escaping around the sides. He puts a hand dripping with lake water to your cheek, holding you in place, thumb pressing gentle just under your eye. 

“I love you.”

“Love you.” Your reply is swift and just as eager, hand coming to rest at the puckered line of scarring at Eddie’s chest. 

Somewhere at the bottom of Lover’s Lake, a twin crack, a Something that was never supposed to be but now just Is. 

You feel extraordinarily grateful, awash with we made it, as you and Eddie swim out further, shores in the shape of a heart holding you both from all sides.

___

for more shy!Reader content: masterlist

[pinguwrites]

Ooooh, what about this? Future!reader accidentally time traveled to 1940s when she met William Killick, and he had to take care of her due to injuries she had. She ended up staying with him while rejecting his advances because she was trying to find a way to go back to future, and it wouldn’t be fair to him if she were to accept his advances, but she didn’t know William was sabotaging the solutions to ensure she would stay with him forever.

THIS IS ABSOLUTELY WONDERFUL LIKE HOLY SHIT. I was about to write something like this with Tommy in Black Heart, but I opted out, and I hadn't even considered this with William, so I'm so glad you requested it!!

this was supposed to be a short-length fic lol, it's like the longest thing I've ever written on here

Home Is Where the Heart Is ⸻ William Killick

pairing | william killick x future!reader

summary | You don't think much of the box when it arrives at your front door. That is, until you open it and are transported decades into the past. There, you fall into the arms of a handsome soldier, who is intent on making you stay.

word count | 9k

Warnings: DUB-CON, possessive!william, future!reader, period typical sexism it's okay when it's william, reader has a software job, weird time travel plot (who knows how the box got there? it's totally not going to be revealed in part two ;) ), mentions of war, reader simps so hard, p in v sex, breeding kink

Disclaimer: The Edge of Love characters, plots, quotes, etc. do not belong to me and belong to the rightful owner(s). This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.

A/N: I'm honestly not too proud with how rushed it was, but I'm glad it's out there. I'm definitely doing a part two. Be warned for errors.

You were lying in a field of grass, tall, bushy trees lining the area around you. You seemed to be in some type of countryside because in the distance you could faintly see quaint little houses and farmland (at least, you assumed it was; your vision was awfully blurry), but other than that, you had no clue as to where you were.

“Ah,” you hissed, noticing the cut on your body. When you arrived — however that happened — you had scrapped your arm on a sharp rock embedded in the dirt, and now it was bleeding, red blood trickling down your arm.

You sighed miserably, trying to make sense of the situation.

Yesterday, a packaged box arrived on your front doorstep. No address, no company, just a note in pen, To [Y/n] [L/n]. You were a little wary of its contents but brought it inside anyway. You opened it and uncovered a machine, steel and simple in its construction, yet difficult to understand. There was no instruction manual or labels for the buttons, and it took you a while to know if you were even looking at it right, the only hint being the Roman numerals inside the dials.

After tinkering around with it, you must have fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew, you were in a completely other place. All you had on were your clothes, some money, and your phone, which, surprise surprise, had no signal, so all you could do was look at your downloads — completely useless — and take a photo. 

I must’ve been drugged, you thought, still feeling hazy. I should have called the cops the moment I realized something was off.

You got up and took off your socks, trying to stop the bleeding with it. It wasn’t the most hygienic, but it was all you had at the moment, and you weren’t about to tear off pieces of the shirt you had on, especially not when you were already shivering. 

The contraption had traveled with you, and though you were aware it was the reason you were here in the first place, you thought it better to bring it along, as evidence. You could show it to the government, and they could use their little science ways to find the culprit. All would be fine.

All will be fine.

You started walking. You didn’t have any shoes on for protection, so it was difficult to step across the dirt, with all its rocks and insects swarming about, but you managed to get to grass quick enough, and it felt much better, almost healing to walk barefoot on the softness of mother nature.

But you didn’t get very far. Eventually, your stomach started grumbling, and you felt like your intestines were twisting inside with desperation. Your sock was now red, and your hand was trembling, so with a defeated sigh, you let go, of both the sock and the heavy machine, allowing the blood to flow freely. You bent over to pick the sock back up first, but the sudden movement made your head reel, and before you knew it, you were out again.

+++

“You’re awake,” a voice said, a male’s voice, a British accent that sounded like butter. Oh, butter, if you could get your hands on that alone you would be satisfied. 

You opened your eyes, blinking. A figure, with pale skin and dark hair made it’s way over to you, and in a panic, you crawled away, eyes darting across the room. You were on a bed, bandages on your arm, but before you could calm down or even begin to think properly, panic took over, your heart rate elevated, and you sighed, before passing out again.

+++

For about the third time today, or however long you were out, you woke up. This time your vision was much clearer, but you still had this nasty migraine in your head. You were sick inside, the kind of sick that happens when you haven’t eaten in a while but can’t eat because you feel like you’ll throw up. 

You wondered if you were in the same place again. You remembered a man, with a soothing voice, but he wasn’t here right now. Though the possibility that you had been kidnapped entered your mind, you noticed the lack of bonds and chains on your body. He was probably just helping you, you reasoned.

You slowly got out of bed, wincing at the shooting pain in your arm. You observed your surroundings. The bedroom was very minimalist, and . . . quirky. You loved the design and the materials used, as it reminded you of a cottage, but there was nothing helpful in sight. All the technology you could see, like the kitchen, needed to be updated and was worn out. There was some type of record player, or CD tape, or whatever that was called, on one of the counters and a radio beside it. 

You didn’t bother with any of that. You were thirsty, throat dry and gnawing at you, so you went to look for water, hoping that whoever lived here didn’t go out and get it from a fucking well. He probably does. Look at this place!

“Shit!” you swore, your knees buckling from underneath you. You felt so weak and miserable and vulnerable. It hit you at this moment that you were probably a hundred miles away from home, in a strange place in a strange home you’d never seen before. How were you going to get back? What were you going to do?

Tears started welling in your eyes. You hated that you were being so emotional. Why couldn’t you toughen up and deal with the situation like a proper adult?

You leaned onto the counter, trying to balance yourself, when the front door opened up, and the man you saw before walked in, carrying a bag full of vegetables and other foods. He quickly placed the bag down and held you in his arms, his warmth comforting and relaxing.

He had short, dark hair, and a sharp jawline, and from this distance, you could see light freckles scattered across his cheeks. He had the most beautiful blue eyes you’d ever seen, like glaciers, like the ocean. Fuck, he was so handsome. 

“Here,” he said, guiding you back to the bedroom. He set you down on the bed, gazing at you with such intensity, like adoration or devotion. 

“W-who are you?” you asked, voice cracking. “Where am I? Hngh.” You rubbed your temples. Didn’t he have any pain medications?

“My name is William. William Killick,” the man introduced softly. “Don’t be scared, I’m not going to hurt you.” He went off into the kitchen and brought back a glass of water. You drank it slowly, the cool liquid flowing through your body, wetting your mouth. “I didn’t know if you had family nearby, so I took you to my place.”

William paused, as if thinking of what to say next. “Get more rest, it’s night.”

You hadn’t even noticed the time, but one look out the window told you he was right. It was pitch black outside.

“You’ll wake up tomorrow, and have some breakfast.”

You shook your head, and handed the glass back to him, only for him to set it down on the nightstand table. “Where’s my phone? Where’s my . . . box?”

He stared at you blankly, before clearing his throat. “Your stuff is in the back. I didn't know what it was — hey, don’t move.” William’s strong hands kept you in place, pushing you back down to the bed as gently as he could whilst still keeping a firm grip. “Rest,” he ordered. “Don’t need you fainting on me again.”

You wanted to argue, but you couldn’t. You laid your head on the pillow, without a choice but to trust William, and fell asleep, wrapping yourself in the blanket with a content sigh. All the questions you had, all the thoughts, faded away and were replaced by darkness.

+++

You dreamt of yourself and yourself. You, the spectator, were standing outside a window, but it wasn’t just any window. It was your window, the one that led to the inside of your bedroom, where you could see you and William — the strange man — entangled in the sheets. Lovers. You two were lovers. You two were making love. 

Anyone would have felt creepy watching someone else, and anyone would have noticed someone watching them, but none of that happened. The sun should have cast a shadow on you, but it didn't. The passerby should have called you out, but they didn’t. 

You had just enough awareness to realize that this was a dream. How were you back at home already? Why were you and William kissing?

While originally you felt nothing, like a simple observer without thoughts, you were suddenly flooded with heavy emotions. Confusion, shame, lust, confusion.

But in just a few moments, the world around you crumbled, like an earthquake, and the sun and moon passed by, stars moving across the heavens, and you were warped by time, back in the same place you were before. 

+++

You woke up with a gasp, cold sweat running down your body, and immediately William was by your side. You rested your head on his chest, grasping onto his shirt desperately, not wanting him to leave. 

“Shh, shh,” he cooed, running his fingers through your hair.

“Sorry,” you muttered, making no effort to leave his side. “I don’t know . . .”

“Shh.”

You both were like this for a while. Faint images of your dream passed through your mind, and from what little you remembered, you assumed it had been a wet dream. 

I can’t believe it, you thought. Having a wet dream — about a guy I barely met. Control yourself!

You pulled away, already missing his warmth. William frowned a little but didn’t say anything. “What’s your name, darling?” he asked. 

You hesitated.

“I told you, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“[Y/n],” you finally told him. “Where are we?”

William narrowed his eyes. You had a feeling he knew more than he was letting on, but you didn’t want to press.

“Wales,” William answered.

You froze. How the fuck did you get to Wales? What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.

“Um, that’s nice,” you said awkwardly. “How long has it been since you found me?”

“A few days.”

You tried not to panic, but all you could think about was your job and your friends and your family. Have you been reported missing yet?

“You must be hungry,” William said. “I’ll cook something for you. I’m not the best, but I don’t want you to wear yourself out.”

“It’s alright.” You waved his concern off, though it did tug at your heartstrings that he was worried. “I'll get some fast food.”

You dug through your pockets, hoping your wallet was still in there. Thankfully it was. You pulled it out and grabbed two crisp twenty-dollar bills, but William hissed and pushed it back in, his hand not leaving yours. 

“What are you doing carrying around that much money?” he asked, giving you an incredulous look. “How are you meant to protect yourself? Where’d you get that? Do you have a husband?”

You pushed his hand away. “I work. And what’s the problem?” 

You knew that the American dollar wasn’t equivalent to a British pound, but was the difference that bad? Sure, forty dollars was a lot of money if you were just going to a gas station or something, but nothing to get excited over. 

William huffed. “You can’t just show me that much money like that. What if I was a thief, hmm? What would you do then?”

“Are you?” you asked, not understanding why he was making such a big deal out of it.

“No. I’m a gentleman.”

You scoffed, amused, but there was a little smile on your face. “A gentleman?”

“Yes,” he insisted. “A proper man.”

There was a moment of silence between you both. You wanted him to hold you again, but you thought it would be best if you just went on your way. 

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you said, getting up from the bed. “And bandaging me and all.” You gave him one of the bills. “I know it’s in dollars, but I’m sure you can convert it.”

William didn’t take the money. “You’re not leaving — you’re still hurt. I’d be remiss if I let a lass half as pretty as you alone on the streets.”

You chalked up his way of talking to the region. You honestly found it quite attractive. That, coupled with his British accent, made you feel like you were in one of those romance movies. You had to remind yourself that he wasn’t in love with you and that you were just acting irrational and horny.

“I’ll be fine. We’ll exchange numbers, do you have a charger?”

“What?”

“A phone charger. My phone’s probably dead.”

“The box?”

You narrowed your eyes. “No, the rectangle. The phone.”

“Ah, the one that glows?”

You briefly wondered if he simply didn’t know what a phone was. You knew some people preferred not to have modern technology in their life.

“Yes. I need to call someone — ”

“ — It stopped glowing.”

Great. William obviously didn’t have a charger. And if he didn’t know what it was, no one nearby would. All that was next to do would be to walk to a big city and hope someone there could help you get back home.

“Look, darling.” You ignored the way your heart fluttered when he called you that. “I don’t know what a phone is, or why you’re here, but I know that you still need to recover.”

“I appreciate it,” you said. “But I really have to go. I have work and — ”

“ — Surely you can take a day off. What is it you do?” William asked. 

“I’m a software developer. I code.”

William had a blank face. A pink blush dusted his cheeks. He cleared his throat, “I, er, I’ve never heard of that. You mean computers? The big ones that take up a room?”

“No, it’s not the fifties.”

“Well, 1946 is close.”

You didn’t know what to make of that. “What does 1946 have to do with this?”

William observed you intently. “The year. The year is 1946.”

You blinked. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be the 20th century — that was impossible. So many things were wrong with that. How come it was you who traveled in time? Why didn’t the government know about this? Even if you were ignoring the question of how, there were still so many whys.  

“No,” you said slowly, inching away from William. What kind of sick prank was this? He was supposed to be helping you, not confusing you. “You’re messing with me.”

William sensed that you were uncomfortable, because he backed away, his hands in the air. You could tell he was waiting for the perfect moment to get closer.

“I’m not a liar . . . Are you from the future?”

Fuck. You weren’t sure. How could that even be possible?

“No,” you said hesitantly. “I dunno, I must be . . .”

Your eyes subtly peered past William and at the door. If only you could get past him . . . 

You looked straight at the window, making sure to grab his attention. “Oh,” you whispered, putting on your best shocked expression. The moment he was distracted you sprinted past him and bolted out of the room and out the house, running across the field to the next house you could see. Your arm still hurt, but you were willing to shove down the pain.

“No, no, please!” William shouted, running after you. 

In just a minute, he had caught up to you and tackled you to the ground. He pinned your hands above your head and sat on your lower stomach, rendering you useless. His lips were so close to yours, and the look on his face was pissed.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice forceful, gripping onto your wrists tighter. 

“P-please,” you pathetically sputtered out. “Don’t hurt me.”

He didn’t budge. “I’m trying to help you — I’m not lying to you, and I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You’re hurting me now,” you cried, squirming.

William’s eyes softened as he realized what he was doing. “You promise not to run again?”

You nodded, your lower lip wobbling. 

“Alright.”

He still didn’t let go of you, but he did pull you up from the ground, wiping the dirt off of your back. Tears flowed down your cheek like rainwater, and you couldn’t help but curl in on yourself.

William held onto your arm as he walked you back to the house, not allowing you another chance of escape, but he did wipe your tears gently and soothe you. You felt embarrassed. Why did you run? You had acted purely on instinct there. This man was clearly only trying to help. 

“Look,” he said softly, sitting you back down on the bed like a child. “I’ll take you into town, hmm? Show you around and all — maybe that’ll convince you. You must be quite far into the future to be dressing like that and to have a . . . phone with you, so things will be different, right? What year are you from?”

“. . . 2023.”

“I knew it. On your phone, there was a date. I wasn’t sure then, but . . .” William suddenly reached his hands up and rubbed his thumb across your chapped lips, catching you off guard. “They’re dry,” he said. “I’ll draw up a bath for you so you can bathe while I cook. I’ll get you some lotion afterward.”

You nodded. What else could you do?

+++

William had cooked some simple fish and chips while you cleaned yourself. You had to use a tin tub, which was insane to you, but you didn’t complain about it. He supplied you with clothing, an old-fashioned dress his mother had accidentally left here. You were grateful it was not from some ex-girlfriend or wife, even though you had no right to feel that way. You put aside your other clothes to wash later.

After finishing with that, you sat down at the dining table, and like the hungry girl you were, you gobbled the food down eagerly. It was so fresh and delicious, not at all like the food you had in the future, pumped with chemicals and artificially bred. You tried to be as neat as you could, but it was difficult when you were starving. William had watched on with amusement, telling you to slow down and straighten your back every once in a while.

He took the plates away when you both were done, and then did as he promised and gave you some lotion, but instead of letting you apply it, he took a bit of cream on his fingers and rubbed it on your lips. “Stay still,” he murmured. 

“I-I can do it—”

“No, you can’t. You’re still injured.”

You understood his reasoning. And you didn’t mind him touching you like that.

“The rest of my body is dry, too,” you blurted out.

What were you thinking? You didn’t even know this man. Trying to get him to touch the rest of your body — stupid girl.

William’s breathing hitched. “As in . . . your knees as well?”

“. . .”

He cleared his throat. “Well, then. Put them out, over my lap.”

You bit your lower lip, watching on as he rubbed his hands over your legs. His touch was so warm and it felt more like a massage. You felt bad about doing this, leading him on. If he was right about the time travel, then you couldn’t entertain any sort of relationship with him. It wouldn’t be fair. 

But it was just an act of service. It didn’t mean much, right?

“Oh, that’s nice,” you said, resting your head on the bed. You felt a bit off allowing a random man to do this to you, but he wasn’t random now, was he? He had saved you. And besides, he was he who insisted he rub the lotion in the first place.

“What is the future like?” William asked. “Is there another war?”

“Sort of. Not really,” you answered, which panicked William. “Don’t worry. If you’re talking about America and Russia, no one dies.”

William chuckled. “I should hope not. I don’t fancy serving in another world war.”

“You served?” you asked curiously. 

“Yes. As a captain in the British Army.”

You supposed it was normal. Most men in this time either signed up for the military or were drafted. You couldn’t imagine the horrors William must have gone through. You would never be able to understand the trauma he carried with him. You were curious, but you knew better than to ask. He didn’t need your pity, and you certainly didn’t want to offend him.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“For what?”

“That it had to happen. War and all that.”

“Does war not happen in the future?”

Now you felt a little stupid.

“Well — yes. It does. I’m just sorry. We learned about the world wars in history — and I just — I’m not claiming to know anything. Yeah, sorry.” You looked down.

William didn’t say anything to that. He just kept rubbing your dry skin. Afterward, he put the lotion away and sat next to you, running his fingers through your hair.

“I expect stories from you. I want to hear everything about the future.” 

You still didn’t believe you were in the past, at least, not completely.

 “You can tell me as we pass through town,” he added.

“I need to wash my clothes first.”

Willian narrowed his eyes. “You’re not going to wear that anymore.”

“Why not?”

He pursed his lips. “It’s too revealing. A woman should never go out wearing those types of clothing.” He sighed. “Perhaps it’s different in the future, but here, you’ll get hurt if you dress like that.” He continued playing with your hair. “I want you to be safe. So, you have to promise me that you’ll stay by my side at all times, yes?”

You nodded. You always thought that if you caught men talking to you like this, you would slap them, but here you were, turned on by William’s sexism. It was different, you reasoned. He was more focused on protecting you than restricting you. Was it bad that you found that hot?

“Good girl,” he said proudly. “Good girl.”

+++

Walking through town had been more of a frightening experience than you expected. You realized, without a shadow of a doubt, that you were indeed in the past. Producing a prank with this level of investment and money was pointless, and you never had any mental issues in the past, so why would one suddenly show up now? And even if it did, you couldn’t possibly be imagining this all in your head. 

All the cars were shiny and new, yet old models, ones that wouldn’t be produced in the future. All the women and men wore traditional clothing, like the dress William picked out for you. The hairstyles were medium-length and curled, or slicked back, with lots of gel and products used to keep them in place. You were grateful William didn’t ask you to do any of that. Not that you would have let him. At a certain point, you would have drawn a line.

“I have to get back,” you told William as you walked on a trail. “The machine has something to do with it. I just have to figure out how it works.”

“That’s an engineering job,” he pointed out.

“I’m good at math and science. I work in advanced technology, so I should be able to figure something out. All it needs is a bit of testing . . . I was wondering if I could stay with you for a while until I figure out a place to stay. I’ll give you all the money I have and I promise I’ll find a job — ”

“ — No need. Stay as long as you like. I don’t want your money. I won’t stop you from finding a job, but it’s not necessary. I can handle any expenses.”

You didn’t argue with him. He didn’t seem averse to the idea of letting a stranger stay at his place. It made sense. People in this time were more hospitable and open (at least, when they felt like it), and William, being a man from the forties, would never allow you to carry any of the financial burden.

You still felt a little bad. 

“Thank you. It means a lot to me. Now, what is it you want to hear about the future?”

William’s eyes lit up excitedly. “Do flying cars exist?”

You chuckled. “No. But we have self-driving ones.”

“Self-driving? How do they work?”

You paused. You had no idea. “I’m not sure. They probably have sensors to detect other cars. And, well, there’s a map. So it’s connected to a satellite . . .”

“Satellite?”

“It’s this thing in space. It does . . . stuff. It’s manmade.”

“Space? Have we discovered alien life?”

“No. But we have sent rovers to Mars and we’ve landed a person on the moon.”

William stopped walking. “The moon?” he repeated, bewildered. “Have you gone?”

I wish. “It’s only for astronauts. You have to be trained for that sort of stuff.”

“And when did this all happen?”

“Around the 1960s. There was a space race between America and Russia, and America won.”

Once you got the ball rolling, William would not stop asking questions. You answered them as best as you could and avoided topics like the current political climate and weaponry and all that. After he was done with all the serious stuff, like advancements in science and whether robots had taken over the world yet, he moved on to more social and cultural topics. You were relieved to find out that he wasn’t racist or homophobic or incredibly misogynistic. If anything he was rather tame about it all, and was glad that women had earned more rights, though he seemed upset that the dynamic of a gentlemanly husband and lady-like housewife wasn’t pushed upon society. 

“There’s nothing wrong with things going the opposite way around,” he had said. “Two people of the same gender marrying. It’s only that women need to be looked after, and if she doesn’t want to work, then it is her man’s obligation to do it for her. And in return, she must be obedient and serve him whenever he pleases — whether it’s by cleaning the house or . . . other things.”

“And what if she doesn’t want it?” you questioned, referring to the other things.

“A man should always make sure she likes it.”

You could practically feel all the feminism leaving your body at that.

The conversation ended when you reached back home (home? It’s not your home, you reminded yourself). William replaced your bandages with care. You were already starting to feel better, since the cut wasn’t too big, and you offered to help with cooking dinner this time.

After that, you decided to tinker with the box.

It was made out of some type of metal, with two different dials on the top and a button on the side. But it wasn’t like anything you’d ever seen before. The first dial went from zero to nine (zero being nulla) in Roman numerals, and had four hands, each of them colored in order: red, green, blue, and yellow. Respectively, there were four tiny colored knobs on the side, like the ones by a watch, where you could move each hand. The other dial was the same case.

“It must be the date,” you said aloud to yourself. “But which is which?”

Taking a gamble, you pressed the button, but it didn’t do anything. All it did was signal a small lens to start blinking red. 

“Are you sure you should do that now?” William asked, coming up from behind you. “Look at this.” He crouched to your level on the floor. “Your eyes have bags underneath them. You’re still tired.”

You rubbed the area beneath your eyes. Did they really have bags? You hadn’t realized.

“I should probably go to sleep then,” you said, putting the box down and getting up.

William walked you over to the bedroom, and was about to leave when you asked, “Where are you sleeping?”

“The couch.”

You frowned. “It’s your house and I’m your guest. You’ve already done so much for me – ”

“— If you’re going to suggest you sleep on the couch, then it’s a no. That’s final.”

“But — ”

“ — Final.”

You sighed. “Then come sleep with me. I’ll stay on the floor—”

“ — No—”

“ — Then we can share the bed. We’ll put a wall of pillows between us, like this.” You grabbed a pillow and placed it in the middle of the bed, separating the two sides. “Not so bad, see?”

William relented. “Alright.”

He crawled into bed with you. His hair fell over his face as he adjusted, and the last rays of sunlight coated his body in colors of orange and yellow. If your phone wasn’t dead, you would have asked him to sit still for a picture, because at this moment, he truly looked breathtaking. He was a beautiful man. You wondered if he knew it.

“What?” William asked when he noticed you staring.

Flustered, you turned your head to look up at the ceiling. “Nothing. I was just making sure you were comfy.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see William lick his lower lip. 

“You’re a sweet lass,” he commented. “You always think about others first.”

He reached over, and for a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you (which, admittedly, despite having had a wet dream about him, scared you), but he only brushed a small speck of dust off your shoulders and murmured “Goodnight”, before burying his chin into the blanket and drifting off into sleep.

You followed in suit soon after. A part of you was hoping that you could start a life here. You’d buy a nice house and live out a simple and peaceful life. You and William didn’t even have to be romantically involved. You could just be friends, and you would be happy with that. 

But a part of you also hoped that when you woke up the next morning you would be back in your own bed, in your small one-story house that you remember being so excited about buying. You knew you would never like living here in the long term. There were too many things wrong with this time and you didn’t want to be the brunt of its issues. Not only that but being aware of all the tragedies that would soon occur . . . Did you want to be faced with the moral dilemma of whether or not you should stop them? How would your presence affect things in the future? After living your whole life in 2023, you could never adjust to life in 1946. 

You had to find a way back. There was simply no other choice. 

+++

William showed you many things. Just as he was interested in the future, you were interested in the past. The things that excited you most of all were old-school versions of what you had in the future. Washing machines, refrigerators — they were all so different, yet the same, and it was fascinating. 

You even met a few people in town. They were nice enough to hold a conversation with, though they found it weird that you lacked decorum and the social understanding of the time. The women were chatty and mildly passive-aggressive, and the men — well, the men flirted with you quite openly.

William had told people that you were family, someone related but not close enough to be bothered with technical terms like cousin or niece. No one asked questions when you two explained it like that. All the men must have thought that if you were his family and that if you had no ring on your finger you must be looking for a partner.

You were charmed by their advances, but never serious about them. Besides, William hardly let them get a word in before he shooed them away.

By the time weeks and weeks had passed you became acquainted with everyone, seen every sight to see — including the swan lake William took you to — and become close enough to William that he opened up to you. You learned that while he wasn’t an orphan, his parents never held much interest in him other than the occasional birthday letter, and the reason he came out here so far away from the city was to find peace of mind.

You grew to admire him, and you were sure he grew to admire you, too. And soon, you started to feel a certain type of way. A way that made you daydream about all the things that could be, only for reality to stomp across it and remind you of the harsh truth. 

+++

William was driving a car, a modern car, your car. He was humming a little tune on the radio, singing some lyrics, hands loosely holding the wheel as he passed by a gas station. It was some Taylor Swift song, and you remember faintly thinking: Of course, he likes Taylor Swift.

He looked over to you. You were sitting by his side, a passenger princess, looking out the window. All of a sudden it was night and you two were driving down a lonely road, parking by the side of some lake. In the distance, you could hear crickets and ribbits, but you paid them no mind.

You were curled up in William’s arms, looking out the sunroof of the car, the light of the moon gently descending through the glass. You offered him a piece of chocolate, and you two just sat there, in the dark, nibbling on snacks and observing the sky, until you woke up.  

+++

William had to leave for work, like usual. He again told you not to leave his property line or stray out too far, which, again, was fine by you because most days were cold and bitter.

You spent your time messing around with the box, careful not to touch the wires in the back. Once you put your mind to it, you figured out how it worked. You paid attention to where the hands were currently located and found something promising. The first dial’s hands had the numbers I, IX, IV, and VI, and the second dial was nulla, IX, nulla, and V. Alone, you wouldn’t have been able to tell what the numbers meant, but with context, you understood. The first dial was the year, and the second one was the month and date.

You didn’t quite understand how the box brought you from the future, but that didn’t matter, as it was broken. There was a little loose piece on the backside that had been damaged — a little dent, probably when you were first transported here. All you had to do was plug it back in, but the only problem was, you didn’t have a screwdriver, and you certainly weren’t going to wrench your fingers near a bunch of wires.

When William came back you told him your solution. He agreed and said that tomorrow he would take you to a local store to buy a screwdriver, and he even apologized for not having one in his house. But for now, he said he wanted to take you out to lunch.

“Lunch?” you questioned nervously. Was he asking you out on a date?

You thought about it for a moment. You did want to go, but your mind was too preoccupied with getting back to your time. Besides, it wasn’t fair to him. You did like him, but you two could never actually be together. It was all in your head.

It’s all in your head.

“You know I’ll have to go back someday,” you said, watching William’s expression become more neutral as if he was hiding his emotions. “I dunno . . . I’m getting a little attached to you,” you said with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

William seemed to understand where you were going with this. “It won’t be like that. I wouldn’t blame you,” he said earnestly, taking a step forward. “We ought to enjoy our time together, while it’s still here.”

He made a valid point, enough to convince you. He had been doing that an awful lot. Convincing you. 

William took you out to a nice restaurant. The food was a bit plain, but it was good and wholesome. It reminded you a lot of William’s cooking, only fancier and more well-presented. Not only that, but the atmosphere felt calming and almost romantic. You noticed that most of the people here were couples, holding hands and giggling with each other, however young or old.

Was this William’s intention? Did he like like you? Or was this just him being courteous? You couldn’t imagine that many people here were used to dating or one-night stands. But you wouldn’t know unless you asked him, and you were too nervous to do that. Besides, you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself. William was a very traditional man, would he even want a woman like you? A 21st-century girl?

After you two were finished eating you engaged in another walk. 

“Come closer,” William said, holding out his arm for you to take. If you didn’t have any self-control, you would have jumped his bones right then and there. He was right. He was a gentleman. No man in the future would have done this for you unless they were trying to make a joke out of it.

You placed your hand on William’s arm hesitantly, trying to figure out the exact placement, walking side by side with him. It was a little cold, however, and you shivered, catching William’s attention almost instantly.

“Oh, you poor thing,” William cooed, talking of his coat and wrapping it around you. It smelled of him, a little musky, smoky like a cigarette, but in a very subtle way. “You’re so nervous. Have you never had a man do this for you?” he asked. “Hold out his arm for you to take, give you his coat?”

“No,” you admitted. “Men don’t do that in the future.”

“I do,” he said, stopping both of you in your tracks. The area was secluded, mostly covered in trees and bushes, far away from any passerby. “I would do that for my woman.”

It was quiet for a moment.

“Well,” you said, wistfully, “whoever she is she’ll be a lucky woman.”

+++

William took you to a local shop to buy a screwdriver next. It all felt very domestic, something that you could get used to. You imagined running errands like this with William in the future. He would be absolutely fascinated by a grocery store, by the internet, by everything. If you thought hard, you could see it — a wondrous smile on his face, a giggle escaping his lips. 

You tried not to think of it that much. After your fantasy passed your thoughts turned sad and cold, because you knew that would never happen. It will never happen. As much as you liked William, you missed your family, you missed your house, you missed everything.

When you both got back home, you plugged the broken piece in and screwed the nail. William watched on beside you, a frown on his face, drinking some tea.

“Here,” he said, inching closer, “I don’t want you exerting pressure on your arm. Let me do it.”

He grabbed a hold of the screwdriver, but he bumped into you in the process. With a gasp, he dropped his cup of tea. It shattered across the floor, glass pieces flying every, hot liquid (thankfully not boiling) splashing all over. You shrieked and backed away, watching as one of the glass shards cut right through one of the wires.

“William!” you snapped, but then your eyes turned watery, because of the cut on your hand.

He immediately went over to you, careful not to step on any glass, and picked you up bridal style, moving you away from the mess and towards the couch. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out, looking panicked. “It was an honest mistake — I’m so so sorry, I can’t believe I just did that — are you hurt?”

You laughed at the absurdity of it all, even though you were clutching your finger in pain. It was a very small cut, something that would be healed within a day. “Calm down, William. I’m fine. Are you hurt?”

He shook his head, looking worried, or perhaps, scared was the right word. Yet, you couldn’t figure out why.

“William,” you said slowly. “It’s fine. You do realize we can just fix the wire? I just need a heat-shrinking tube and a soldering iron, nothing I haven’t done before.”

“. . . Oh.”

His tone made you wonder about his intentions. You’d been so caught up on how good of a person he was, helping you and giving you room and food, but really, what was his motive? Because it almost felt like he was trying to get you to stay . . . It sent a sinister feeling down your spine, albeit a tug on your heartstrings as well.

What do you want from me, William? What do you want?

+++

More time had passed. It was difficult to acquire things in this small town, and it occurred to you that such resources were not readily available at this time. You didn’t want to bother William by pestering him to go into the city for materials, so while you would bring up the topic every once in a while, you mostly kept quiet.

You took the chance to relish your break. After all, you weren’t working. It was like a fully paid vacation, so you might as well take advantage of it.

William still had a job, but when he came back, you two would just talk and talk and talk, conversations so smoothly flowing that it felt like you’d known him for years. When you weren’t talking, you were still in each other’s presence, doing your own thing. Occasionally, William would make sneaky moves like wrap his arm around your shoulder, or do the la bise. He claimed he was part French, and it was part of his custom, but even if that were true, you knew the la bise didn’t involve full-on smooches on the cheek.

You never stopped him from doing things like that, but you also never reciprocated, despite how badly you wanted to. All this stalling wouldn’t change the fact that you still had to leave. Not only that, but you were starting to feel homesick. 

You missed calling your friends late at night, you missed watching colored TV, and you missed hot showers. You missed easy-access painkillers for your periods, and searching all your queries on the internet. You missed the future. Badly. And you could just feel that the day of return was near.

+++

“You dance, yes?”

Snapped out of your thoughts, you turned to William. You were both lounging on his couch, relaxing, talking, as the time passed by. He had given you a magazine to read, but you weren’t reading it, just dozing off.

You shrugged. “Yeah. I’ve gone to clubs. But — no, I can’t dance like that — William,” you whined, half-heartedly struggling as he pulled you up to you feet. “I’m going to ruin it, I don’t know where to place my feet or — ”

“ — You could never ruin anything, darling. Your presence alone is enough to satisfy me.” 

You looked away. “You can’t say things like that, William.”

“Why not?”

You took his hands off you before he could even start the music. 

“I don’t like it,” you lied.

William frowned. “That’s alright. Let me hold you. I know you enjoy that.” He chuckled. “When we first met you wouldn’t let go of me.”

The memory, still fresh in your mind, made you flustered. 

“. . . William, what do you want from me?” you decided to ask.

He furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean — what do you want from me?”

William licked his lower lip. “Nothing. I just want to take care of you.”

“But why?”

You could practically feel William’s nervousness. It was like when he dropped that glass. He radiated an almost jumbled energy, a desperate energy.

“Haven’t I made it more obvious?” he finally said, his hands on your waist. He brought his fingers up to brush the hair out of your face. “Am I not clear?”

You knew what he was going to say. But you wanted to hear it from him. “Clear about what?”

“I want you.” Your heart started beating. “I don’t care if you’re not from this time. I don’t care if you have a life in the future — I can be better. I can be your life.”

“. . . William.”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” he said, tilting your chin up so you could look him in the eyes. “I know you want me too. I can see it.”

“But we can’t,” you weakly protested.

“So is this what you do?” His tone grew more sharp. “Imagine things in your head and never act on them?”

You stayed silent. He was putting you in such a difficult position, couldn’t he see that?

“What’s wrong?” he continued. “Am I not good enough?”

“William,” you tried to pull away. “I have to go — ”

He locked you in his arms. Your body was so close your noses were brushing up against each other, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Maybe you’re worried I can’t please you right.”

You could have shouted. Why was he being so forceful? You ignored the way your body grew warm — you couldn’t do this. You couldn’t and so you wouldn’t. 

“I don’t want it,” you lied again.

“Well, I told you, a wife should always submit to her husband’s desires.”

“We’re not married!”

“We will be.”

You froze.

William took your silence as an opportunity. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours, turning his head slightly as his hand rested on the back of your head. You were caught off guard but didn’t try to push away. It felt so nice, and warm and inviting. Why you were denying yourself this? Why were you denying yourself love?

When your lips parted, a string of saliva connecting you both, you placed your hands on his chest. You had an idea. A brilliant idea. Why hadn’t you thought of this before? “William. I still have to go, but — ”

He growled and lifted you up, carrying you over to his bedroom, tossing you onto the bed, and pinning you down on the mattress. “No. I won’t let you. I won’t let you! Don’t you understand? I’m perfect for you — I can — I can.” He looked miserable. In fact, he looked like he was about to cry. “Let me show you,” he said, determined. He started unbuckling his belt with one hand. “Let me show you what I can do.”

You hadn’t realized how hard William was, but when he finally took out his cock — fat and pale, with pre-cum leaking at the tip, his balls a little hairy, you gulped, the area between your legs getting wetter.

“Take off your panties,” he ordered. “And lift up that damn dress.”

You didn’t. To be honest, you were a little frightened by his behavior.

William sighed and did it for you, spreading your legs apart, only for you to shut them close. “You don’t even have a condom!”

“I’ll put out,” he said impatiently, forcing your legs apart again. You gasped, not expecting contact to be made so soon.

He rubbed his cock against your wet cunt, soaking himself. He had this satisfied smile on his face, eyes closed for just a moment, before he looked down at you. 

“I thought I’d have to warm you up a little,” he said. “You’re beau — stop it! Don’t struggle.”

He held your arms down as you writhed. “Please, William — I believe you,” you said. “You can fuck me good. Just listen — ”

William shook his head. “You’re the one who's supposed to listen. Listen and take it.”

With that, he pushed his cock in and started thrusting, hard and fast, your hands still pinned, his face contorted in pleasure. His moans were loud and shameless. He had his head right above yours, peppering small kisses on your lips. You tried to ignore how good it felt — him inside of you, but it was becoming increasingly difficult by the moment. 

“Ah, I knew you weren’t a virgin,” he said, noticing the lack of blood or discomfort. “That’s okay — I still love you.”

“Love?” you repeated, trying to focus, but your abilities were lost when he used his thumb to rub your clit. “Wa-a-it!”

“Don’t say that,” William said, his tone surprisingly soft given how rough his movements were. “I wouldn’t be doing this if I thought you didn’t want it. Just enjoy. Enjoy me.”

The bed was starting to creak, moving back and forth, rubbing up against the wood floor. Your breasts were bouncing, catching William’s eyes every once in a while. His cock slid in and out of you with precision, hitting that swollen part inside of you every time. His thumb on your clit only added to the intense sensation. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, and you stopped struggling. You let your head hit the pillow, mouth parted, breathing heavy and hot. At the same time, you were overcome with a feeling of hurt. You couldn’t deny that you wanted it, but for him to take you so forcibly . . . and for you to actually like it . . .

“Are you alright?” he asked, slowing down his pace a little. He looked you in the eyes. “Do you feel good?”

You thought about lying, about crying out No, please stop!, but that wasn’t the truth, and in the end, your desires overcame you. “Y-yes. I want more.”

William relaxed, and his grip on you loosened. He placed one hand on your hip, the other by the side of your head. 

“You’re beautiful,” he praised. “Every day I look at you and think of how grateful I am that I found you. Laying there in that field, little flowers around you. An angel. My angel.”

You wanted to tell him how grateful you were, too. That it was him who took you in and not someone else, but the words never came out, only sighs and moans, but he seemed to understand what you were trying to say. 

Another kiss.

“You’re soaking me. You’re soaking the sheets.”

A little embarrassed, you turned your head. “M’sorry.”

William forced you to look back at him. “Don’t be sorry. I like knowing how eager you are for me.” 

Another kiss, but this time he slipped his tongue in, sweeping against yours before he pulled away, a string of saliva breaking as he did.

“We’ll live here,” he continued, his thrusts becoming more erratic, “in this house. Together. I’ll take you to the movies, we’ll have picnics in the garden, and I’ll write you love songs on the piano. We’ll have children — a girl, I hope — and she’ll look just like you. It’ll be wonderful,” he promised. “I’ll make you so happy, and you’ll make me happy, too.”

You couldn’t help but ruin the moment. “If I did that I would never see my parents again.”

He frowned and didn’t say anything. Then, “I think you’re getting agitated. You need to come, that’s it. You need to come and then you’ll finally understand what it is you’ll be missing out on if you leave.”

“T-that’s not the point — ”

“ — I’m so close,” he murmured. “Fill you up, so damn tight. Ah, you’re perfect.”

When you realized what he meant your eyes widened and you shook your head adamantly. “You said you’d pull out!”

“That was before. I’ve changed my mind.”

You felt familiar pressure build up inside of you. You could imagine yourself, breasts big with milk, belly round and smooth, William reading children’s books to your unborn baby as if he could be heard. The thought alone made you sickly sweet, the idea that life between you and him could be so domestic.

But couldn’t he just wait for a moment?

“I’ll — ah — be with you — every step of the way,” he grunted. “I won’t leave you. So, don’t be scared.”

“William,” you said shakily. “Just listen — ”

But it was too late. Collapsing on top of you, William poured his hot seed inside your cunt, his whimper addicting, like it was something you could hear a thousand times over. A few seconds later, you fell victim to the same fate, and there you two lay, with each other, chests heaving, bodies sweaty and sticky, coming down from the heights of ecstasy. 

You could feel his heart pound against yours. Thump, thump, thump. And you could feel yours as well. To think that this man had just gotten you pregnant. It all happened so quickly. It happened so quickly and you were completely fine with it.

“William,” you said after finally catching your breath, turning to face him. “You know I still have to go.”

It was his turn to cry. His tears watered up, glassy, his lower lip trembling, but you could tell he was doing his best to keep it in. “But I love you,” he whispered. “Am I not enough?”

It broke your heart to see him like this. So vulnerable in front of you. It was then you knew you were making the right choice, a hundred percent. You had finally found your match. And to think that you almost let him go . . . 

“But I want you to come with me,” you said, hopeful. “Come with me, William. Come with me to the future.”

Taglist: @henrywintersdearestgirl @shroombloom-rry @meetmeatyourworst @mrkdvidal1989 @madnessandobsession @slut4thebroken @qqquartz7 @madeinuk

[delicatebarness]

the Red Rooms | prologue

Summary: In the gritty underground, the Red Rooms is a notorious establishment, in which, you must navigate a perilous hierarchy and prove your worth amidst a world of seduction and power.

Warning: Prostitution/Sex Work. Sexual Harassment/Assault. Violence/Threats. Power Dynamics/Control. Emotional Distress.

Word Count: 1579

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A/N: A lot of you asked for this one so here it is. Also, this is a part of 'Prologue Season' so if you do want more, you gotta let me know :D - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

The Red Rooms: I have tagged everyone from the OG post about this fic, but please let me know if you'd like to be added/removed - @scott-loki-barnes | @bo0mccc | @zuri-767-666 | @buggy14 | @curlycow01 | @waywardhunter95 | @saranghaey | @scoonsalicious | @thezombieprostitute | @crazyunsexycool | @startcarvingdarling | @jae0515

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @mrsnikstan | @lanabuckybarnes

Pulsing like a heartbeat, the city’s neon glow cast long shadows across the grime-slicked streets of the underground district. Among the towering spires of steel and glass, you stood at the doorstep of the more notorious establishment in the district: The Red Rooms. Ran by Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, the sprawling brothel was a labyrinthine for those to seek pleasure and escape. For you, it was neither. You were here out of desperation. 

Inside, an unspoken hierarchy governs the world, symbolized by the height of a girl’s heel. The higher the heel, the more power and influence the girl wields. And, at the pinnacle of this ladder stood Natasha Romanoff. Clawing her way to the top, she proved her worth through years of cunning strength, and an unwavering will. Now, Steve and Bucky entrusted her with an immense responsibility– overseer of the girls, she would recruit, assign, and train the girls in the art of seduction. 

Natasha knew every girl under her command, she understood their strengths and weaknesses, and with sharp eyes and that knowledge, she maintained order and efficiency. So when you, a lost soul, bedraggled and tired, appeared on the doorstep of The Red Rooms, Natasha’s skepticism was palpable. 

You were different from the other girls, too innocent, too fragile– Natasha could tell in your pleading eyes. 

“Please,” you begged, your voice small and trembling. “I need a chance. I’ll do anything.” 

Narrowing her eyes, Natasha’s lips curled, a mix of amusement and disbelief. “Anything, you say?” she mused, tapping her manicured fingers against the back of her clipboard. “Alright,” she finally said, her voice firm. “But, you need to prove yourself or you’re out. And, you’ll start from the bottom, in flats.” 

“Thank you,” you beamed up at her, your gratitude boundless. “I won’t let you down.” 

Her tone left no room for failure as Natasha replied. “See that you don’t.” 

Swelling within you, your gratitude was overshadowed quickly by the reality of your situation. The world you were thrown into was as foreign as it was ruthless. Eyes mixed with curiosity and disdain followed you, towering heels clicked against the grime, and sticky floors as they passed. You were a lamb among wolves, out of place.

The menial tasks were assigned to you at first– scrubbing the floors, fetching drinks, and running errands. “Here,” Natasha said, handing you a mop and bucket, “the VIP lounge needs cleaning. Make it quick; clients hate waiting.” 

Nodding, you got straight to work, knowing that each task you completed was one step closer to proving yourself. Slowly, Natasha began to see glimpses of your strength as she watched you closely, her sharp eyes never missing anything. 

~

The girls in The Red Rooms rarely saw their bosses, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes– preferring to remain in the shadows, the men oversaw their empire from their office. They were only known to descend when they were bored and in need of entertainment themselves. 

One night, as the red hue of the lights flickered and the floor buzzed the murmurs of secrets and transactions, the men stood observing the floor from their office, taking in every detail. That was when you caught Steve’s gaze. 

“Why the fuck is there a lost puppy on the floor?” He muttered to Bucky, annoyance and curiosity laced in his tone. Bucky stood with an inscrutable expression as his gaze followed Steve’s, landing on you. “What is Romanoff thinking?” 

The men continued to watch you, for a moment longer, Steve’s eyes narrowing as he assessed your movements. You could sense the intensity of their stares, the weight of Steve’s scrutiny, even from the floor below, and it made you nervous. A heat rose within you, flushing your cheeks. You tried to focus on your tasks and ignore them.

Later, Steve called Natasha up to the office. “Romanoff, what’s the deal with the new girl?” he demanded in a low but firm voice. “She’s not even in heels. We have a reputation to uphold.” 

Meeting his gaze, Natasha never flinched. “She’s different, Rogers. She needs a little time… but she has spirit and is an eager learner.” 

Steve’s eyes darkened as they bore into hers, he searched for any sign of doubt. “She better be worth it. We can’t afford any liabilities.” 

“She will be,” Natasha assured him, her tone unwavering. “Just trust me on this.” 

With a grunt, Steve dismissed Natasha. He was not entirely convinced, yet he knew better than to question her judgment. After all, she had earned her position through intelligent decisions. Meanwhile, Bucky’s intrigue grew. He stayed stood at the window, watching you more closely. An instinct coursed through him– he had to ensure you were safe from the predatory patrons. 

As the nights went on, the pressure mounted. Now and then, you’d catch a glimpse of Bucky observing from above, his presence felt like a warning but yet, a strange comfort. On this particular night, Natasha handed you a tray of drinks. 

“Serve them,” she instructed, nodding and pushing you by the small of your back toward a table of upstaters in the VIP lounge. “And remember; confidence.” 

Taking a deep breath, you approached the table. Keeping your hands steady despite the growing flutter in your stomach, you served them quickly and efficiently. The clients barely looked up at you, engrossed in their conversation, except for one. A taller man, with a gleam in his eyes, took an interest in you. His gaze lingered as you bent to place the drinks on the table. Suddenly, you felt his hand start to slide up the back of your leg. 

“Well, aren’t you a sweet little thing,” he murmured, his fingers tracing patterns along your inner thigh. “How much for you?” 

Fear and discomfort flooded your senses, causing you to freeze in the moment. Remember Natasha’s advice, you tried to remain composed. “Confidence,” her voice echoed in your mind. Straightening up, you forced a polite smile as you began moving away from his reach. 

His grip tightened against your skin before you could escape. “Don’t be shy, baby,” he cooed, a smirk played on his lips. “I don’t bite… hard.” 

“I-I’m not available t-tonight,” you stuttered, your voice betraying you. The fear gnawed at you. “An-another time, p-perhaps?” You tried to retreat again, but he wasn’t having it. His hand only tightened, and before you knew it, he pulled you closer.

“Come on,” he said, his smirk growing as he dragged you onto his lap. “Let’s have a little fun.”

Your heart began to race as you struggled against his hold, panic surging through you. “Please, I–” 

Just then, a shadow detached itself from the darkness. Emerging with a swift and decisive stride, Bucky’s expression was a mask of controlled fury. His presence commanded the attention in an instant. 

“Let her go,” he was cold, authoritative. The man flinched under the carried weight of Bucky’s tone. With an intensity, promising trouble, his eyes locked onto the man’s.

The man’s confidence wavered, faltering his grip as he met Bucky’s gaze. “Hey, I was just–”

“Not interested,” Bucky cut him off, no argument brooked in his tone. Reaching out, he firmly but calmly pulled you away from the man’s lap. “If you have any more questions, you can take them up with me.” 

Realizing he was outmatched, the man grumbled and slunk back, he was deflated. Guiding you away from the table, Bucky’s touch was gentle. He led you out of the immediate fray, to a quieter corner. 

“Are you alright, little pup?” Bucky softly asked, his voice laced with concern.

You nodded, trying to steady your breathing. Once you looked up at him, your eyes were wide and tear-filled, and your lower lip trembled slightly. “T-thank you, M-Mr Barnes, I didn’t t-think–”

Bucky’s expression softened, and for a moment there was a rare flicker of empathy in his eyes. “No need to thank me,” he interrupted, his gaze steady and reassuring. “Just doing my job.” 

Your voice was barely above a whisper, shaking your head. “I just… I don’t want to get in trouble.” 

“You’re not in trouble,” Bucky said firmly, his hand reaching to cup your cheek, his thumb reassuringly wiping a stray tear away. “You’re doing your best, and that’s enough. If anyone gives you trouble, you come straight to me. Is that understood, pup?”

Biting your lip to hold back more tears, you nodded again. “I understand, Mr Barnes.” 

“Good girl,” he replied gently, his protective gaze lingered on you a moment longer before he took a step back. His hand slipped away from your cheek as he straightened up, but his eyes never left yours. “Now, get back out there, there are drinks to be served.” 

“Y-yes, sir,” you whispered, wiping away the last of your tears, your resolve strengthening. 

With a final nod, Bucky turned on his heel and disappeared back into the shadows. Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and stepped back onto the floor. The crowd murmured, swelling around you. 

As you moved through the floor, you couldn’t help but feel the eyes of the patrons on you, you held your head high this time. Balancing your tray of drinks with newfound confidence and a determination to push forward. 

You caught sight of Natasha, giving you a slight nod of approval before her eyes flickered briefly toward the shadows, where Bucky stood watching. And, with each tray you served, your fear and hesitation diminished. 

---

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[innerfare]

Beckman Fluff // Angst Compilation

Summary: A compilation of Beckman angst and fluff from my multi character posts (You're Wounded, Type of Date, Paradise, Nightmares, I Love You, Kisses, Cuddling, You're Sick).

Genre: Fluff // Angst

CW: None // SFW

———

You’re Wounded: 

Sees to your wound without a word, making sure it’s disinfected and bandaged and receives proper care until its healed. Places a soft, quiet kiss atop your head, doesn’t say a word. Makes a mental plan to avoid similar situations in the future. 

Type of Date: 

I know he doesn’t canonically own a motorcycle but I just really can see him having one and taking you out for a long, evening ride as a date (maybe a canonical equivalent would be him taking you out on the water, but we’re sticking with the motorcycle for now). You maybe end up on a cliffside sitting together on a picnic blanket, sharing a snack and something to drink. He might read to you, or you might just sit in comfortable silence with your head on his shoulder or his in your lap. Might also take you to a bookstore or small coffee shop he's been going to for ages. And wherever you go with Beckman, the two of you always end up watching the sunset together. 

Paradise 1: 

Climbing out of bed before dawn because neither of you can sleep, having a cup of coffee, and walking hand in hand down the beach, stopping to bend down and pick up rare seashells to add to the collection on the bookshelf in your bedroom, not talking much at all but simply admiring your shared bounty in the pale dawn light as the sun creeps over the horizon.   

Paradise 2: 

Waiting until late evening to meet beneath a peach tree, speaking at first in hushed tones, worrying someone is on to the two of you, eventually forgetting about all of that and settling into easy conversation about nothing and everything simultaneously, him jumping up to pick a peach for you to have as an evening snack, you taking advantage of the last bit of light to carve both of your initials into the tree trunk. 

Nightmares: 

You’re in the clutches of the marines. Beckman had a past before Shanks, a past that involved deserting the marines and going on the run from the World Government, and there’s a small part of him that never did overcome the fear of that past catching up to him. Worse still, he has a fear of that past catching up to you, and that fear comes to life in his dreams, when you’re thrown into Impel Down for his crimes and he’s forced to watch them dunk you in boiling water over and over again. He wakes with you asleep on his chest, the same as every night, and the skin to skin contact calms him down, but not enough for him to go back to sleep. 

I Love You: 

He’s always visiting you on your home island, either finding excuses to plot a course straight to you or sneaking away for a few days. It’s only as he’s leaving one evening that it strikes him: he loves you. It takes him a very long time to decide to tell you. Given his lifestyle, a relationship isn’t exactly easy, and he would be putting you in danger should anyone learn your association to him. Plus, he enjoys his freedom. He works it over in his head for months, to the point Shanks even asks him about what’s bothering him, though Beckman doesn’t fess up. But he just can’t get you out of his head. He can’t sleep, he can’t eat, he can’t even focus in a fight. One late night, he returns to his cabin to find Shanks waiting. His captain has puzzled out what has the first mate in such a state, and Shanks tells him to go take care of his business. Beckman agrees and turns up at your doorstep at three in the morning with some flowers he picked on the side of the road because he felt awkward showing up empty handed. You lead him into your kitchen and make him something to drink, thinking something horrible has happened, only for him to confess his love for you. He’s not shy about saying it after that, always making sure to tell you when he greets you and says goodbye, as well as several times in between. 

Kisses: 

Doesn’t kiss you in public (or show any affection in public, really). You’re the type of couple that nobody can tell is together. But when you’re behind closed doors, you’ll receive quite a few different types of kisses: the deep and sensual kisses that always lead to something more, the slow kisses down your neck when he’s tired but wants you so bad, the lingering kisses he places on either your cheek or hand when his mind is elsewhere, the sweet kisses on your forehead before he rolls out of bed in the morning. And when his mind is elsewhere, the best way to get him out of his head is to kiss up his biceps and across his broad shoulders. 

Cuddling: 

He’s not really one for PDA, and he’s not even particularly clingy behind closed doors, but he expects to be able to hold you every night. He has big arms and he puts them to good use, wrapping them around you in bed while the two of you talk about nothing and everything, Beckman taking the opportunity to get stuff off his chest that’s been bothering him. 

You’re Sick: 

The type to hold you through it. He can’t do much more, he knows that, so he focuses on what he can control, such as making you feel safe and warm (and ensuring you don’t try to get out of bed before you’re ready). He starts feeling a little under the weather himself after a while, but he doesn’t tell you that, wanting you to focus on your own health. 

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