#he's my type.... tall and skinny with brown hair... [shakes fist].....
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i forgot to mention this in the earlier post but also its kind of interesting to see how my crushes have changed over time
#mine#as a result of lots of things including 1. adctual relationship experience (or lack thereof) 2. growing up and maturing/becoming more stable#& 3. transitioning (seriously)#(as someone who was once an estrogenized hormonal teenager and is now a testosteronized hormonal semi-teenager#crushes are totally different#but also so similar at the same time#)#anyway#i had more to say but i forgot it. i just want him so bad. excuse me#he's my type.... tall and skinny with brown hair... [shakes fist].....#and his stupid glasses...his stupid cute smile.....his stupid arms and hands that i feel gay about........................#i wish everyone on earth exploded#i also wish he was my b*yfriend. you didn't hear me say that though.#but i want him
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speed racer- eren jaeger
pairing: eren jaeger x fem!reader
word count: 6k
content warnings: nsfw, smut, 18+, smoking, degradation, overstimulation, breeding (w/o baby talk)
notes: 100% inspired by the official art, like mmm yes please. also i know absolutely nothing about how car racing works, but that’s not important. this is unedited because my brain turned to mush writing it. enjoy!! <3
SUMMARY: eren’s a semi-professional car racer, who has a tumultuous friendship with the reader. after losing a race, eren sets out to win something else in his life, much to the reader’s surprise.
“took you long enough!” sasha called out, holding her hand above her eyes in an attempt to block out the bright sun. you dished her a smile, weaving your way through the throngs of people in the stands, attempting not to step on anyone. your eyes briefly flitted to the track, the assistants distantly getting their cars ready. they were hardly visible from here; merely faceless figures idling around. you heaved out a sigh as you reached sasha, the brunette gingerly patting the spot next to her.
“you couldn’t have gotten better seats, sash?” you asked as you sat down, pushing your sunglasses on top of your head. sasha waved her large bag of popcorn in front of your face, an exasperated expression on her features.
“the line was long, and what’s a race without popcorn?” she grinned, offering you the bag. you rolled your eyes but took a fistful of the bright yellow snack nonetheless. “plus, if you really wanted that good of seats, you would’ve come early yourself.”
“i did come here early,” you retorted, your voice muffled by the popcorn. sasha raised a questioning brow, her elbow nudging you in the side.
“getting here early just so you can poke around the racer’s quarters is not the same thing,” she singsonged, a girlish smirk on her face. you scoffed, turning away from her as you felt heat race to your cheeks. “c’mon, everyone knows you and eren are totally into each other. i don’t understand why you guys don’t just go for it.”
“i wasn’t poking around, and i am not into eren,” you said, shifting uncomfortably as the words left your mouth. it was true, to some degree. the two of you had been friends in high school, back when eren was just some skinny kid with anger issues. now he was a semi-professional racer, and the rivalry between the two of you was palpable, to say the least.
you’d been in the same friend group and for some reason eren just loved to pick on you whenever he got the chance. you suspected it had something to do with his repressed daddy issues or whatever, and he’d known mikasa and armin far too long to be so catty with them. initially they were just playful taunts, but as you got older, they started to become more personal. with age came your own unchecked need to banter and argue with him.
somewhere along the way the arguments turned to sexual tension. a sexual tension that for the most part, the two of you were happy to ignore. it allowed room for a more sassy friendship, at least.
“uh huh, suuure,” sasha responded, seemingly unconvinced. she must’ve sensed your discomfort, deciding to change the topic. “who’s who?”
your eyes traced the track, analyzing each vehicle. “armin’s in yellow, mikasa’s in red, eren’s in white, and i believe levi is in green.”
“levi’s racing? isn’t he getting a little old for that?” sasha laughed, squinting. you chuckled.
“it’s just a small fundraiser race, plus he’s a crowd favorite over here,” you explained. sasha nodded as she processed the information. the sun was hot, beating down on your back. “i’m honestly surprised this many people came out.”
sasha tossed more popcorn in her mouth, halfway done with the bag despite the race still not having started. she offered it to you again. “mhm, this is the same type of crowd that we’d see in the underground.”
you thought back to your days of attending the illegal races, late at night and under the cover of darkness. though you were just a junior in college, it felt like those nights freshman year had been decades ago. that was before eren showed real promise in the professional circuit. it was also where levi scouted him out to be his successor.
as if on cue, you could see the figures of the racers emerging from the port, each headed for their respective cars. you couldn’t help the way your gaze immediately followed the tall, brown haired racer adorned in his white racing jacket, checkers on the side. the crowd erupted into cheers at the sight of the all the racers, one from each color of the rainbow. eren walked with a certain confidence, his adamant determination being one of the only things that followed him from high school.
though you couldn’t clearly see his face from where you sat, you knew he was smiling. eren had always loved the adrenaline rush before a race.
“alright ladies and gentlemen, we welcome you to the annual shiganshina fundraiser race!” the reporter boomed over the intercom. sasha squealed in her seat, excitedly gripping your arm and pointing towards your friends. you felt a mix of excited nervousness waft over you, giggling along with her. “today we’ve got racers from all over the circuit, and each one has volunteered their precious time for the cause. can we get a round of applause?”
the crowd erupted in yet another ear deafening round of applause as the announcer read off the names of each of the racers. you and sasha made sure to scream your loudest when armin, mikasa, and eren’s names were read off.
you hoped they knew it was you, your throat scratchy as you sat back down. there was no need to be loud for levi; the entire crowd went absolutely feral at the mention of his name.
the announcer read off the conditions of the race, as well as the reasoning for the fundraiser itself. you and sasha chatted quietly about the after party while the racers put their helmets on and got in their cars. before too long, the announcer was gearing up for the start.
“alright everyone, we’re about to start. get yourselves ready.”
you and sasha stood, hollering and cheering for your friends as the cars all lined up. you knew you’d be happy if any of them crossed the finish line first, but it was undeniable that it would be eren. it wasn’t armin or mikasa’s passion like it was eren’s; they viewed it more as as fun hobby. nevertheless, you dreaded how smug eren would be once he added another win to his already growing list. he really was a bastard sometimes.
“racers ready your cars. 3... 2... 1... go!”
they were off, levi’s green car easily settling into first place, cruising past the other cars as he whipped around the first curve. you held your breath, eyes scanning the other cars placements. eren was in fourth, armin in fifth, and mikasa in second. sasha yelled sporadically, reaching out and squeezing your wrist tightly.
as they rounded the circuit for the second time, eren passed the third place racer, coming up behind mikasa’s red car. you held your breath. “c’mon eren...”
“shit! he passed her!” sasha screeched, jumping up and down. you smiled as he whipped the corner, nearly cutting the edge of the median.
“levi is still so far ahead,” you commented, trying to pry sasha’s death grip from your wrist. your eyes glanced to the clock, realizing that the race was near its finish. levi was cutting the third corner and eren was quickly gaining on him.
“looks like it’s gonna be clo-” sasha’s voice was cut off as a large man tripped over the bleacher behind you, effectively shoving you into her side. “shit, the popcorn!”
you regained your balance, giving the man behind you a dirty glare as you turned to sasha. she frowned at the popcorn that’d been spilled all over the ground. “what a waste!”
looking back up at the track, the crowd broke into screams of excitement. you expected to see eren’s face on the big screen to the side as confetti streamed through the air, but were surprised to see levi’s unimpressed stare.
eren lost?
“you’ve gotta be shitting me,” sasha gaped, her face slack in shock. you shrugged, shaking the feeling of disappointment from your shoulders. serves him right.
people started to vacate the stands, shoving their way past you as you turned to sasha. “let’s go find connie and jean, sash.”
she nodded, still frowning. the two of you climbed down the steps, going against the flow of the crowd as you weaseled your way down onto the spectators path. you could see all of the racers shaking hands, congratulating each other. your mind briefly considered whether or not eren was going to be upset, but you decided not to dwell on it.
you watched as the racers disappeared into the tunnel, eren’s tall figure no longer in view. just then, connie and jean came walking out from the service booth, both wearing their maintenance coveralls.
sasha wildly waved her arm, grabbing your hand and pulling you through the remaining stragglers towards your friends.
“hey guys!” she smiled, the boys jogging to meet you halfway.
“why were you guys in such shit seats?” connie asked, skipping over a greeting. you let out a small laugh at sasha’s expense. she merely shrugged, turning to jean.
“we going to your place?” you questioned before she had the chance. jean nodded, adjusting the backwards baseball cap on his head.
“yeah, just gotta wrap some things up, then we can head out,” he replied. you grew happy at the thought of kicking back with your friends, enjoying a nice night of fun. parties at jean and connie’s place were always the best.
***************
“some race that was,” connie groaned, leaning back and bringing the beer bottle to his lips. so far it was just you, sasha, connie, jean, and a bunch of random drunk people who’d come from the track. sasha scoffed from her spot on the worn, brown couch.
“you could say that again,” she grumbled. “we didn’t even get to see levi cross the finish line ‘cause some guy rammed into us.”
jean looked at you from where he leaned against the wall, a bottle in his hand and his eyebrows raised. “wait, for real?”
“yeah,” you sighed, drinking whatever bitter liquid sasha had poured into your red solo cup. “didn’t even say sorry.”
“how many times do i have to tell you guys, just come work maintenance with jean-boy and i,” connie suggested, wrapping his arm around sasha’s shoulder and giving a squeeze. she rolled her eyes and shoved him off. “you guys would get to watch the race from the track itself.”
“i don’t know the first thing about cars,” sasha laughed, you nodding along with her.
“and you think we do? i just said that so we could get the best seats in the house,” connie snorted, taking another swig of his drink. you chuckled at his idiocy, unfazed by yet another one of their stupid stunts. “where’re the big racers anyway?”
“they should be here soon,” you responded, glancing out the window. jean was unironically blasting the fast and the furious soundtrack, something he’d done after every race for as long as you’d known him. by now the songs were ingrained in your brain.
“who wants to bet jaeger is in a pissy mood?” jean snorted as he moved to sit down on the arm of the chair you were planted in.
“when isn’t he?” you sneered. connie and sasha hummed in agreement. both you and jean loved nothing more than to push eren’s buttons. you knew jean’s motives stemmed from some boyish fun, whereas yours felt a little more personal.
the sound of clapping began to compete with the music, your neck craning to look past jean into the hallway. eren, armin, and mikasa came into view, people cheering them on and patting them on the back. they each wore their racing jackets over their street clothes.
you felt a familiar sensation burn in your stomach at the sight of eren. his dark hair was pulled back per usual, wispies framing his tan face. The white jacket stood out against his black t-shirt and black jeans; key necklace he always wore glinting against his chest. as your gaze travelled up from his body, you were startled to make contact with his teal eyes. you quickly glanced away in embarrassment.
“well, well, well,” jean cheered, raising his bottle to the trio. “how’d it feel to lose to a short, old man, eh jaeger?”
eren scowled, obviously peeved. “if i had to lose to anyone, i’m glad it was levi.”
connie snorted at that. “man, professional circuit has you soft.”
“whatever you say, baldie,” eren smirked mischievously as he came to sit down on the couch. connie defensively rubbed his head. “at least i’m making money in prof.”
“i still can’t believe you have people that actually want to sponsor you,” you snipped, a playful expression on your face. eren lazily looked towards you, the familiar irritation laced in his eyes.
“i’m sorry, what was that? i wasn’t listening to you,” eren retorted, looking as unbothered as ever. you glared at his words, but caught armin’s disapproving eye and decided to stay quiet.
as the night carried on, you watched your friends relax and reminisce about previous races and the days spent in the illegal ring. it seemed crazy that your life was so centered around car races, when you weren’t even a racer yourself. but you supposed you were just happy to be supporting your friends.
at some point you got up out of your chair to refill your cup. the large hoards of people had started to dance; the house feeling hot and humid as you shoved your way to the kitchen. luckily the room was empty, save for armin who was drinking water out of the kitchen tap.
“thirsty?” you asked, amused. his head snapped up, surprised by your voice. it took one look to tell he was absolutely trashed, face red and eyes half lidded. he smiled goofily and nodded his head before stumbling back out into the crowd of people.
you quickly filled your cup, following the direction armin had gone. as you stepped out of the kitchen, a body came out of nowhere and smacked into you.
eren jumped back, trying to avoid the liquid that sloshed out of your cup. “hey, watch it!” he hissed.
“you watch it, casanova,” you snapped, irritated by the sticky alcohol that dripped down your hand. eren’s eyes narrowed at the nickname, his arms defensively crossing his chest.
“i told you not to call me that,” he bit back, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. you rolled your eyes, instinctively bringing your hand to your mouth in an attempt to lick the drink off. eren watched you, his gaze clouded with an indiscernible emotion. you knew what you were doing.
“hm. too bad,” you quipped, dragging your tongue down the side of your hand, popping your pointer finger in your mouth. eren glowered at you as you let out a giggle. “see ya, loser.”
“whatever, brat,” he huffed, shaking the tension from his pants as you sauntered off into the crowd. he hated the effect you had on him.
you’d already decided not to get shit faced. while the rest of your friends had chosen otherwise, you danced alongside them, your resolve wearing thin much faster than theirs. jean and sasha bounced happily up and down, screaming the lyrics to whatever song it was blasting from the speakers. connie and mikasa were playing beer pong, and you had no clue where armin and eren had gone.
you heaved in a breath as a sharp pain shot through your side, signaling the end of your dancing career for the night. your two dance partners were too far gone to notice, waving goodbye to you as you stepped out of the sweaty crowd.
slipping your phone out of your pocket, your eyes nearly popped from your head at the time. two thirty?!
only slightly tipsy, you decided to find jean’s room and call it a night. he’d just have to sleep on the couch. with one hand dragging on the wall, you made your way through the house, past armin who was doing body shots with a couple of strangers, up the stairs and down the dark hall. it was quieter up here, but you could still hear the music and knew it’d be awhile till sleep visited you.
shoving jean’s door open, you were surprised to see none other than eren laid back on the bed, puffs of smoke coming from his mouth. the strong scent of weed hit your nostrils, nose scrunching up in reflex. he propped himself up on one arm upon your entrance, eyeing you.
“oh, sorry i’ll just- wait a minute,” you paused, narrowing your eyes at him. “you aren’t supposed to be smoking on your sponsorship.”
eren let out a loud laugh at that, more smoke spilling from his lungs. “thanks, mom. i know.”
you stood in the doorway, not really sure what to do. “jean’s gonna be mad if his room smells like weed tomorrow.”
“yeah, why do you think i chose to do it in here?” he leered, bringing the blunt to his lips and deeply inhaling, sharp cheekbones protruding with the action. you sucked in a breath, not wanting to acknowledge just how gorgeous he was. his jacket was off, black shirt tightly gripping his muscular yet slender arms as he propped himself up. he blew the smoke from his nostrils this time, making your face heat. “wanna hit?”
you sighed, weighing the options. jean’s bed was a lot more comfortable than connie’s. you could just wait till eren was done, and then pass out. “no, but i’ll wait with you till you’re done.”
“suit yourself, brat,” eren hummed, flopping back down on the bed as you shut the door behind yourself. you came to sit by him, looking down as he heaved in a sober breath. he really is beautiful, you thought.
your eyes scanned his face. “you really shouldn’t be smoking, you know. you could lose the sponsorship.”
eren rolled his teal eyes, giving you a side glance. “i’m aware. i’m also aware that you aren’t going to rat on me.”
“and what makes you so sure?” you asked playfully, your voice low. eren’s gaze shifted to you, placing the blunt between his lips as he sat up, face inches from yours.
“because. you can act like you hate me all you want,” smoke blew from his lips as he spoke, slowly inching his face closer to yours. you swallowed, eyes struggling to maintain contact with his dark stare. “but i know how badly you want me.”
you blinked, heart rate accelerating as he glanced at your lips. “speaking from experience?”
eren’s mouth quirked up in a smirk at your words. “something like that.”
you watched with desire as he brought the bud of the blunt up to his lips, deeply inhaling the toxic smoke. he lifted his free hand, pointer finger gently tracing your jaw as his thumb came up to caress your chin. he tapped softly against your face, as if asking you to open your mouth.
you weren’t sure what part of you was wanting to submit to his every move. maybe it was the alcohol. or maybe it was the accumulation of sexual tension. something told you it was a deeper itch that needed to be scratched. an itch only eren could reach.
you parted your lips, eyes fluttering as eren leaned forward and carefully brushed his own against yours, dumping his lungful of smoke into your mouth. you breathed it in, fighting the urge to cough and whine as he pulled away.
“good girl,” he breathed, leaning away to snuff the bud out on jean’s bedside table. you heaved out as much as you could, shocked by your own willingness. you were mainly surprised by how much you enjoyed whatever that was.
you stared at him expectantly as he turned back to you, a serious expression on his face. “eren.”
“yes?” he asked, leaning heavily on his arm, eyes unashamedly focused on your lips. his other hand came up again, lightly ghosting your jawline. you could feel yourself growing wet between your legs; the way eren was fucking you with his eyes sending an unwelcomed throb to your clit.
acting on impulse, you lurched forward, latching your lips onto eren’s slightly chapped ones. he wasted no time in kissing you back; hungrily pressing himself closer to your body. his lips were warm and tasted like weed and coca cola, his tongue wiggling its way into your mouth where you happily welcomed it.
you brought your hand up, wanting to run your fingers through his hair, but were stopped when they got caught in the bun. eren grunted, kissing you harder and bringing his own hand up to yank the tie from his locks, letting his soft hair fall to his shoulders.
your fingers were quick to glide through the brown strands, scratching his scalp in the process. some throaty sound emitted from his chest, the noise making your cunt ache in need. how is he so hot?
eren’s hands came to your waist, roughly shoving you down onto the bed, so that he hovered above you. your lips continued to meld together, saliva coated mouths wetly intertwined. you removed your hand from his hair, bringing both hands to run down the expanse of his arms that were on either side of your head. you squeezed his biceps, surprised when he suddenly pulled away.
“is this okay?” he panted, breaths labored. his pupils were dilated, all seriousness behind his gaze. you nodded your head without hesitation, practically begging him to continue. “words.”
“yes, yes. i want this just as much as you do,” you responded. eren smirked from above you, his dark hair swirling around his face as his key dangled in front of your chin.
“good, because,” he leaned down to your ear, lightly nibbling the lobe as the cold key rested against your throat. “i’m going to punish you for all these years of torture.”
your eyes widened, the words sending a desirable chill down your spine. “torture?”
eren’s hot mouth travelled slowly from your ear down the side of your neck, lightly peppering the skin with lustful kisses. his tongue came out as he reached your collarbone, dragging the wet muscle up the front of your throat, leaving a trail of saliva in its wake. a small whimper involuntarily left your mouth as he pulled back, grabbing your chin in his large hand.
“all of the nicknames,” he pressed a kiss to your lips. “the quips,” and another, your chest tightening. “the stunt you pulled earlier with your hand. oh god. it’s like you were practically begging me to bend you over and teach you a lesson.”
he pulled back, dark eyes boring into yours. the desire was palpable, your breathing shallow as he stared at you. it was like he was waiting for some silent agreement.
you held eye contact, tilting your chin back ever so slightly in his grip. “good thing i learn fast.”
your words flew straight to his cock, throbbing uncomfortably behind his jeans. eren let go of your chin, his lips hungrily reconnecting with yours as his hands pinned your wrists to either side of your head. his tongue was quick to invite itself into your mouth, warm and erotic.
you wanted to tug on his hair again; wanted to hear his primal groans and feel him vibrate against your mouth, but you were pinned to the bed. desperate to hear eren moan, your teeth grazed his bottom lip, the action making him yank his head back.
“tsk tsk, none of that,” he growled, wet lips glinting in the low light of the room. “this is your punishment. guess we’re going to have to do something else.”
you frowned as he let go of your wrists, lifting himself from the bed and standing. you propped yourself up on your elbows, eyes laced with desire as eren swiftly pulled the black shirt over his head, key pendant resting on his newly exposed chest. he was dangerously attractive like this; dark hair disheveled on his shoulders, only adding to the feral stare he was giving you.
he leaned forward, grabbing your thighs and yanking you to the end of the bed, legs dangling from the side. you watched in awe as he dropped to his knees, fingers coming up to toy with the button of your jean shorts.
“these little shorts make your ass look so good,” he grumbled, tapping the button. “be good and take them off for me.”
you wasted no time in lifting your ass off the bed, struggling to yank the denim down your legs without hitting eren in the face. he watched your every movement, licking his lips as you wiggled them off.
without thinking, your hands gripped the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head to reveal a black bra. eren’s pupils dilated further at the unexpected sight of your breasts.
he helped pull the shorts from your ankles, tossing them aside as you sat back down, just in your panties and bra. you paused for a moment, unsure of what he was planning to do.
“watch me,” he demanded, staring at you through his brows. you nodded your head, breath hitching as he placed an open mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh, tongue swiping against the smooth skin.
his eyelashes fluttered as he licked up your leg; just the way he looked at you being enough to have you creaming in your lace panties. your teeth tugged at your bottom lip, the burning in your face mirroring the way your clit throbbed along with your heart beat.
eren’s tongue trailed until he reached the edge of your underwear, eyes never failing to stay connected with yours. you swallowed as he lifted his head, placing his tongue flatly against your clothed clit.
it was a warm, muted feeling, your body all too aware of the beautiful man between your legs. eren brought his fingers up, hooking under the fabric and pushing it to the side.
“so wet for me already,” he hummed, a smile on his face. you blushed in embarrassment, the feeling of his breath on your glistening pool of moisture making you shiver. “’m gonna eat you so good, little bitch.”
you gasped as eren rapidly brought his face down, burying his head between your legs. the sensation was like no other; a swirling feeling in your stomach as his tongue hungrily swiped against your clit. your hands flew down to his hair, tugging as his lips wrapped around the bud, suckling softly.
a moan escaped your lips, the sound causing eren to groan out in reply. the vibration of his vocal cords against your center amplifying the pleasure.
a distinct feeling began to burn in your chest, the sloppiness of eren’s tongue licking up your slick causing your legs to squirm, tightening around his head. “fuck.”
eren pulled back at the pressure against his skull, a smack sounding through the air as he released his suction on your wet cunt.
“i told you to be good,” he hissed, lips coated in your sheen. you knew the image of eren’s face between your legs, hair disheveled and mouth swollen, eyes dark and lustrous, would be burned into the back of your brain.
flustered, you nodded your head, spreading your legs so they weren’t pressing against his face. he nodded in content, arms coming up to wrap around your thighs to keep you steady.
and he was back; eating your pussy like he hadn’t been fed in years, a primal desperation. he pressed his tongue down harder, the cry ripping from your throat at the sensation only egging him on. you struggled against his grip as he abused your clit with his mouth, sucking and tracing his teeth over it so good.
his tongue slid down to your entrance, shoving itself in without invitation. the fullness wasn’t like having sex; it was a heated, swirling feeling. the wet muscle circled around your spongey walls, your face beginning to burn and hands growing clammy in eren’s hair.
you threw your head back as his ministrations sped up, your hips attempting to grind into his face. the warmth in the pit of your stomach building like a loaded gun, ready to release itself.
all it took was the added pressure of his hand wrapping around your thigh so that his thumb could press against your clit, feverishly rubbing. you came crashing down, your eyes screwing shut as the wave of dopamine stretched to every part of your body, legs jerking against his hold.
eren pulled his head back again, a smile on his wet face as he licked your release from his lips. “tasted so good, so good for me.”
you breathed out in reply as he came back up above you, gently taking your chin and bringing his mouth down to yours.
the kiss was small and simple, your eye lids growing heavy. you could taste your bitter release on him, the unfamiliar flavor not completely unpleasant.
“sleepy?” eren mumbled against your lips, coming back to look at you. you nodded your head, eyes catching on the key that dangled from his neck. “too bad. we aren’t done with your punishment yet.”
you frowned, your body suddenly more awake than it was before. “huh?” you asked, sitting up as eren shifted to pull his jeans off.
you weren’t sure what you expected when he yanked both his jeans and boxers down; you guessed you’d always thought his anger issues were compensation for something. the realization dawned on you that eren had nothing to compensate for as his cock sprung from his pants, the sheer size making your mouth water.
a smirk crossed his face as he stepped from his jeans. “enjoying the view?”
“what? no,” you scoffed, averting your gaze. eren crawled back over you, his bare length pressing into your stomach as his hands came up to unclasp your bra.
“don’t be shy, this is your punishment after all,” he whispered, pulling the cups from your chest. his eyes unashamedly scanned your breasts, a smile tugging his lips as he gave them a generous squeeze.
you tried to ignore the imprint of him on your stomach; but it was nearly impossible. you could feel the spot between your legs grow wet again, arousal already weaseling its way back into your system.
eren brought his lips to yours once again, the kisses much sloppier and desperate than before. he grunted as you shifted to lay back down, his exposed dick rubbing against your stomach. “can’t wait to be inside of you,” he mumbled against your lips.
you whimpered at his words, his lips melding with your own while he simultaneously tugged your panties down your legs. he propped himself up with one arm, the other positioning the tip of his cock at the entrance of your already throbbing cunt.
you took a deep breath as he slowly eased himself into you; the sheer stretch making your eyes lull back in your head. eren moved his hips slowly at first, loosening you up. he was watching your expressions; his eyelids heavy and mouth slightly agape.
“shit, you’re so tight,” he groaned, hips starting to move faster as he gazed down at you. you swallowed, closing your eyes as he sent one particularly hard thrust, cock nearly ramming your cervix. “you good?”
“mhm,” you responded, bringing your hands up to grab his hair. “just so big.”
eren let out a breathy chuckle at that, eyes traveling down to your pelvis where his dick was visibly creating a bump with every thrust. he placed his hand on your stomach, pressing down as he bucked his hips violently forwards. he was so deep.
you cried out at the feeling of his length sliding in and out of your cunt, your walls clenching around him as your hands clawed at his muscular back.
he was filling you up so good, a moan leaving his lips as your enhanced arousal unexpectedly brought your second orgasm down, tears pricking your eyes. eren kept abusing your pussy, his thrusts growing senseless before he buried himself deep within you, releasing his load inside of your exhausted center.
both of your breathing was labored, eren looking up at the ceiling. his face was flushed as he recovered, you laying limply beneath him trying to regain your composure yourself.
“that felt so good,” you admitted, bringing your hand up from his back to caress his angular face. eren frowned at your words, large hand grabbing your wrist and removing it from his jawline.
“m’not tired yet,” he said seriously, your eyes widening as he placed a chaste kiss to your lips. your fucked out face beneath him had his dick already hardening again. “m’not gonna be tired till i win.”
he suddenly pulled up, hooking his hands under your knees and pushing your legs up by your head. the action strained your muscles, the feeling of eren’s cum dripping down your ass filling your head as he readied himself to fuck you senseless.
he stared at your cunt; at the way his cum was oozing out of it, the abused pussy ready to take him in again. he used his fingers to catch the drip, forcing it back inside of you. the thought of filling you up all nice and pretty sent him over the edge, his hand shamelessly guiding his cock back inside of you.
eren was meaner this time; each thrust was deep and deliberate, hitting your cervix and making you cry out in pleasure. the burning sensation in your clit was overwhelming, your mouth hanging open as eren slowly fucked you stupid.
“good, pretty girl” eren breathed out, ramming his hips into yours. “took her punishment like such a good girl.”
you tried to nod your head, but you couldn’t move. the feeling of hot, sticky tears rolled down your face, eren’s cock deep within you almost too much to bear. he grabbed your chin, tongue swiping up your cheek as he savored the salty flavor on his tastebuds. this man and his licking.
“tell me, did you learn your lesson?” eren grunted in your ear, hand still gripping your chin. you tried to form a sentence, fucked beyond words. “hm, use your words and i’ll let you cum.”
one more deep thrust and his dick stopped its strokes, pausing within you. “yes... yes.”
“yes what?”
your tongue was heavy in your mouth, pussy all too aware of eren’s length within it. “i learned my lesson, you won.”
he smirked, aggressively bucking his hips into your weak cunt, the action making you cry out as he rammed your cervix. the tears continued to roll down your cheeks as eren’s dick twitched, spurting the his seed into you. your third release followed his, your clit spasming from the overstimulation.
eren heaved himself out of you, collapsing deftly onto the bed. the two of you sat in a heated silence, your face sticky from the tears. eren glanced to you, eyes trailing down your body.
“i’ll get a rag,” he mumbled, shoving off the bed and walking into jean’s bathroom. you were beyond exhausted and knew that you’d be sore tomorrow. eren reemerged, quickly cleaning you up and handing you your shirt.
your eyes lazily watched him as he walked over and locked the door; brain too tired to form a sentence.
he must’ve noticed your concern. “we can sleep in here tonight; i don’t think you’re in any shape to move.”
you carefully crawled into the sheets, not even bothering to put your shirt back on. eren followed suit, climbing in behind you.
“night,” he whispered as he shut the bedside light off. your lids were growing heavy, a smile on your lips as you began to fall asleep.
“night, casanova.”
<3 <3 <3
#eren jaeger#eren jeager smut#eren jeager x reader#eren jaeger smut#eren jaeger x reader#eren#eren x reader#eren smut#eren yaeger x reader#eren yaeger smut#eren jäger#this is so bad im sorry
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Midnight
A/N: Anon request- Can you write a short fic where your the love interest in a music video for them and you play all of their girlfriend but they dunno ur cheating then they corner you. Ig it could be to like Midnight and then after the shoot u find urself falling for Ashton.
I fell for him during the shoot, but I think the overall idea is still there. Hope you like it! Feel free to give me feedback, guys
And away, and away we go!
~~~
I tried to settle my nerves as I walked towards the set. Trying to make it big in LA as an actress was about to pay off. Okay, so a music video wasn’t necessarily the big time I had imagined for myself, but it was a well-known band.
I had dressed simply in jeans and a t-shirt with slip-on shoes, not bothering to do too much appearance wise, knowing production would turn me into the heartthrob leading lady the music video was having me play.
Yeah, my first big time was the love interest in a music video where I was everybody’s love interest. And a cheater… Great, I was creating a bad girl rep. Well, better the girl that screws everyone over than gets screwed over herself.
~~~
“So, you’re the girl, huh?” a voice said behind me.
I turned, pressing a hand to my mouth to covering my chewing, hurriedly swallowing the chips I had just crammed in there. “Mmm, mhm,” I mumbled. “Sorry, hi,” I said to the tall man standing before me. Even if I didn’t recognize him, which I did, the drumsticks clenched in one fist was a dead giveaway. “I’m Y/N. You must be Ashton,” I said, dusting my chip crumbs off my fingers on my jeans before I offered him my hand to shake.
“Ash is fine,” he said, shaking my hand. “Everyone calls me that.”
“Nice to meet you, Ash,” I smiled, feeling my heart race in my chest. I was a lucky girl to play the love interest to this cutie and his equally cute band mates.
“Chips, huh?” he smirked, reaching past me to grab a small handful and put them in his own mouth.
“Eating helps calm my nerves.”
He swallowed and then let out a giggle I was all too familiar with. “Good. We need more actresses who can eat.”
“The industry's tough, and eating disorders are no laughing matter.”
“I wasn’t suggesting otherwise. It’s just normally I spend a lot of time making sure the girls in our videos are eating.”
“Oh, that’s very big brother-y of you. But, I’m good, thanks.”
“Cool. And for the record, you don’t need to be nervous. You’re not shooting any scenes today.”
“I’m not?”
He gave a shake of his head, the single brown lock not obeying the confines of hair product swaying wildly. “Nah, we’re playing the song a few times to get the different angles, figure out which shots were gonna use. Then, tomorrow we’ll do the acting bit.”
I frowned, pulling a script out of my back pocket, flipping through it. “I think I’m supposed to be dancing in those shots.”
He brought a hand to his mouth in thought. “Hmm, maybe. Either way, 1.) don’t be nervous and 2.) you should come out with us tonight when we wrap from the day.”
“Hang out with you? And the rest of your band? Really?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, why not? Builds better on-screen chemistry.”
There was no arguing with that logic. I wanted to do a good job on this, so I’d get more jobs in the future. Plus, it was an offer to hang out with 5SOS. No way I was passing that up.
~~~
“Hey, we’re gonna roll out,” Ashton told me, once we were done for the day.
I wiped a hand across my mouth to catch the water that had spilled out from my too big of a sip of water. “Cool, um, text me the address, and I’ll meet you guys there.”
He scoffed. “Nah, c’mon.”
“I…” I pointed in the direction of my car. “I…”
“They’re making you drive here every day? Cheap fucks… No. I’m putting you up in the hotel with us.”
“I don’t live far…”
“I don’t care. We sometimes work long hours, and you already look exhausted. You’re not driving home every day to get a few hours of sleep when you can stay with us across the street.”
It was true. After dancing around to them playing the same song, even my dancer’s body was wiped. But, his offer was too much. I’d never be able to afford to pay for a hotel for however long this took, and I wasn’t the type to accept help I couldn’t repay “Ashton, you don’t have to do that.”
“It’s Ash, and I know I don’t have to. I want to. Now, c’mon, love interest, let’s hit the town.”
If he kept looking at me like that, my feelings were going to transfer off-screen real fast.
~~~
“You move gracefully,” Calum told me as we sat on the floor of the hotel room a few nights later. “Like it feels natural when I spin you around in our scenes. You’re a nice change of pace from other girls we’ve worked with.”
I laughed, thinking back to earlier. All my scenes with the boys had been different, highlighting the boys’ individual personalities. All of my playful bed scenes with Luke transformed into whatever scene I had with the other boys: dancing with Calum, videogaming with Mike, and a view of the city with Ashton. Each was sensual and playful in it’s own way, and they all transformed into the same sad shot of the boys rolling over in bed hoping to find me. “Thanks,” I said, “You got some moves yourself, Cal.”
“Is that part of your training or whatever? Like they teach that in actress school?” Mike asked.
I laughed. Actress school. “I mean, I majored in theatre arts. But, I went to a regular college. I didn’t go to like Juilliard, or NYADA, or something. Just a regular state school. But, yeah. Part of that education was dance based. Ballet, tap, modern,” I said, checking off all the types of dancing I had done, “Your basic stage stuff.”
“Ballet?” Luke asked.
“Yes, not all of us are magically gifted at lifting our long ass legs in the air while wearing skinny jeans. Some of us have to work at it.”
The blue-eyed blond laughed. It was a cute laugh. He was cute. They were all cute. But my interest was locked on the hazel-eyes man with the boyish giggle.
~~~
“Alright, Y/N,” the director was telling me. “You just locked eyes with all your boyfriends, and they’re realizing that they’ve all been dating you, and that you’ve been playing all of them.”
“So, am I scared?”
“Play it however it feels right to you.”
“10-4, boss man,” I said.
“Alright, places!”
I jumped in place on my mark, shaking out my nerves. This was it. I had been given complete creative control over my character. And she was gonna go for the plot twist that hopefully would translate my on-screen love affair into an off-screen one.
“And action!”
The last chords of the song rang out and the boys- after sharing a look mixed with confusion, then anger- moved from their stage setup and across the floor to me.
I offered a waggle of my fingers as all four men stalked towards me, an “oops?” smile on my lips.
They either glared, rolled their eyes, or crossed their arms as they stopped in front of me.
I shot a wink at them before I closed the distance between Ashton and me. I jumped a little to get my arms around his neck, my legs wrapping around his waist as I planted a kiss on those lips I’d been thinking of kissing for days.
For not expecting this move, Ashton responded in an instant, one arm wrapping under my ass and the other across my back to hold me to him, which is what I expected would happen. What I didn’t expect was for him to kiss me back, his tongue opening my mouth to mingle with mine.
“Alright, cut!” someone called out, but Ashton and I didn’t care. We we’re busy.
“Ashton! Y/N!”
We broke apart then, me still in his arms, both of us breathless and giggling. “Well, that wasn’t in my script,” Ashton told me.
“Improv, my dear boy,” I told him, leaning out of his arms to dip towards the floor, able to support my weight with just my legs around the waist.
“Whoa, there,” he said, dipping with me and bringing us both up, but still not setting me down on my own feet, which was more than fine by me. I liked being in his arms.
“He’s right, Y/N. That wasn’t in the script,” the director was telling me.
“But, we’re keeping it right?” Mike asked, already watching the scene play over on one of the screens.
“Yeah, this shot is gold, mate,” Calum told him.
“Our faces are perfect,” Luke said.
Ashton carried us over to look for ourselves.
I saw myself wink before my body leapt forward at Ashton, his hands instinctively catching me. The shock on his face melted into something that looked like relief, as my lips attached to his, his body relaxing into the kiss. The shock on the other boys’ faces was pure disbelief and then a small shrug of acceptance. It was the perfect unscripted shot. “Oh, that’s going in the finished product,” Ashton said.
The director sighed.
“You said play whatever felt right,” I told him, refusing to let him make me feel bad for my choice. “Showing that I chose one of them felt right. So I chose.”
“You chose? Or your character chose?” Ashton smirked at me.
“Kiss me again off camera, and find out,” I winked.
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Thief au
The main four are in a thief gang in medieval times
They work kinda like Robin Hood — stealing from the rich and giving to the poor
It all started with Roman and Logan
Roman is like, this middle-class writer. He has enough money to be the one with best clothes on the gang — also because he takes better care of them than the rest — and sometimes uses his position to call some favors
But his money is low. All he has is stuff bought from richer times and a position in society
So he’s strolling through the poorer side of the city and he sees an asshole push over a prostitute, not even caring to glance at the woman, who has now fallen on the ground, as he walks through the streets. And the guy is mad rich. You can tell it from his clothes, or the size of his pocket, that shows he’s carrying a lot of coins
Roman doesn’t really think it through. He’s low in cash, no one wants to buy his latest work, and this asshole is full of money. So he slides his hand on the guy’s pocket and gets a fistful of golden coins. No one realizes.
But as he turns around, he eyes this couple of orphan kids, obviously starving to death, and he doesn’t need to think it through a lot. He gives them all the money.
Suddenly a hand’s grabbing his shoulder and dragging him to an alley. This tall, slim man is staring him down, cold blue eyes analyzing him from head to toe. “Middle class. Good clothes. Probably a good family. You had no reason to steal, unless you just wanted more money. But if you wanted more money, you wouldn’t be giving those kids it”
Roman barely stutters out a “What?”. The man realizes that he actually has an audience, and focuses his gaze on Roman’s eyes, his mouth pronunciating well the words as he says: “Why did you steal and why did you give it to those kids?”
Roman doesn’t know what to say. He shouldn’t be talking about stealing with a random guy. But on the other hand, this man doesn’t seem like he would tell Roman off. He just seems curious. “I don’t have a lot of money. That guy didn’t deserve it. But those kids did, more than me”
The man seems to think for a second, before raising his left hand forward “I’m Logan. Allow me to buy you a beer” Roman shakes it awkwardly, indecisive, but there’s something about Logan that says he could be trusted. Plus, Roman is very thirsty right now. “What’s your name?” Logan asks, already moving along the alley.
“Roman. Roman Real”
They go to this bar and order some cheap beer and talk. Logan raises the subject of the monarchy and social inequality and Roman, a little bit drunk, tells him how he wishes there was some way he could take the extra wealth from those who don’t deserve it and give it to the poor. Logan raises and eyebrow and whispers:
“What if there was?”
“What?” “What if you could take from the wealthy and cruel and give to the poor and kind? Would you?” “How?” Logan raises an eyebrow at Roman, like he can’t believe Roman still hasn’t understood his point “If you could steal from the upper class and give to the ones in need, would you?”
Roman thinks for a second, then answers “Yes.” Logan smiles at that, a smile that shows he has been looking for a partner like this for a long time “Well, Roman, I think if you and I work toguether, we can do just that”
They leave the bar and go to Roman’s place. They are young and drunk, both with cheap alcohol and rebellious ideas. They spend the whole night awake, discussing books and politics, and learn about each other. Roman learns that Logan is smarter than most man with twice his education, and that his last name is Sanders. Logan learns that Roman is an idealist and a romantic.
At the end of the night, they have a kind of deal. They will pack everything they have and go to another city. They will start off with small pick-pockets: just enough to survive and to give some to the homeless, the widows and the orphans. If it works, they will move from town to town, doing the same.
And so they do. Logan coordinates it, telling when and whom to strike, and Roman’s hand is always there, sliding gracefully and lightly into a stranger’s pocket.
This has been going for about 4 towns. Small pick-pockets, dinners at cheap bars, sleep at cheap hostels. The smile and gratitude in the face of those that receive is very much worth it.
They are having lunch at another cheap place, sitting by the counter, and Logan leaves for a while, to grab a drink for them, when a low voice reaches over to Roman:
“What is someone like you doing somewhere like here?” Roman turns around, and apparently the voice belongs to a short and skinny man, clad in black and purple.
“I beg your pardon?”
“What’s your name?” The stranger comes closer, smirking, and Roman can now distinguish his black eyes beneath his hair. They are annoyingly mesmerizing. “Roman” The writer smiles, one of his dashing smiles he knows none can resist.
“Well, Roman” The man comes closer, his voice turning even lower, making something in Roman’s chest rumble “I was wondering why someone like you would choose this hell of a place to go.” The stranger comes even closer now — Roman half-heartedly notices how their height difference is of about half a head — and sets his hands on the top buttons of Roman’s jacket, smoothing over the silver with his thumb “Pretty clothes, pretty face” the stranger pronounced every sillable, once again staring Roman up and down, this time deliberately slowly “You have enough money to eat somewhere else, and I can tell you don’t need to pay for company”
“What’s your name?” Roman asks, this time being the one to look up and down. Virgil has pale skin, an interesting factor among peasants, and seems a little too small for his coat, but he makes the worn out black and purple outfit look good. His eyes are dark brown, almost black, and there’s some lighter spots in there that would give him an innocent look, we’re it not the never diminishing smirk and the dark looks.
“That shall remain a mistery.” “I gave you my name, haven’t I? It is only fair.” The man seems to consider for a second before saying: “call me V.”
“Well, V” Roman gives him a small, teasing smile “maybe I come here for the handsome company I might find”
V laughs at that, a laugh that sounds more like thunder than anything else, and let’s his hands slide down Roman’s arms before carefully stepping away “Buy me a drink first”
Roman smiles wider, ready to clap back, when Logan shows at his side, an amused yet hard gaze focused on V “Give it back”
V’s eyes widen, and he steps away again “Listen, I’m not looking for any trouble” it’s interesting how different his voice sounds. “Neither are we.” Logan argues “Give it back, and we’ll pretend nothing happened”
V grabs something from his pocket and sets it on the counter: the top button from Roman’s jacket, made of silver and adorned with a chimera. The writer looks down and, indeed, it is gone.
After a couple of seconds of blankly staring, Roman sputters out: “Y-you-you stole me!” V seems regretful, and it’s once again interesting how his attitude has changed: now he seems to be sinking down, trying to look smaller “Was that why you were flirting?”
No, he does not sound hurt or offended at all, despite what Logan and V would say later.
Logan grabs the button and they are about to leave when Roman’s brain catches up and he turns around to face V: “Where can we find you, pretty boy?” V hesitates, and Roman sighs deeply before adding: “We’re not going to tell someone you stole us. I just want to talk more to you”
V finally gives him his address, a small cornel of warmth growing in his chest, and Logan and Roman leave.
Back at the hostel, Roman has his mind set:
“Logan, he could work great with us!” “Yeah, except for the fact that he’s not trustworthy, since he tried to steal you” “And what exactly are we doing here, Logan?” Logan is silent, and Roman presses him “He clearly is better at it than me, and it could be great to have another partner, someone who could be a distraction or an ally”
Finally, Logan agrees, and they go searching for V. They find him in a small house in the center of the town. Surprisingly, V is easily convinced. The next morning, they’re leaving the city when Logan turns to him and asks: “What is your name?”
“Virgil Storm” Roman thinks that’s a pretty name, before clearing his head of this type of distraction.
So they go town to town, and the robbings start to get bigger. They rob three or four noble houses, spreading the money between the poor population before the sun has even risen. Soon, they become a legend, a myth. The Golden Man, the Mind and the Shadow. They start to grow in fame so much they can no longer stay in hostels, so they start to camp on forests near towns. Sometimes they get hurt, falling out of tall windows or barely escaping dangerous situations. They do their best to patch it up on the camp, but there’s only so much Logan can know.
Until one day, when they’re eating dinner on a campfire in this forest, this young blond boy, dressed in blue and light grey, shows up.
Logan immediately jumps behind Virgil and Roman. Roman tries to shove Virgil a little behind him, what is ridiculous, given that Roman has no weapons besides his body and Virgil is wielding a dagger, but it does make something warm bloom in Virgil’s heart.
But the boy smiles brightly and raises his hand playfully “Woah, easy! I’m not here for fighting!”
“What do you want?” Roman asks carefully, gesturing for Virgil to put the dagger down, and being completely ignored by the paler man.
The blond boy smiles again — he does that a lot, Roman thinks — but he quickly turns serious. “I want to join you”
“I’m afraid we don’t know what you mean” Logan says. This boy seems too bright and too friendly to be very smart. Perhaps he thought they were something else, a circus crew, maybe.
“Yeah sure” the man waves a hand in the air, laughing, his green eyes crinkling at the sides “You guys are famous, you know? I’m guessing you’re the Golden Man, and you sure do shine, kiddo” he winks at Roman who, sure enough, had golden shades on his outfit “You’re the Shadow?” He asks, looking towards V, who certainly deserved his name, with his dark tones and personality. “And you must be the Mind.” He finishes, smiling once again towards Logan.
“Why do you want to join us?” Logan steps forward, lowering Virgil’s dagger. The boy’s face, so sweet, and a little bit childish, turns almost cold at this. “I believe you guys are right. I believe no one that is cruel and hurtful should hold that much money, and I believe everyone deserves to be able to eat and live.” At their stunned silence, he adds “I know how to heal people, too, so I could help in that.”
Roman gestures for the boy to take a seat by the fire, and the other three bundle up a little bit away, discussing it: “I don’t like this ideia” “You don’t like it because you’re afraid, Virgil. He seems nice” “Seems. That’s the word. We can’t trust this random guy.” “We are all random guys to each other. Logan and I barely knew each other. I knew you for half a night before you joined us. We are doing this based on morals and ambitions, and this man has the same ones as we do.” “Logan, what do you think?”
Maybe it’s the way the boy smiled, or maybe it’s the fact that the boy smiles a lot, or maybe it’s because Logan wanted someone capable of doing medical work, or maybe it‘s just because Logan often stayed alone while Virgil and Roman stole, and he would like some company, sometimes, but the truth is Logan really wants that boy to join them.
“We could, indeed, use his knowledge, and it would be useful to have someone no suspicions would lie upon, someone to distract while you two steal — a pretty face, for lack of better wording” Logan answers. Virgil still seems suspicious “I thought being a pretty face was Roman’s job—” “You think I have a pretty face?” “—and we’ve been handling our bruises and scratches pretty fine so far.” Logan looks back at the man sitting by the fire, some sort of peace on his face Logan so ardently desired. “I vote for him to stay” “So do I” Roman adds, his face still slightly pink from the pretty face comment. Finally, Virgil agrees.
“What’s your name, young one?” Roman asks, sitting next to the boy.
“Patton! And I’m not so young, you know. I’m 18” “Patton! What an interesting name.” Roman smiles “You look younger than you are, I assumed we were all much older than you. I’m 20, Logan over there is also 20, and Virgil” he nudges Virgil, that replies with a stare that could cut through rock “is 19. I’m Roman, by the way.”
And so they became a gang. Or a family. Who knows. They would die for each other. They would kill for each other. Soon enough, Patton becomes known as the Beauty — though Logan always blushes when he hears the nickname.
Every so often, they encounter Declos Ethine, and it’s always a why-do-we-keep-running-into-each-other kind of situation. The Four— that’s how they’re called in the legends, in the whispers — sometimes save Declos, sometimes Declos saves the Four
No one KNOWS what Declos does for a living, but it’s definitely not something good and honorable
Their first time meeting Declos as a group was hilarious, because they all knew him differently, except for Roman
Logan once punched Declos. Long story, they don’t really like each other, very often fight for leadership in the group
Virgil used to be best friends with Declos, when he was 15, and they helped each other survive in a dangerous town — until Declos moved away.
Patton is Declos’ brother, what earned a few surprised gasps from the rest of the group when they found out. Patton is 3 years younger than Declos, so he’s always treated like a child by his brother, but Logan made Declos cut the bullshit real soon.
Declos constantly flirts with Roman, what Virgil really doesn’t like, but Roman is, somehow, completely unaware of Virgil’s jealousy.
Sometimes Declos shows up with a bodyguard, called Remus, that for some reason always wears green. No one also knows what their relationship is, but Remus is the only one that knows the story behind Declos’ scar on the left side of his face
I think I might write more about this later? I really liked the ideia of this AU
#robin hood au#thomas sanders#sanders sides#sanders#roman sanders#virgil sanders#roman sanders sides#sanders sides roman#logan sanders#sanders sides fanfic#sanders sides au#au#prinxiety#sanders sides prinxiety#prinxiety fanfiction#prinxiety sanders sides#ts prinxiety#thomas sanders prinxiety#prinxiety fanfic#logicality fanfiction#logicality fanfic#logicality ts#logicality sanders sides#logicality thomas sanders#logicality#logicality au#prinxiety au#fanfic#fanfiction#Demus
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(J&H fanfic) Dinner in the darkness
In the darkness there was a pale spot of light. It came from above and landed upon a long polished mahogany table full of seductive food and treats on silver plates. Four types of fish with a lemon an top of each and fried pepper steaks. A huge stuffed turkey and two fried chickens. More than three big untouched cakes just waiting to be eaten. There were also two men sitting at the both ends of the table.
The other man was a tall, blue-eyed gentleman with his brown hair tied up in a ponytail. This man looked depressed and sick while the look on his face was so sad, poor and anquished. He was in shackles. An incredibly long chain went high up from a heavy iron ring the gentleman had on his neck. An other chain went down then split in two to prison the poor man’s wrists. His ankles were also chained. But despite this, the gentleman was still well dressed and his Victorian clothes were made of a rich fabric. He didn’t care about the good food in front of him. The man just sat quietly on a gilded chair and looked away from the other man who was sitting before him.
This other fella had put his dark coat and a black top hat on a back of his chair. A cane was leaning towards the armrest. He was dressed like a gentleman but surely didn’t look like one. He was a short and small man with messy and long white hair, which reached his shoulders. The man’s face was strange. His pale skin wasn’t the cause of some sickness and his eyes were cruel and cold green with a spark of madness in them. And lastly, there was something very wrong in his appearance but it could not be named. He cave a disgusting and loathsome impression to those who looked at him.
This odd man, unlike the gentleman, was eating with a great appetite. He had his hirsute and skinny hands on a chicken leg which he gobbled. His white teeth sunk into the meat and ripped it off like an animal. After the man had finished his chicken he lifted his half-closed eyes to this shackled gentleman. He leaned on the back of the chair. The smile he gave to him was pure evil and unpleasant.
-You should eat something, he said with his dark and husky voice, -My dear Jekyll.
-I am not hungry for anything you offer Hyde, was the cold answer.
Hyde smiled in a way that looked like he was pitying Jekyll. He shook his head a bit.
-Oh Jekyll. But don’t you remember the times? When we both enjoyed this delicious dinner we’re having, he said with a persuasive voice.
But Jekyll said nothing. Only watched away from his inner demon who he didn’t want to face. It was like he was looking his past evil deeds in the eye. But Hyde was desiring Jekyll’s attention. Like a child does from a parent when he has done something he's proud of. So he kept talking with a tongue that spoke like a snake:
-Jekyll… What happened? You used to eat so well with me from time to time…
-That happened, Jekyll replied coldly and pointed at the cane.
Chains rattled while he was moving. The sound was hollow and lonely in the absolute silence that surrounded them. Like every voice and sound that came from the dinner table. Hyde clanged the cane next to him. He gave it a satanic smile with his eyes nearly closed. Hyde recalled gladly the memories concerning the cane.
-Ah, said he, -The murder. It was a wild night. I’ve never felt so alive before that. Hell, it was amazing…
-It was horrifying! A cruel crime towards an innocent man! A deed so unforgettable and barbaric… And it can never be redeemed! Jekyll cried and then hid his face im his hands.
Hyde smiled at first a twisted and evil smile. Then he started laughing. But the laugh was dark and mean. The kind of which made a shiver go down the listener’s spine. A psychotic laugh at someone else’s misfortune.
-You’re a monster…, the gentleman said fearing himself. Jekyll looked directly to Hyde this time with pure regret and sadness.
The laughter stopped there. Hyde put his elbows on the table. It seemed that he was thinking something while looking his other side in the eyes.
-Let’s analyze that. Why am I a monster Henry? He asked finally with a great interest.
-Because there’s nothing humane in you. You’re a beast. Desire is the only thing that drives you. Thinking only about yourself and doing whatever you want without caring if it hurts others. You have no moral nor empathy, Jekyll blamed him with anger in his voice. He felt disgust towards the creature that was sitting in front of him. But in the same time guilt landed upon him. After all, Hyde was what Jekyll had changed himself in.
-But, the creature pointed out raising his finger, -I am what you called out from your. Own. Soul. Then he pointed at Jekyll like a judge that was pointing at the guilty. And he smiled. He knew how much pain it was to Henry. And that knowledge made him smile even more satanically than he had smiled while beating old Garew.
-And, Hyde continued and rose from his chair, -I am only doing this because you wanted to have fun.
The man leaned on the back of the chair and cleaned his mouth on a napkin. Then he threw it away and it landed softly next to the leg of a chair. Hyde asked:
-So who is the real monster here?
Jekyll let his head fall. He tried to fight against his painful emotions. Doctor’s hands closed into fist. The guilt and regret were torturing him. It was too much. Tears started to flow on his cheeks. Again he hid his face in his hands. A silent snivel echoed among the table. For a while, it was the only sound in the darkness. Then Jekyll heard slow steps when Hyde came closer to him. But instead of coming to Jekyll, that cruel man stopped, cut a piece of a blood red cake and put it on a plate. While doing this he stated:
-I think we both know the answer. It is no one else than Dr. Henry Jekyll. But don’t worry. It’s only between us. Everybody else will always be blaming Mr. Hyde while you will be praised by the public. As it should be, my little hiding place.
Hyde walked to Jekyll and offered the red cake. When Jekyll didn’t react to it he just put it in front of the poor doctor.
-Come on Jekyll! I know you desire this behind that gentleman facade you’re keeping! Hyde yelled with bitterness. He took hold of Jekyll’s shoulder and turned his head by force towards the cake piece. But still all Jekyll did was stare at the cake. Hyde looked in the eyes of his other side but saw no urge in them. Furiously he threw Jekyll out of his hands and returned back to his chair.
-You don’t have to pretend to me. I know you. I know what you are. What you were. What you secretly want. With me you can be as free as you want. And no one will ever condemn you about it. Go on. Take a bite my friend, Hyde tried to manipulate.
-No…, Jekyll whispered and continued strongly: -No! I’m not your friend!
Jekyll slammed his hands on the table causing the plates to shake. He rose standing and looked at Hyde with pure fury in his eyes. Jekyll wanted now, more than anything, to get rid of Hyde. Forever. If only they were two separate bodies he would have killed Hyde right now.
The inner demon saw this but didn’t care. Hyde knew that the only way for Jekyll to kill him was suicide. And he trusted on Jekyll that he would be too weak to do it. But a small whisper of fear went through Edward. Even just thinking of death was scary for him. Hyde remembered how the noose was already hanging upon his head. He touched his throat without even acknowledging it. It was the cause of an instinct.
For a moment Jekyll thought that he had managed to scare Hyde with his behavior but suddenly Edward was calm again and said softly:
-Of course you’re not my friend.
Hyde rose again and walked behind Jekyll.
-I’ll tell you what you are, said he and, against all Jekyll's expectations, hugged him.
-You’re my creator. My father, Hyde told and pet Jekyll. He put his head against Henry's back and closed his eyes.
Jekyll was shocked and confused. He wasn’t able to do anything else than stay still. The realization had taken all power Jekyll had left. He understood that it was actually true. Hyde was his creation. Creation, that he had made from himself. A part of his nature that would still sleep peacefully and do inconspicuous harm. But instead Jekyll had woken it up and now it committed sin. All evil Hyde had done in the past months was his own fault. Because he had created Hyde...
-I know I know, Edward started like he was reading Jekyll’s thoughts, - I am your greatest creation. And how you have a father’s interest in me.
-And you have more than a son’s indifference towards me, Jekyll noted sorrowfully and sighed. Like defeated, he collapsed in his chair shackles tingling.
-Yes, said Hyde and nodded, -And I’m so glad that you let your “son” to play around. I had quite fun.
The demon smiled disgustingly and grabbed a dark green bottle of wine. He decanted the burgundy drink into two ornamental chalices with a calm hand. The man took both of them in his hands and put the other one on a table right in front of Jekyll. After doing this Hyde went back to his own chair, sat down and lifted his feet on the table. The grin upon his face was victorious and hurtful. Edward raised the chalice while saying:
-Let’s raise the glass to ourselves. And to what we’ve become.
Hyde didn’t wait for Jekyll to join him, since he knew that Henry wouldn’t do that. He drank the wine on one glub and banged the chalice loudly on the table.
-What we’ve become…, Jekyll repeated quietly and turned his eyes from Hyde to his untouched wine.
-We’ve become… nothing else than a dual madman! He shouted with anger.
In seconds Hyde started to laugh very loudly and disrespectfully.
-Oh Jekyll…, Hyde said like Henry had told a good joke, -You are the crazy one of us.
-And you are a pitiful coward who hides inside his better self because he’s so scared of the consequences of his actions, Jekyll insulted with a bitter tongue, looking ar Hyde like a disappointed father.
Edward was mad. He revealed his teeth and took his legs off the table. Without any consideration the murderer threw his chalice at Jekyll and roared in fury like a wild tiger. The doctor got hit in the forehead. A sudden pain stroke Hyde’s head too. Putting his hand to his forehead and snarled dangerously. Jekyll rubbed the spot chalice had hit but he didn’t have much time to recover from this injury. Hyde stepped on the table and kicking all the food and plates out of his way he came to Jekyll.
Hyde took a hold on Jekyll’s collars and pulled the scared doctor’s face close to his own. The great hate Hyde felt towards Jekyll was more than clearly visible in his eyes. A hellish flame blazed in them.
-You are a damn weakling! Two-faced, honourless, arrogant, pathetic, weak, crazy travesty of a man! Hyde raged in pure fury. In his anger, he threw Jekyll on the floor. The poor man moaned when he hit the ground. Hyde felt Jekyll’s pain in his right side but ignored it and jumped off the table. He put his foot on the doctor’s head and that way kept him on the ground. Finally he started to control his anger and stated with a venomous voice:
-Don’t believe you have any power over me. I am the master of this body. And I will have total control! You can’t do anything against me.
Jekyll looked helpless. He answered nothing and just suffered the pain which stormed inside his soul in silence.
-I would happily kill you right now if this all wasn’t just a fantasy inside your subconscious. I hate you more than anything Jekyll. I hate your weakness. My weakness. I hate how I have to be just a part of your personality.
And Hyde pushed Jekyll’s head towards the ground in his anger even though he was also hurting himself. Hate helped him ignore the pain. Jekyll grinded in pain a little but still stayed silent.
-Well… I guess we’ve had enough my dear Jekyll, Edward stated and rose off his feet.
Hyde took the chain that went up and cut it off like it was just fog. When he did this, Jekyll’s shackles started slowly to turn black as if Hyde’s touch was poisonous. Then he started walking away holding the end of the chain. Pulled by Hyde, Jekyll dragged behind him like a hopeless prisoner. He had given up.
The two left the dinner table and headed to the darkness like Hyde would know the way. Fading away the table disappeared into the darkness. After a moment, a really small and dusty pillar of light appeared in front of Hyde. A chain hanging in the middle of it.
Just for his own fun, Hyde unexpectedly pulled the chain he was holding and caused Jekyll to fall. He smiled from schadenfreude and connected these two chains together. The shackles were now totally black. Jekyll rose to sit and looked down sadly.
-Mr. Hyde will be taking care of this body now. But don’t worry. I’ll be taking a good care of it. And besides… There’s nothing you can do about it, Hyde said and kneeled down before Jekyll. While speaking he turned Jekyll’s chin and made him face himself. They stared at each other for a moment. One in despair, the other in evilness. And then, Hyde rose and turned his back to Jekyll. He started to walk away without saying a word. Then he started to laugh like the devil himself. The laugh was cruel, insulting and most of all pure evil. It echoed even long after he had disappeared from Jekyll’s sight. Until finally, the darkness was silent again and mr. Hyde took control.
So this is a little bit older writing of mine but I wanted more of my own content here. I don’t have a crystal clear idea what the heck is going on here but this is meant to be taken metaphorically rather than literally. If you would like to see more of my writings, why not to visit my DA page here
#fanfic#my writing#the strange case of dr. jekyll and mr. hyde#j&h#turquoise writings#dark thought#long post
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Whisper Your Love - Chapter 2
Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14005500/chapters/32282919
Chapter 1
Masterpost
From the outside it just looks like an overlarge greenhouse but the Butterfly House is one of Derry's best kept hidden gems. Located right at the edge of town, the building is one of the first to have been built in Derry history, originally intended to be the home to a wealthy Lord who planned to live there with his wife and family. Disaster struck before his plans could come to fruition, however, as the wife unfortunately died before the house could be completed and, distraught, the Lord had finished the house, along with the addition of a beautiful butterfly garden in his wife's memory. He never officially moved into the completed house, but legend has it he visited the garden every day until his death many years later, leaving the property to be cared for by his only son.
Now, the Butterfly House is rarely visited outside of the summer months, when tourism is low and the weather is dull, but it is kept alive by the Derry fund, targeted towards keeping the history of Derry alive - even if nobody is there to witness it.
Richie can see why Eddie chose this place. Immediately upon stepping into the humid room, stripping his jacket, he is assaulted by the smell of freshly watered flowers and the sound of water falling in the distance. An emerald blue butterfly swoops overhead, and several brown one's he doesn't know the name of are feeding on the chopped apples on a wooden pedestal half-hidden by a crop of shrubbery. There are elegant, moss covered statues hidden amongst the tall plants, and the gravel crunches underfoot as Richie wanders further down the laid out path.
He can't see Eddie anywhere, but he doesn't dare call out the boy's name, too afraid to disturb the fragile peace of the place. Instead, Richie lets himself drift, listening to the low humming of the heating lamps and gentle pattering of the waterfall, becoming louder as he gets closer to the source. He rounds a bend, finger trailing idly over the words printed on a wooden information plaque, and then he spots him. Eddie is leaning over some shrubbery, placing a few pieces of chopped apple onto a stand like the one Richie had seen when he came in. A small white butterfly lands on his finger just as he's pulling away, and Eddie smiles softly as he raises it into the air, letting the insect flutter from his fingers and onto the pedestal.
It truly is another one of those time-altering moments, and Richie feels all of his senses dull once again as he watches from afar. There's a glass wall behind Eddie, the fading sunlight filtering through and casting a halo-effect around Eddie's hair, and Eddie's cheer uniform is discarded in preference for some light wash skinny blue jeans and a green apron over the pink sweater he had been wearing in the library.
He looks angelic.
Richie must make a noise then, because Eddie's head suddenly whips in his direction, his mouth falling into an 'o' of shock. Richie feels like he's intruding, which is ridiculous because Eddie asked him to come. But for one dreadful moment Richie honestly feels like Eddie might ask him what he's doing there, might ask him to leave, but then he just smiles and turns fully in Richie's direction, placing his hands in the pockets of his apron.
"Richie, you came." He says, the words almost songlike as they fall delicately off his tongue and into the air. The white butterfly takes off suddenly, delicate wings ever so graceful as it flutters over Eddie's head and disappears into the leaves.
"You know my name?" Richie grunts, voice coming out hoarser than he'd intended it to. He coughs, clearing his throat and attempts to hide behind his scrunched fist as Eddie chuckles.
"Of course I know your name, why wouldn't I?" Eddie chimes, slowly moving one foot in front of the other until they're in proper conversational distance of each other.
"Uh." Richie falters. "Because we've never spoken to each other before right now?"
He realises too late that the words come off a little bitter, and he regrets them a moment later when Eddie winces slightly, eyes wide and sad like Eddie wishes the words weren't true. The boy turns away slightly, reaching up one soft looking hand to rub bashfully at the back of his head, almost as soon as his hand touches his hair, Eddie pulls it away, grimacing and wiping it on his apron. "Apple juice." he murmurs, looking down at his apron instead of at Richie. "And, uh, you're right, but that's why I invited you here, I wanted to speak to you."
Richie nods, because he'd figured as much on the walk over there. Agonising over every possibility, until ultimately coming to the conclusion that Eddie probably only wants to thank him for saving his life - he's already resigned himself to the fact that this will be the only conversation the two will ever have and after this Eddie will go on with his perfect life and Richie will continue being the new kid until he graduates. "To thank me?" He asks, because saying the rest is just... desperate and weird. He scuffs the toe of his boot into the gravel absently, pursing his lips as the thought comes to mind. He's desperate, so desperate, for this to not be the only time they ever talk.
"Yes." Eddie agrees, finally looking up at him with an expression so earnest Richie almost has to look away with the intensity of it. "And-"
"And?" Richie repeats, startled. There's an 'and'?!
Eddie smiles. "Yes, and." he emphasises, raising his eyebrows playfully and reprimanding Richie for interrupting. "I was hoping maybe we could be friends... maybe..."
And, honestly? Richie just gapes, he gapes because Eddie - Eddie Kaspbrak, literal angel on earth, walking mother's wet dream, wants to be friends with him. Richie must've drowned in that quarry, probably hit his head on the rock on the way down and sunk because there's no way. Eddie has friends, Eddie has friends who are just like him, and he has a boyfriend who, admittedly, is a bit of an idiot, but a boyfriend nonetheless, who loves him. Why does he want to be friends with Richie? Unless... unless this is some sort of payment - like in the Titanic, except not because they end up together, and if Richie is Jack in that analogy then he dies in the end and he isn't about that life. So more like Clueless? Does Eddie plan to take Richie under his wing under some misguided sense of duty and attempt to straighten him out?! Richie's mind flashes back to the boy he sees Eddie hanging out with the most, the one with the harshly pressed collared shirts and - shudders - chinos. No. Richie can't do that.
But then, would Eddie do that? He doesn't seem like the type to enforce some sort of change on Richie. So maybe it's not like any movie, maybe it's just straight up honest to God gratitude - but that only hurts more. Richie doesn't want Eddie's friendship because he feels like he owes him, that's almost worse than not having Eddie's friendship at all. "You don't have to be friends with me just because I saved your life - I'm a good swimmer, and it's what anyone else would've done, you don't owe me for being a decent human being."
Eddie's eyes widen and his lips press together in a tight thin line, shaking his head all at once. "That's not what- look, I'm thankful but I know I don't owe you, I just, when you pulled me out of the water I felt like you were someone worth knowing, and I want to know you, I want to be your friend... i-if you want that too." It goes quiet for a moment, the only sound the running water up ahead and the steady hum of the overhead lamps. Their eyes don't leave each other's the whole time, Eddie's still impossibly wide and God knows what kind of expression Richie is wearing underneath his gaudy glasses. Then, Eddie shuffles, the sounds of his sneakers disturbing the gravel breaking the silence. "Would you?" he asks, almost a whisper. "Be my friend?"
Richie thinks it over for a moment, deciding that even if Eddie isn't being entirely honest, he has no reason to use Richie - no reason to stand there and beg a second time. So Richie smiles.
And Richie nods.
*
"This is my favourite place to read." Eddie is saying, one leg tucked up to his chest on the stone bench they're sharing, his other dangling to the side, skimming the gravel. His chin is resting on his knee, his apron discarded on the bench behind him. "When I'm not working - or busy - I'm usually here anyway, I like the quiet."
It had been a few hours, way past the closing time Richie had noticed on the board outside when he came in, but Eddie had assured him that they can stay as long as they like as long as Eddie locks up behind them. They'd migrated to the little tunnel below the synthetic waterfall quite some time ago, and hadn't stopped talking ever since.
With every little thing Richie learns about Eddie, he just finds himself more and more intrigued by the boy. He's obsessed with finding out all of the little details, all of the intricacies that make Eddie Kaspbrak, Eddie, and he'd been delighted when Eddie had returned all of his strange and sometimes intrusive questions - throwing a few of his own in the mix. For the first time in a while, Richie feels like he's having a conversation with someone who genuinely cares about what he's saying - even when he goes on a twenty minute long tirade about the different uses of potatoes, or tells one of his dumb jokes he used to get told off for near constantly. Eddie even laughs.
It's refreshing.
"It's nice," Richie comments, leaning his head against the manufactured stone wall behind them. Opposite from them, built into the wall, is a glass case incubator filled with rows of chrysalises, all of them different shapes, sizes and colours. One of them, a small green one in the top right corner, is beginning to hatch, the little legs of the butterfly just beginning to poke out of a small tear at the bottom. "Calming." He continues, watching the butterfly's head poke out next.
Eddie follows his gaze, regarding the hatchling with a wistful look. "They don't all make it." He says after a short moment of companionable silence. Richie hums, frowning. "The hatchlings." Eddie explains. "Sometimes they get hurt coming out, their wings are broken or deformed, they get stuck and starve... or they just don't come out at all."
Richie looks away from the incubator, watching Eddie instead. "That's sad."
"That's life." Eddie says wryly, returning Richie's gaze.
Richie rolls his eyes, scoffing, "alright Mr. Pessimistic, life isn't all bad - just look at this place!" Richie gestures with his hands, throwing them wide and raising his eyebrows imploringly. Eddie shifts uncomfortably, pursing his lips as he tilts his head back and to the side, eyes lingering somewhere on the ceiling, then he sighs.
"What did you think when you moved here, Richie?" He asks, and his voice has a heaviness to it suddenly, a heaviness that Richie can't decipher.
"Are you kidding? This place is like some kind of fairy-tale village and nuclear town all rolled into some giant ball of pleasantness."
Eddie scoffs, looking uncomfortable. "Derry isn't all sunshine and rainbows, you know? You just haven't been here long enough to know that yet."
For the first time, Richie see's Eddie, not as some otherworldly being, but as a boy. A boy who is looking at him like he wants Richie to understand something, something Richie just can't see. It's true, Richie hasn't been here that long, but from what he's seen, Derry is an enigma. There's a sense of community here that is unrivalled, and Richie likes that. "What do you mean?" He asks.
Eddie sighs again, this time a little agitatedly. "Derry wasn't always like this... a few years back, a boy a few years older than us came out - it was a big thing, you know? Nobody had ever really been gay in Derry before, at least not openly. It had the town up in arms, half of the town wanted to ignore it was even a thing, and the other half wanted to rejoice, and a few people... a few people didn't like it at all. Adrian, that was his name, he found a boyfriend, Don, and then it became a real problem - Don was the preacher's son. Well, those people that didn't like it before, really didn't like it now... they attacked them." Richie feels his breath freeze in his lungs, watching the emotions flit across Eddie's face. "Adrian was killed, Don badly injured." He sniffs a little, and finally looks at Richie. "What you see in Derry, it isn't acceptance, it's ignorance. You think the whole town is fine with Chris and I's relationship? They aren't, they just ignore it, because nobody wants another case like Adrian Mellon. It's the shame of Derry history, the guys who did it got put in Juniper Hill - that's a mental asylum up North - and now nobody ever talks about it anymore."
Richie is silent, can't find the words to say to that. He'd heard of 'an incident' from Bev, but she hadn't gone into any detail and Richie, uncaring, hadn't asked. He realises his mistake now, watching Eddie watching him - distressed. "I had no idea..." Richie whispers, shaking his head, "it's awful."
"It's Derry." Eddie says. "The people here hide their faults under a layer of dust, they ignore anything they don't like because it's easier than admitting that we're just as fucked as the rest of the world."
It's the first time Richie hears Eddie swear.
*
Riche thinks, later, that Eddie might have been trying to tell him something else when he talked about Adrian Mellon.
But as Richie is wont to do, he doesn't ask.
Because, as loathe as he is to admit it, Richie is a little afraid to shatter any other images he has of Derry. He's already beginning to see the little cracks in the town's exterior, and he fears the day he'll begin to see those cracks in the people too. See the cracks in Eddie.
Eddie is an entirely different person outside of school, hidden away in his little garden, where Richie finds himself most days when 16:00 rolls around, watching Eddie look after the plants and the butterflies, talking about anything and everything that comes to their minds. Eddie seems particularly interested in Richie's life before Derry, so Richie tells him about all of the crazy things he and his group of friends got up to, all of the beach parties and ragers and that time Richie passed out because he wore his leather jacket in 80F weather, and in return Richie learns that Eddie's dad died when he was five, and he's planning on going to Harvard next fall, and he has a 4.0 GPA. Eddie's friends are Stan, Ben and sometimes Mike - though Mike is more Chris' friend because they're on the football team together.
They don't talk much inside of school, and Richie doesn't ask why because he kind of gets it - Eddie is always with Chris, and Richie doesn't want to be around Chris anyway. It doesn't really bother Richie that their friendship seems to be some sort of secret, because even though he barely gets to see Eddie at school, Richie gets to bask in the boy's laughter outside, any time he wants. They go to the butterfly garden, and hang out by the waterfall, or they go to Richie's house and eat his mom's spaghetti - Richie's gives Eddie the nickname 'Eddie Spaghetti' when Richie manages to make him laugh so hard that spaghetti sauce comes out of his nose, which Eddie rolls his eyes at and continuously tells him not to call him that.
Richie knows he likes it though, he can tell by the way Eddie hides a smile behind his sweater paws. Maggie takes an instant liking to Eddie, offering to make him whatever he wants every time he comes over and always smiling at Richie in a way that’s all too knowing.
They're sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, Richie munching on a bowl of lucky charms and his mother meticulously peeling the filament off a tangerine, when she suddenly stops just to stare at him. Richie's movements halt, his spoon halfway to his open mouth, and their eyes meet. Blue on blue. He knows that whatever comes next can't be good, and he's right.
"Richard, I've been thinking." she says, her voice stern. Richie drops his spoon back into his bowl, eyeing her warily.
"Yes, mom?"
"I want you and Eddie to leave the door open when you're studying from now on." Maggie smirks, putting emphasis on the word 'studying'. Richie winces and groans.
"Mom, it's not like that!" He pleads. "Eddie and I are just friends."
Maggie scoffs, beginning to pick apart the individual pieces of her tangerine. Richie's senses get overwhelmed with the scent of citrus. "Please, Richie, I see the way you look at that boy - and I only want you to be sensible!"
Richie groans again, placing his hands flat on the table and bringing his forehead down onto them - hard, twice. "Mom, please, it's too early for the talk. I'm eighteen, shouldn't you have said this a few years ago?!"
Maggie clears her throat. "Yes, well, I was a little bit preoccupied a few years ago." Richie feels guilty all of a sudden, remembering his mother's struggles with alcoholism due, in part, to his shitty dad. He hadn't wanted her to get help, afraid that it would shame their family. The best day of Richie's life was the day his mother told Wentworth Tozier to go fuck himself and threw her wedding ring in his face. She'd been going to AA ever since, and shortly thereafter they'd moved to Derry to start fresh.
Richie smiles at her reassuringly, reaching over to wrap his hand around the one she wasn't using to place a piece of tangerine between her lips. Richie recognises the Tozier trick of deflection for what it is. "I'm proud of you mom." He says, meaning every word.
Maggie smiles softly at him, and then pulls her hand away. "Really, though, when are you going to ask Eddie out? I'd love to have him as a son in law, he's such a sweet boy!"
Richie fake screams, "mom!" as Maggie chuckles, popping another tangerine segment in her mouth, a twinkle in her blue eyes. Richie picks up his nearly empty cereal bowl, dumping what’s left before leaving the dish in the sink for his mom to clean - as punishment. "I'm going now!"
"Ask him out!" She yells after him.
*
"You should ask him out." Bev says at lunch, slamming her bottle of water down on the table to grab Richie's attention, which, for the sixth time that lunch period and six millionth time that month, had strayed over to Eddie Kaspbrak.
Richie splutters, "Bev!" he yelps, "Jesus, are you and my mother in cahoots or something?"
"Y-your mother knows E-Eddie?" Bill asks, breaking the non-verbal vow of silence Richie is sure the boy probably made at some point. He honestly doesn't know how Bill and Bev got on before he came along to tamper all of Bev's energy. Richie stops a moment to take in Bill's words, and then realises his mistake.
"Uh." Bev's eyes are glinting accusingly, her painted finger pointed straight at him like a bright red and slightly chipped dagger. Spill it says. And with a sigh, Richie does. "Yeah, I guess we're kind of friends..?"
Bev gawks, and Richie thinks Bill's eyebrow might twitch a little, but then he just goes back to sipping at his water bottle casually, the only thing betraying his interest are his eyes, trained on Richie, like a hawk. "You what?!" Bev shrieks, Richie hushes her, glancing around to make sure nobody is staring. "Since when?"
"Since I saved his life at the quarry... we've been talking."
"At y-your house." Bill clarifies. Richie nods. The two redheads stare at him for a moment, and Richie feels a little awkward under their scrutiny, then, "y-you should ask him out."
Bev lets out a little "hah!" at that, and Richie groans. "Not you too, Big Bill! We're just friends - and, besides, Eddie has a boyfriend!"
"So?" Bev scoffs, rolling her eyes. Richie scowls at her, and then at Bill who shrugs noncommittally.
"So," he emphasises, "I can't just ask him out if he's already taken!"
Bev rolls her eyes again, like he's stupid - which, uh? Rude. - and then leans forward. "Sure you can, take a little initiative! Woo the guy! Pull an Avril Lavigne on him and push Chris into a portapotty and declare yourself Eddie's new boyfriend." Richie snorts, as Bev begins humming the tune to Girlfriend by Avril Lavigne, he shoves her shoulder playfully, pursing his lips to try and stave off an amused smile.
"Ha Ha, Beverly, you're hilarious! Now can I go back to pining in silence?" Bev snorts, waving her hand as if to say "go ahead", and Bill is already once again not giving a single shit. Richie turns to continue his longing stare-athon in Eddie's direction, and freezes when he sees Eddie looking back at him. For a moment, he wonders if Eddie could hear their conversation before dismissing the thought entirely because, if he can't hear Eddie's then Eddie certainly can't hear theirs. Then he wonders at how long Eddie could've been looking at him without him noticing, and his heart stutters in his chest, his breaths slowing as a warm feeling fills his tummy.
He hears Beverly whistle lowly across the table, but pays no mind as Eddie smiles shyly at him, before turning away to re-join whatever conversation he was having with Stan. Stan's gaze lingers for a moment on Richie, quizzical, before he too looks away. Richie turns back to Bev, a huge wide-eyed grin plastered all over her smug face. Even Bill looks a little impressed. "You weren't lying." She stage whispers, and Richie feels a little offended.
"Why would I even lie about that?" He asks, indignantly.
Bev shrugs. "I don't know, to seem cool?"
"Nobody even knows we talk except you guys and my mom."
Bev shrugs again, and they fall back into an easy silence, broken only by the occasional crunching of Bill biting into his apple that he'd pulled from seemingly nowhere. Richie thinks he's gotten away scot free, but then Beverly has to open her big mouth again, "I still think you should ask him out." Richie glares at her, and then throws his scrunched up napkin at Bill when the stoic boy agrees with a silent nod.
*
Richie is walking home when he hears the sound of a pair of feet rushing up the pavement behind him, he turns just in time to see Eddie come to a halt beside him, and grins when Eddie slips his small hand around Richie's wrist, keeping him in place. "Hey." He breathes, breathless from his run.
"Hi." Richie greets, pulling the buds of his headphones out of his ears and pausing his music. "I was just on my way home, you wanna join? Maggie's been asking after you."
Eddie smiles happily. "Tell Maggie I said Hi? But, uh, no, I was wondering actually if you wanted to come to mine for once? My mom's not home 'til late tonight so I thought we could hang out there for a change."
Richie agrees immediately, because he's not too shy to admit he'd been curious to know what Eddie's room looks like. If it'll be as soft and cute as Eddie, or plain, or messy. He can't imagine it'll be messy, nothing about Eddie screams messy, but you never know.
There's something intimate about being invited into someone's bedroom for the first time - even in the most non-sexual setting, where it's just two friends hanging out, one of them with a long-term boyfriend, bordering on childhood sweetheart, and the other with the most hopeless of crushes. It's like being invited to a front row seat to someone's soul; you get to see the essence of them, their most private place. Where they sleep at night and wake up in the mornings, where they dress, where they do their homework and where they cry.
Richie understands this intrinsically when he steps into Eddie's room, he feels like Neil Armstrong taking his first steps on the moon as his eyes take it all in. Ultimately, it's just a room - obviously belonging to a teenaged boy - but also obviously belonging to Eddie. Eddie's house had once been a bungalow, it seems, and Eddie explains that his room was renovated from the attic when he was born. The floor is wooden, sandy in colour, and is goes nicely with the white painted walls. His bedsheets are a pristine white that must be a nightmare to clean, and perfectly made, one fluffy looking pale purple pillow right in the centre. Opposite the bed, is a railing with several coats and jackets hung up in order from heaviest to lightest, and next to that is a door, presumably leading to an ensuite, a small table with a record player perched on it on the other side, a cork board with a calendar and a few pictures above that. Next to the bed, by the bannister, is a wardrobe, the matching dresser at the foot of the bed. On the other side of the room, right as you make it to the top of the stairs, are two large windows, a floor length mirror, and a clean looking desk with drawers.
Eddie sits delicately on the made bed as Richie stands in the centre of the room, taking it all in; from the daisy lights wrapped around the metal bedframe to the scented candles on top of the dresser. The room is clean, ordered, and Richie can see Eddie in it - reading a book in bed or writing at his desk.
"It's very you." He comments, moving closer to the corkboard so he can look at the pictures. There's one of Eddie and Stan, adorably young, and a newer one including Ben. There's a picture of Eddie and Chris, and next to it a picture of all four of them with Mike Hanlon, Eddie in his cheer uniform and lying across their arms, grinning.
"I hope that's a good thing?" Eddie says, and when Richie glances at him, he's biting his lip shyly.
Richie smiles softly, unthinkingly taking the two steps it takes to reach him and pulling his lip out from between his teeth with his thumb. "Always." he murmurs. Eddie doesn't move until Richie moves his thumb away, looking down and trying not to feel guilty. Boyfriend! Childhood sweethearts! Chris! Richie turns away, because he can't take the way Eddie is looking at him - he doesn't know what it means but it feels like something and Richie can't take it if it turns out to be nothing.
"Rich." Eddie whispers, reaching his hand out to hold gently onto Richie's. "Richie, I have a boyfriend."
Richie nods, "I know, I, uh, I should go."
"You don't have to." Eddie says, pleads, and Richie gives in, turning back and sinking down onto the bed when Eddie tugs at his fingers. They're still holding hands, sitting side by side, wrinkling Eddie's pristine sheets. "I... I feel it too, you know?"
"You do?" He asks, hopeful.
Eddie nods, his eyes drooping to stare at Richie's lips. "There's something about you... about this... that I, I just, I can't re-" He cuts himself off, pressing his lips to Richie's with a sigh. Richie gasps, hands coming up to cup Eddie's face as the smaller boy presses into him, leaning into Richie's body. He feels Eddie's hands on his neck, his thumbs rubbing circles into the skin behind his ears and Richie opens his mouth, taking charge of the kiss and pressing his tongue between Eddie's lightly parted lips, pushing them further apart and devouring Eddie's mouth with his own.
His mind is racing, as Eddie climbs over him, knees on either side of Richie's hips as they fall further backwards onto the bed and fall further into their kiss. He feels dizzy, and Eddie must feel it too as he pulls back slightly, breath panting over Richie's face. Richie's opens his eyes, and see's Eddie looking right back at him. Their eyes meet, and then they're kissing again, breathless, reeling.
*
When Richie wakes up the next morning, he's lying fully clothed on top of Eddie's covers, facing out into the room. He can feel Eddie's weight behind him, dipping the bed slightly, but their only point of contact is the singular finger Eddie is using to draw shapes and patterns between Richie's shoulder blades. Richie sighs contently, shifting further into Eddie's touch. He hears Eddie chuckle breathily, and then a light kiss is pressed to his clothed back. "You should go..." Eddie whispers, "Before my mom comes up here and starts yelling at me to get ready."
Richie laughs out a groan. "You and your crazy mom." They'd talked for a while last night, once they'd finally pulled away from each other. After a minor freak out - Richie's, not Eddie's - and some discussion, they'd agreed to roll with whatever comes, and Richie had spent the night, innocently, after falling asleep to the sound of Eddie telling him a story about his mom from his childhood. Richie rolls over, wrapping Eddie up in his arms and kissing all over his face, Eddie chuckles, weakly attempting to push Richie away. "M'sorry for falling asleep." Richie says, stroking a hand through Eddie's slightly greasy curls.
Eddie's eyes crinkle as he smiles. "S'fine, you looked peaceful."
"Your bed is very comfy." Richie agrees. Eddie snorts.
"Yeah, just don't go telling people that." The smaller boy sits up, and Richie notices he must have changed, sometime while he was sleeping, into a pair of red short shorts and a large soft cotton t-shirt with a hole in the collar. There's a faded logo on the front of the shirt, but Richie doesn't have his glasses on so he can't make it out.
"What?" Richie teases, sitting up too and reaching for the glasses folded neatly on the dresser. "Your boyfriend doesn't think so?" There's a pause, where Richie expects Eddie to laugh or hit him lightly for being crude, but Eddie just freezes in the process of pulling out a clean uniform from his wardrobe, his back to Richie. Richie frowns. "Eds?"
Eddie mumbles something, and then goes back to rummaging through his closet. "What? I don't speak mumble-ese." Richie jokes.
Eddie turns to him then, his cheeks flushed, "I said he wouldn't know." He repeats, voice unsteady.
Richie's brain short circuits, "are you saying you're-"
"A virgin, yes." Eddie says, holding his uniform to his chest like a shield. He bites his lip. Richie stands up from the bed, placing his hands around Eddie's hips and sighing.
"I'm sorry, Eds. I just assumed - you've been with him for so long..." He apologises. "It's okay to be a virgin, you know?"
"I know that!" Eddie snaps, eyes flashing, then he deflates, leaning his head on Richie's shoulder in defeat. "I just - everyone always assumes, and Chris... well let's just say that it's not exactly his fault we haven’t, uh, done it."
Richie doesn't quite know what to say in this situation, he'd assumed so much about Eddie and now? Now he's seeing a whole new side - and that's not to say this changes his opinion of Eddie in any way, just maybe he's realising that if this assumption is wrong, what other assumptions could he be wrong about? "Does he pressure you?" Richie asks, a protective lilt to his voice.
Eddie shakes his head, still buried in the material of Richie's shirt. "Not in a bad way... he asks a lot, but he drops it if I tell him to."
Richie nods. Point to Chris then. "Good."
"I guess..." Then Eddie trails off. Richie pulls away, so he can look Eddie in the eye.
"What?"
"I mean... I guess you're... not?" Eddie asks, unsure. "A virgin, that is. You're not one?"
Richie shakes his head, "I'm not, no."
"Oh."
"Is that bad?"
Eddie's eyes go wide, his head shakes. "No! Of course it's not bad, just, it's nice to know."
Richie grins, and nods his head, pressing a kiss to Eddie's lips - hard, but chaste. "It means nothing." He assures, pressing another long kiss to Eddie's lips when he tilts his head to ask for one. "I promise."
"Mmm, sure, just keep kissing me."
Richie chuckles. "As you wish."
Chapter 3
Masterpost
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The Lives of the RiffRaff: Talia Santiago-Queen of the City
Previous:
We Are the RiffRaff Rickie Johnson-The Art of War Vera Sherwood-Little Sister Kali Muburu-Hair Tracy Kwan-Vergil Franz Fawke-Hecklers James Weaver-The Preacher Mamoru Hayagawa-Three Weddings Charmain Dekker-Frankfort
In Tanager, I'm the garbage on the side of the road. In Frankfort, I'm the queen.
These three little country mice—fellow garbage bags, as far as Tanager is concerned—are damned lucky to have me on their side. If they'd dared to go into Frankfort on their own, the city would swallow them whole and then shit them back out. But because they're with me, they're the safest bitches around. They just don't know it yet.
Sweet little Sophia and Charmain huddle together like frightened mice in the far rear of the Subaru. Directly behind me, Ellia and Sophia's little sister Elsie act like it's gonna be an adventure rather than a horror, and it is. It's hard to believe that Elsie is the little sister, but she's younger than Sophia by three whole years. Elsie must have had to learn to toughen up early in order to compensate for her sister's glaring lack of balls.
Sophia asks, “Do you think we could get cajun food around here? Or maybe we can try pad thai? Soul food?”
“There should be nicer restaurants here than in Tanager,” Charmain assures her, “upscale bistros and things like that.” Well, no shit, Char! All Tanager has is a pizza bungalow, a corner deli, and a tavern full of mediocre-ass beer. Oh, and there was a hot dog truck you could probably get e. coli from. But here we are, heading out into the city, and all they can think about are restaurants?
“I hope there's a skating rink,” Elsie says.
I say, “It's summer, retard.”
“That's the best time for skating rinks, you dingus,” Charmain says. “Nobody wants to go to an ice rink in the dead of winter.” Dingus. She'd be pathetic if she wasn't so damned adorable.
“I was talking about a roller rink anyway,” says Elsie.
Ellia says, “It's got a lot of historic buildings.”
You could take the bumpkins out of the country, but you could never take the country out of the bumpkins. Oh well, let 'em exchange their twee little fantasies of roller rinks, bistros, and hundred-year-old buildings. My only concern was that I was back where I belonged, in my world where everyone knew me and everyone who didn't know me would get to, soon enough. This was my territory and I ruled it with an iron fist. The queen bitch of Frankfort is back.
My brothers owed me several favors, but I called them up and told them I was willing to let them all slide if they gave me just this one. Thankfully, they pulled through, and we had ourselves a flat.
The flat was not in the city proper, but in a little suburb tucked off to the side. It was quiet enough to appeal to my country girls, but close enough to the city to take advantage of it at every opportunity. It was all paid for, courtesy of my brothers, for the next two weeks, and it would be our home from now until July 1st.
“Talia, this is lovely,” Charmain said predictably when she saw the place. I just said, “Ain't it, though?” as I hauled my suitcase out of the van.
“It is,” Charmain said, “it's beautiful.” She sounded surprised, like she had expected me to hole them up in a drug den or some shit.
“You can thank my bros,” I told her. “You'll be meeting them later on.”
“Later on” came about an hour after we'd settled in and decided on who was sleeping where. There were three bedrooms, and I didn't mind sleeping on the couch so Charmain and Ellia could have their own; Sophia and Elsie would share the third. The girls were putting on eyeliner and doing their hair to go out into the city, because they didn't realize you didn't have to get dolled up to walk around Frankfort, when there was an unmistakable bang on the door. Sophia squeaked and froze up like a scared hamster, and it cracked me the hell up. The Four Santiago Brothers greeted us at the door in all their glory.
I'm not sure what the girls expected from my brothers, but what they got was one big, stocky Portuguese man, two tall, ripped ones, and one rail-thin one. The little one, Santino, had on a red button-down and skinny jeans. Luco, the oldest, was sporting a beat-up blue tee with cargos, and Monty and Ray had on wife-beaters and jeans in varying forms of distress.
I said, “Hey, shitheads,” and socked all four of them on the shoulder. They responded by socking me back, one after the other, first in my left shoulder then my right shoulder, my stomach, and finally my right eye. It wasn't hard enough to leave a mark or anything. It was how you showed love in the Santiago household.
Luco said, “Happy birthday, lil sis,” and tugged at my ponytail.
Monty said, “Now you an old bitch!” and I gave him a shove.
And then here came sweet little Charmain Dekker, with her fluffy brown curls and her daisy-print romper and the rose-colored lipstick she had on for no good reason at all. She went right up to the Santiago Four and said, “Hi, I'm Charmain, Talia's friend. It's very nice to finally meet you four.” She held out her hand. You don't hold out your hand to a Santiago unless you want them to snap it. But surprisingly, my bros each gave her hand a little shake. I nearly gagged when Monty took hold of her hand, kissed it, and said, “Well, bonjour, cherie!” He turned to me and said, “Damn, Tally, you didn't tell me your friend was cute!”
“I wasn't aware,” I told him. Not very many would call Charmain “cute.”
My bros introduced themselves to Ellia, Sophia, and Elsie. “Friends of Talia's,” Luco said, “are friends of ours. Round here, we look after our own.” Those girls were now the safest ladies in Frankfort.
After all the introductions were made, the boys told us to get our shit, we were going to see the Baroness.
“Who is that?” Sophia asked, sounding hella scared to hear the answer. The boys tittered at her anxiety. “She's just our auntie,” Ray told her, “that's all.”
To call Maven Whittaker, nee Santiago, “just our auntie” sounded incredibly disrespectful. She had always been “the Baroness” or “the Lady Maven” to us. My father's sister was the head of our district's branch of the Frankfort Police Department, and her power and influence had been a constant in this city for as long as we could remember. Somewhere in her early thirties, she managed to attract the attention of The Honorable Judge Andrew Whittaker of the Franklin County Courthouse, and her marriage to him was in equal parts for love and for alliances. The power that she had now that the head of the county justice system was in her bed every night was akin to that of Catherine the Great in 18th century Russia. She produced her first child soon after the wedding, and three years later along came her second, my cousins Larry and Stephanie Whittaker. The two of them grew up well aware of the power their parents had and the things that they were therefore allowed to get away with, and I made playmates of them whenever possible. Now, they both have guard jobs at the county jail.
The Lady Maven stood at a full six-foot-two—two inches taller than me and several inches taller than any of my brothers—and never carried any less than three forms of weaponry on her at any given time, sometimes concealed and sometimes right in the open. She was a Baroness in every sense of the word, and honestly, I wasn't sure that the girls were ready for her. But Charmain was the first to say, “I'd love to meet your aunt. Will we be meeting your other family too?”
“'Course you will,” Ray told her. “It's Talia's birthday and we're havin' a party.”
The girls hadn't wasted their hair and makeup after all; a visit to the Baroness' pristine palace was a hair-and-makeup affair for sure. I'm not the type to get dolled up, but still I changed out of my cutoffs and into some chinos and a hi-low. I left my worn-out combat boots on because they're all I ever wear.
The Baroness' palace echoed the splendor of both Judge Whittaker and the Baroness herself. Situated in upscale Frankfort, it housed the two of them, my cousins Larry and Stephanie, my father's brothers Jakob and Dale, and Jakob's wife Lydia. Tonight, in honor of the occasion, the mansion played host to much more than that; when we pulled up, the entire Santiago clan stood at the gates and at the door and the front yard, waiting for us.
The girls were stunned to silence when they saw the place. The palace and the surrounding mansions put the upscale abode of Florence and Pietro Frost, the richest of the RiffRaff, to shame. “Geez, Talia,” Ellia said as she took the whole thing in, “is your aunt an actual baroness?”
“I was thinking a princess,” Charmain said with a chuckle.
“She may as well be,” I told them.
“Is that really my girl there?” my father, Sheriff Carlo Santiago, said when he saw me step out of the Subaru. “Oh my gosh, I believe it is! But no, this can't be her; my girl's a scruffy little runt, and this...well, this is a beautiful Amazon of a woman!” He wrapped me up in his big old arms and hugged the hell out of me. “Thirty years old!” he cried out. “Thirty years old and my girl's a lady, a gorgeous lady!” The warmth of that hug and the giddy feeling of seeing my dad after three years only seeing him on FaceTime had some kind of power over me. I kissed his cheek, my one display of affection.
He released me and turned his attention to the girls. “Well, hello there,” he said jovially, like he was a member of the Brady Bunch. “It's nice to meet you ladies. Talia, you didn't tell me you kept such pretty company!”
Sophia turned rose-red, but Charmain held her hand out to him and said, “It's nice to meet you, sir.” She was so saccharine that it made me want to throw up in my mouth.
My father let out a tremendous laugh. “Sir?! Sweetheart, my name isn't Sir, it's Carlo.”
And then, beyond the throngs of other relatives that hadn't seen me in at least three years, the Baroness herself stood beside the Judge at the front door. She was dressed head-to-toe in uniform for no reason at all, except maybe to remind everyone of her power. You could kill a man in cold blood after taking everything from him, and if the Baroness found reason to believe it wasn't you that did it, then it wasn't you that did it and that was the end of that. On the contrary, you could be the cleanest and most innocent man alive, and the Baroness could find dirt on you that you didn't know you had, and magnify it until it was worth ten to twenty-five. She was a terrifying old bitch, and I respected no one like I respected her.
Maven Whittaker looked down the bridge of her nose at the four of us, but her smile was genuine. “Talia,” she said, “I missed the hell out of you.” She squeezed both of my hands. “Welcome home, my girl.”
I was home. After three years holed up in that shithole town, I was back where I belonged.
For me, city life is the natural order of things. I readjusted to it so quickly that it was as if I'd never left it behind.
The guys down at Clarke's Tavern welcomed me back with open arms. I started up one of our old poker games, and by my second day back in Frankfort I was walking away with three-hundred-fifty of the poor fuckers' dollars. My bros and I took it out dancing, and we took the girls with us.
At The Breeze bar and nightclub, the girls were acknowledged as “Talia's squad,” and they were given free drafts of ale, courtesy of Tony the bartender. Sophia eyed that draft with something like shame, and I could tell she was mentally fighting herself over whether she should shut up and accept the gift or tell Tony that she didn't drink. In the end, I grabbed it and downed it in one seamless gulp right before her eyes, and then proceeded to do the same to my own ale. “There,” I said, “now it didn't go to waste.” I slipped Tony a cool twenty-five.
To the surprise of everyone involved, those three were the stars of the club. They tore that floor right up, to the point where everyone else would move aside so that they could take center stage. Charmain learned the Jerk nine years too late, and Ellia executed a flawless one-two step. They danced with my bros and with the guys that sidled up to them, called them “cuties” and “beauties,” and asked for their names. When Mabel's “Don't Call Me Up” came on and Sophia pulled out a shuffle and a pop-lock with a finesse that I never in my life would have attributed to Sophia Bolshevik, I was sure that the city had transformed those three just the way that it needed to. I went ahead and let them own the night while Santino and I slipped into an alley to find a riot to start.
In the coming days, I settled back into my old life. Early every morning, before the girls were awake, my bros and I went out into the city and its surrounding suburbs with our crates of product hidden in the back of Luco's truck. For the past three years, everybody had to rely on shipments to get a Talia Santiago brew, and I missed the experience of street selling like a beached whale misses the ocean. Long-distance sales had none of the thrill of slinking along backroads and alleyways like secret agents, communicating in arbitrary code-words to keep our activities down low, and being directed to out-of-the-way shit-sties in Nowheresville in order to keep out of the watchful eyes of the populace. If we were caught or if somebody threatened to blow our cover, they would find themselves persuaded into silence by one of my blades or by the barrel of my 19X. If such incidents were reported, they would likely reach my father or even the Baroness, and then it was just like they never happened at all.
The girls were left to fend for themselves for most of the day, and they were just fine with that. They went off on their twee little adventures to museums and historic sites, took Instagram pictures of the city skyline and the capitol building, and romped through parks and shopping centers completely undisturbed by the general public. I met up with them at lunch and dinnertime and took them to places where they would be known as “Talia's ladies.” They soon learned that the mention of my name in the local establishments would inspire either fear or reverence in their patrons. Either way, everybody knew who I was, and if they didn't know me, they knew some other Santiago.
Yes, Frankfort had done just what I wanted it to. It had transformed us all from countryfied garbage into queens of the city. The curse of a shithole that saw us as nothing but rancid trash was broken the moment we stepped through the gates of the Baroness' mansion on our first day. The spell of the city took hold of us all, and we were RiffRaff no more.
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The Charlotte Chapters- Part 4
I think things can get quite complicated when two close friends decide to “get friendly” with one another. But with the current state of my mind, nothing really mattered. The technicalities of things, the minor details, could be figured out some other day. Or never. What mattered was the moment, and as long as it felt good, it was approved by me.
Elliott and I did a bunch of crazy things together. I hastily gave up my apartment and took to living mostly on the road, occasionally crashing at the cute cottage or at random hotels in various cities. They weren’t the nicest of places- sometimes the room hadn’t been cleaned or it reeked of cigarette smoke. But hey, if you’re going to be staying in hotels so often and you don’t have the money… beggars can’t really be choosers.
Many people would probably ask me how did I have the money for all of this? Hotel rooms really add up, and if you’re always buying dinners at restaurants… Well, I sold a bunch of items I had lying around- retro gaming consoles I never used, trading cards from childhood… really sentimental things, but nothing practical. But since I was feeling reckless, I sold it all for money so I could do more reckless things. When I think about it now, I really miss hoarding those useless things- they brought me a lot of good memories. But I was able to sell them and make plenty of money so I didn’t have to work… because it’s so great to have a large gap in your work history.
Elliott, on the other hand, did some odd jobs. He did yard work for people, or fixed their cars. One day, he brought something up to me that I thought could be quite interesting.
“Let’s say, hypothetically, I had a way we could make even more money, on our own schedules,” he said as we were pulling up to a random Motel 6.
I was just finishing off my last Tim Hortons coffee. I needed three or four doses of caffeine to feel even slightly awake, so as odd as it sounds I just started buying a tray of them and drinking them back to back. Ever since Ross and I split, I was not all there. It was a strange feeling- I felt as if I was dreaming half of the time (and to this day some of the memories are still quite foggy). It felt like everyone was speaking to me through a tunnel, and all of my senses were dulled. I believe it’s called disassociation. That is why I needed to do crazy things- only a few things now would make me feel “alive”.
“Well, if it makes us more money I’d love to hear it,” I said.
“Okay. I’m not speaking hypothetically anymore then,” Elliott said. “So a dude from school that I know has connections to a few people that can help us.”
“Help us in what way?” I asked.
Elliott laughed nervously. “Okay… so don’t freak out. But they can get us selling weed.”
I wasn’t freaking out at all. Nothing freaked me out anymore. I mean, I’d never sold any sort of drugs before, but what was the big deal? It was probably going to be legal in a couple of years, anyways. Besides, there were harsher drugs we could be selling.
I shrugged. “Sure. We should meet with them to discuss it.”
“If you’re sure,” Elliott said. “I guess we can meet with them tonight.”
***
Looking back on it now, we were meeting with some really sketchy characters. Elliott and I pulled up into the parking lot of an abandoned building, and we saw four middle aged people on motorcycles. One woman and three men. They looked like a very stereotypical “biker gang”- leather jackets, ripped jeans, black boots, sunglasses. The one woman had stringy grey hair all the way down past her bum. How did she not get it all tangled and in her face when riding that motorcycle? That kind of thing would drive me crazy.
“Hey, fellas!” The woman cried out, and I could tell she was a little slow. We had already gotten out of the car and we weren’t standing far away. It’s like she didn’t know how to control her volume. She waved frantically.
Elliott and I exchanged a glance, then we approached them. It was such a strange experience- to have the complete absence of any real fear. It’s like the whole trauma of the breakup had cured my anxiety. Or maybe I was just numb to the point of being reckless. Before Ross and I were done, I never would have thought about selling weed, driving all around the province or getting drunk on weekdays. I had fleeting thoughts about trying maybe weed, but that was as far as that went. I was the type to stay in on a Friday night, watching movies or reading a book.
“I’m Sidney,” the wild-looking woman said to us. “You can just call me Sid, though.”
She extended a gloved hand for us to shake. I boldly extended mine and shook firmly. Sid had the grip of a man. She looked at me with a smirk. I could guess what she was thinking- what was a young woman like me doing here with these people? Any reasonable person would wonder that. I looked so “pure”- natural wavy brown hair, falling down just past my shoulders; freckles sprinkled all across my cheeks and nose; no makeup whatsoever; I wore a modest long-sleeved shirt with absolutely no cleavage, unlike many women my age, and regular blue skinny jeans. Whoever she had imagined would show up today, I sure wasn’t that girl.
And I think she wondered the same things about Elliott- he always looked so clean cut, after all. Today he sported a nicely fitted blue dress shirt and black jeans, no rips. It was a trend these days to have jeans with rips, but Elliott never jumped on board with that. So we we likely weren’t their typical acquaintances. So what? We were thirsty for money and excitement. Was that so wrong with that?
“I’m Elliott,” Elliott said gruffly, “and this is my friend, Charlotte.”
Elliott always used the term friend when he brought me up in conversation or introduced me, but to be honest we’d been acting a little less platonically lately. After the night at Elliott’s cottage, things were slightly out of sorts. In my head I told myself I’d amount it to nothing more than a drunken night, but the next day we both weren’t acting the same at all.
I recall we were driving around aimlessly- we never had an exact destination in mind- and Elliott reached for my hand. It made me feel a little odd, but I held on. He swirled his thumb around the top of my hand, and I just… I felt so strange. I was happy, though, which surprised me. We blasted some music through his BlueTooth radio, each sharing various songs that meant something to us or told a good story. We loved songs for their lyrics.
When I played him a song called “Fuzzy Blue Lights” by Owl City, he squeezed my hand and smiled.
If I was standing on the balcony
And you were walking down below
I’d feel rather depressed and out of place
And lonely just to watch you go
If you were swinging from the highway overpass
Within the western hemisphere
I’d feel rather afraid and insincere
If you began to disappear
We always quietly shared songs like that with one another as a way of expressing ourselves. I loved sharing those moments with him, and it was really emotional for me, at least.
“So? Are you ready to hear the details?” Sid jolted me from my daydreaming.
That was when I asked a rather uncalled for question.
“Can I take a ride on your bike?”
***
Sid wasn’t shocked by my question in the slightest, as if she got asked that a lot. She flipped her brittle grey hair over her shoulder and shrugged.
“Yeah sure, why not? Hop on.”
I sat down behind her, and awkwardly didn’t know what to do with my hands. As if Sid read my mind, she said, “put your arms around my waist!”
Sid slid her helmet on, and then she stared at me. Surely she didn’t want to risk getting into trouble because I wasn’t properly equipped for the ride. She turned to her friend, an extremely tall, scrappy looking man probably in his mid-forties. With his “biker gear” on he looked menacing, probably well over six feet. He had a shaved head and a full red beard, tattoos on both his hands and another one poking out of his shirt. They seemed to be the classic “scary looking people”, the kind your mother would hold your hand for when passing by.
The man had just been pacing back and forth. I originally thought he was just impatient to get the business going, but something was really bothering him. His facial expression was really tight and stressed, and he was muttering under his breath.
“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” he said to no one in particular.
Sid didn’t seem surprised by the man’s behaviour. She held out her hand to him. “Hey, Rob, can this young lady borrow your helmet for a quick spin?”
I’m going to borrow his helmet?! I thought in disbelief. That surely won’t fit!
But Rob wasn’t listening. He continued to pace, growing angrier.
“Fuck you!” he suddenly shouted, throwing his fists around in the air.
Sid remained calm. “Rob, could we borrow your helmet, please?”
One of the other men gently tapped Rob’s shoulder. Rob startled as if suddenly awoken from a deep sleep. He looked flustered for a moment, then finally handed Sid the helmet.
Elliott gave me a look as if to say, What the fuck are we even doing right now? And I agreed, but I didn’t care much. I just wanted to ride this goddamn motorcycle.
Before I even had a chance to finish putting on my oversized helmet, we were speeding out of the parking lot. We turned onto the old country road and luckily there were no other vehicles to be seen, because Sid was definitely breaking the speed limit by far.
But it was glorious. Elliott and I had driven pretty fast in his cars before, but something about riding a motorcycle was freeing. Having the wind rushing through your hair and slapping your face was refreshing. And it felt dangerous. We were so exposed. I loved every minute of it.
“I didn’t take you for the adventurous type!” Sid yelled over the wind and the motor. “You don’t even know me; I could take you somewhere to kill ya, or drive us off a cliff for all you know!”
Sid clearly didn’t get it. “That’s what makes it so thrilling,” I said.
***
There’s this phenomenon called “Call of the Void”, or as they call it in French, “L’appel du Vide”. Essentially it is talking about the intense urge to do something self-destructive, the intrusive thoughts you might have. It’s like something dark is calling out to you for some unknown reason to go jump off a cliff or swerve into oncoming traffic.
I remember Elliott sharing this term with me one day; in fact, the first day I tried weed. I think he had this on the brain a lot, because he worried about me. He considered my behaviour to be “self-destructive”. And I suppose it was. At the time, I didn’t give a shit. All I knew was that weed gave me the kind of high I needed to feel okay temporarily, and that was just one of a few things I did to get by- drinking, crazy long road trips, trespassing, speeding on a motorcycle. Hey, if it doesn’t kill you, right?
But “Call of the Void” speaks to me so much. It really did put a name to what was happening. These destructive habits are a temporary fix, and looking back now I’m really glad that I didn’t turn it into a permanent one.
Elliott and I were sitting in a field, halfway across the province, way at the end of a dirt road. It was probably one or two in the morning. We each had a joint between our fingers, Elliott had his arm around me. Elliott had tried weed before- he had done so in high school, and didn’t mind it but he had to be careful because sometimes it made him go a little psychotic. He warned that it could do that to people with a predisposition to mental illness.
I was slightly drunk. I was drinking some sort of fruity cooler, which was lukewarm after sitting in Elliott’s trunk all afternoon. After all, we never did stay in one place for too long. We had made a fair amount of money selling weed, but Elliott was the voice of reason between us. He tried to sway me from the idea.
“Hey, Char,” he said, his voice quiet, relaxed. “I know this business is pretty good money, but we can’t keep doing this forever, you know? Don’t you think at some point we should try to find jobs, earn money in an honest way?”
I looked at him. It had been about fifteen minutes since I first tried the joint, and things seemed to be slowing down. I don’t think Elliott had actually spoken that slowly, but it took me a moment to process it.
“Perhaps,” I said, “but I would like to know something first.”
“What’s that?”
“What is going on… between us.”
Not only was I starting to get high, I was also feeling the effects of my drinking. My head sort of swayed from side to side. I felt really nice, like I could chat about anything and it would just be a lovely time. Like I could be honest, like I had no worries, like nothing at all mattered.
Elliott seemed to think about that. He took another puff. “Charlotte, you know how I feel about you,” he said.
“Tell me,” I said.
“I really really like you,” he said, leaning in to kiss me.
I started to laugh. “Really? Why? I don’t really understand it, you know? Like I’m so weird, and I’m so messed up. Everything in my life has gone to shit.”
“I think I just have a thing for damaged goods,” he told me, and we kissed.
***
Things never stayed the same. After all, humans are always changing, whether we like it or not. And some things have to change more urgently than others. Did I really expect to be living on the road, drunk and high, for the rest of my sad life?
One random night, Ross sent me a text. It was fairly to the point-
Hey. I’m not sure if you still have my number, or if you even want to talk to me, but it’s Ross. I think we need to talk. Can you let me know a time that works for you?
I felt my stomach do a back flip. What did it mean? Was he just there to chew me out some more about things I never did because he was bored? Or was he trying to get me back?
We were at a hotel at the time. Elliott had just stepped out of the shower. He saw me sitting, frozen, at the end of the bed.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
I couldn’t speak, so I just showed him the message. Elliott was silent then, too. I’m sure he had a lot to think about, as did I.
My friends and family would have told me there was nothing to think about. It’s over, it’s been over for months now- it had been three long months- and he was a jerk. I shouldn’t go running back, they’d say. I’ll regret it, they’d say.
But Elliott knew this was something I would consider, because he knew me quite well. He probably knew me better than anyone.
So we sat in silence for probably half an hour, the only noise being the distant whir of cars passing by outside. I finally stood up, paced back and forth a couple times, then started to type a response-
Let’s meet tomorrow afternoon.
When I showed Elliott I sent the text, he looked slightly shocked, and not a lot of things shock him. What did he expect? I was weak and fragile, and easily manipulated.
“Guess I’m driving you home,” he mumbled.
#the charlotte chapters#short story#stories#writing#writing blog#writer#author#life#love#realistic fiction#young adult fiction#call of the void#l'appel du vide#anxiety#mental health#mental illness#depression#self destructive#arts#expressive#creative writing
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chapter 7, part 6
“No way,” Walker says, as soon as he figures out what the calling card is for. Landis sees the moment of realization as it happens: Walker’s eyes going wide, his pained expression darkening into a scowl. “Nuh-uh. Not gonna happen. Put that shit away.”
“We can’t beat them,” Landis says. He can feel a headache lingering on the edges of his temples like an approaching storm cloud, and blinks twice, slowly, trying to push it off a little longer. “You would have died out there, if they’d wanted you to! You said it yourself - neither of us saw the shot coming. And those other two guys - they’ve got the same powers as you, don’t they? Maybe even stronger -”
“No one has powers stronger than mine,” Walker snaps, with a sort of finality that just dares Landis to bring it up again.
Must be a touchy subject, Landis thinks. He watches Walker fumble with the box of bandages for a moment before turning his eyes towards Jeremy, who’s been hovering silently over the television since their arrival in the apartment. The two lock eyes for just a moment, then Jeremy looks away, staring pointedly at the floor, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt.
“You’re still here,” Landis says, turning slightly so Walker knows the comment isn’t addressed to him.
“Yeah,” Jeremy says. His voice is soft, and it’s clear that he doesn’t want to talk about it.
“Why?”
“Well, if you two die, someone has to tell everyone else what’s up.” Jeremy smiles, raising his gaze to meet Landis’s again. It’s a different smile from the ones he gave Landis while he was still alive - much thinner. More acerbic. “Besides, Austin’s helped us out a lot. I figure I’d better at least try and return the favor.”
He drifts backwards into the wall behind the television, letting it swallow his incorporeal form, and effectively ending the conversation. Landis watches the wall for a moment in the vain hopes that Jeremy might come back, then sighs and throws himself onto the couch next to Walker. Walker’s cell phone jostles between them, nearly wedging itself into the gap between the cushions before Walker reaches over and saves it.
“Your friend’s not so talkative, huh?” he asks Landis, an eyebrow arched.
“No,” Landis says, glancing around the apartment, trying to gauge if Jeremy is still listening. There’s no signs either way, but he still chooses his words carefully. “He’s not over everything that happened with the lake, I think. But that’s his right.”
“Sure it is,” Walker says, a little dismissively, flipping his phone open. “Well, unfortunately, I’ve got to get ahold of someone who’s even more of a pain to talk to, if we’re ever going to find out anything about Jenny’s friends.”
“Who?” Landis asks.
Walker grins, his lips peeling back to reveal teeth. “One of my bosses. Brace yourself.”
Does he mean Jacob? Landis thinks, puzzled. He’s never quite understood why Walker and Austin dislike Jacob so much. From his admittedly limited experience, it seems like Jacob is just trying his best to keep everything from spiralling out of control. Landis nearly voices the opinion, but remembers Walker’s outburst from before, and decides to bite his tongue. I probably shouldn’t make him angry again right before he gets on the phone with his boss, anyway.
Walker punches a few buttons on the phone, and holds it up between himself and Landis, around the height of his now-bandaged shoulder. Landis can hear a tinny ringing coming from the phone’s speaker that, as Walker clicks the volume button on the side, grows steadily more and more audible.
“Wait,” he says, his throat tight. “I don’t have to say -”
Walker shakes his head. “I’ll do the talking. I just don’t feel like memorizing all this shit and repea-”
“Hi there, you’ve reached the Department of Paranormal Research,” a human, surprisingly cheerful voice on the other end rattles off, talking over the rest of Walker’s sentence. “This is Adrian, how can I help you?”
“Yeah, can you transfer me to…” Walker pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand, squeezing his eyes shut in thought. “Uh, extension 526?”
“Sure thing! If I could just get your name and badge number first, that’d be swell.”
Walker looks close to bursting a blood vessel. Nonetheless, he pulls his wallet out of his pocket and recites a multiple-digit number, then his name, through gritted teeth. The secretary on the other end of the line takes a moment to respond, and Landis can faintly hear keys tapping, as though they’re looking Walker up.
“Great,” the secretary says, eventually. “Thank you for your patience, Agent Rivers. I’ll transfer you now.”
Walker opens his mouth, his eyes glittering like he’s about to say something rude, but the phone clicks abruptly and becomes a dial tone again. It rings exactly twice before someone picks up.
“This better be good.”
It’s not a voice Landis recognizes - it’s slightly deeper than Jacob’s, with a flat affect to it that suggests its owner isn’t willing to play into Walker’s usual nonsense. Walker doesn’t seem to take the hint, a grin spreading across his face as starts to lean more casually against the back of the couch.
“Now, Cillian,” he says, crossing one leg over the other, “is that any way to talk to one of your most important agents?”
There’s a deep sigh on the other end of the line. “What do you want, Walker?”
“Nobody warned me that a bunch of mercs were about to roll up into town,” Walker says. His tone is carefully casual, and he studies his nails as he talks, clearly waiting for Cillian’s reaction before he continues. Landis shifts slightly closer to him on the couch, to hear a little better.
“What?” Cillian asks, voice going from flat to genuinely surprised in the span of a few seconds. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, a bunch of mercs just rolled up into town,” Walker says. “Well, three of them, anyway. Jenny Nicosia, and two guys I don’t recognize. I was hoping you could look them up in that big database of yours and tell me what their deal is.”
There’s the faint sound of typing again, from Cillian’s end of the line. “You’re going to have to give me more to go on than just ‘two guys’. Do you think they’re in town to attack you?”
“No idea, but I don’t really want to find out.”
Walker makes sudden eye contact with Landis as he lies, his gaze steely, obviously communicating one thing - don’t tell. Landis, for all his mistrust of Walker’s methods, immediately understands why. If the Department knows Austin is missing, they’re going to go into panic mode immediately. Jacob’s going to be a mess. And Walker won’t get any of the information we need to know about the people who took Austin, which means we won’t be able to make a plan.
“So, the two guys with Jenny,” Walker continues, without missing a beat. “One’s tall, maybe a couple inches shorter than me, skinny, short red hair, big scar down the left side of his face. The other’s short, chubby, brown hair in kind of a rat-tail deal. They’re both British, so you might have to dip into the files from across the pond -”
“No need,” Cillian interrupts, still audibly typing. “I think I’ve found them.”
“Yeah?” Walker asks. His eyebrows shoot up, but he seems content not to ask anything else, and waits for Cillian to elaborate.
“Hallsey Halloway is your redhead, Benedict Oates is your brunette,” Cillian says. “Both hired mercenaries - a package deal. They were born in England, but started working locally about a year ago.”
“Their powers,” Landis mouths to Walker, who nods.
“Does it mention them having powers at all?” he asks, doing a passable job of sounding like he doesn’t already know the answer.
“No direct reports from agents, but plenty of witness interviews that point towards one or both of them having telekinesis.” Cillian’s tone shifts again, from businesslike recitation to strained, albeit authentic, concern. “Their file says they have a one hundred percent success rate on assignments, and a body count of approximately forty between the two of them, not counting at least five unconfirmed reports.”
At least forty people. They’ve killed at least forty people. The thought reverberates in Landis’s head. There’s a lump in his throat that feels like it’s the size of his fist. The image of Austin, slumped bonelessly in a chair within the motel room as the door slams shut, plays over and over in his mind’s eye. A one hundred percent success rate. We’re out of our fucking depth.
He looks to Walker, and finds him equally stunned, a funny little smile frozen in place on his lips. The knuckles of the hand wrapped around his phone are paper white.
“I don’t think I have to remind you of Jenny Nicosia’s success rate,” Cillian says. “You were very lucky to escape her once.”
“Uh-huh,” Walker says.
“I don’t recommend you engage with this group,” Cillian goes on, back to being stern. “If they haven’t made contact with you, it’s likely that they’re just passing through. If you have any reason to suspect that they mean you or Austin harm, you need to get to a safe space, and call in for backup. We can send the Area 51 squad -”
“Yep,” Walker says, a little too loudly, “thanks, got it. I gotta go walk Austin home from work now, but I’ll keep you posted.”
“See that you do,” Cillian says. “And...Walker?”
“Yeah.”
“Do tell Austin I said hello.”
“Right,” Walker says, and snaps his phone shut without another word. He tips his head back, resting it on the back of the couch and staring up at the ceiling, and lets out a long, exasperated groan.
“You heard him,” Landis says, quietly. He still has his wallet in his hands, and runs a fingertip along the edge of Naberius’s calling card, sticking just slightly out from between two dollar bills. “One hundred percent success rate. We’ll die if we go back there without help.”
“Out of the question,” Walker snaps. “I’m not letting you owe a favor to some - some demon.”
“That’s not really your decision to make,” Landis says, trying to sound much more collected than he feels. He doesn’t want to summon Naberius to help without getting Walker’s consent first - making a plan will be easier if they can all work together - but he will if he has to. If it means getting Austin back without anyone (save maybe the hitmen) dying in the process.
Walker is quiet for a long time, then, at last, lets out another groan.
“Fine,” he says. “I’ll try it your way. But I’m not coming to save you if you get stuck in another duel to the death.”
7.5 || 7.7
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