#my silver tape ended

[mushroom-person]

imagine you get invited to hatsune miku's house at dinner with her family and this guy comes in, sits at the table, and says beep and she says it's her older brother and you just have to accept it.

[gutsby]

Easy to Please

Pairing: Sleazy Landlord!Joel x Reader

Summary: Months pass, and you can’t make rent—again. You find another way to pay your sleazy landlord. Again.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (m!receiving). Dubcon à la power imbalance / sex for money. Infidelity. Pervy!Joel. Talks of abuse. Omitting one tag to avoid spoiling the ending—please read at your own risk.

Note: This fic was loosely inspired by my three favorite songs about female adultery—‘Thinkin’ Bout Cheatin’ by Mae Estes, ‘Lyin’ Eyes’ by The Eagles, and ‘Cheatin’ Songs’ by Midland. No, I don’t support infidelity. Yes, it makes for fun fiction.

Word count: 3.1k

You hate the face he makes when he cums.

You hate the way he tastes when he’s done.

You hate the grit and the heft of the man, every lone hair that sprouts silver from his chest, and the way he pats the open space beside him in bed after you roll away.

‘Never seen a girl so goddamn allergic to cuddling!’

What makes his observation worse is that you know you’re hating it more and more with every passing day.

Today you have seven Benjamins, two Grants, and a Jackson tucked into your purse. You walk with a sluggish gait, knowing you’re $310 short of making this month’s rent and last. But you go on anyway. It’s not like Joel can’t see you from where he’s seated on the porch.

The pleasantries you exchange are short. By now, you have only to breeze past him in his lawn chair and say, ‘I can’t stay long,’ and he knows the rest. He grabs his six-pack, then his Pall Malls, and asks after you all the same.

“How’s the wrist?” he says.

You sprained it over the weekend. You aren’t sure how he heard. At any rate, you ignore the question and set your bag down on the counter before going to the fridge. You deflect with a question of your own—what the hell happened to the lemonade? He had a full jug last week.

“Got thirsty,” Joel answers, shrugging.

You’re always thirsty, you tell him, and you eye the case of Heineken that he’s placed by your purse. You don’t need to see his face to feel the smile starting to form.

“Don’t I know it,” he says. Insinuating.

You’d hit him over the head if you’d been able to reach. He’s still smiling when your shoulder checks his—closer to his elbow, from the feel of it—and when you leave the kitchen, he leaves too. He trails behind you with an ease that says this is the sixth time this has happened since August, and you’re hardly a week out from Halloween.

It’s not just rent you need to pay; it’s other things. Transmission in your truck’s gone to shit. Phone’s been on the fritz since you dropped it in the tub. Talking heads on TV say the country’s on track to get hit with another recession, and from the way your boss has been slashing your hours in half, you think they may be right. The crack in your bathroom window was tiny last week. Today it’s gone, because your husband put his fist through the thing on Sunday. You patched the hole with duct tape.

Joel’s covering the cost for the pane to be replaced, but that’s because he has to. He’s your landlord—proud owner of the Delta Commons trailer park since ‘97—and that’s what landlords do. Everything else is yours to pay.

You’re a part-time student, part-time waitress, and a full-time caretaker for your ailing spouse, or so you call him. Joel knows Stetson’s not sick, just perennially unemployed and drunk. You pay for most things, and it’s rarely enough to cover your rent. Stetson doesn’t care.

And that’s where Joel comes in.

No pun intended, but in his mind, there’s really no nicer way to say it: you fuck his brains out to make up for the shortfall in rent. You blow him before work to make sure your husband and you will have enough to eat that week. You bite the warm, freckled skin between his shoulder and his neck while you ride him, because you know that gesture will get you a little extra cash when you leave. You smile after swallowing him, and Joel knows that it tastes like shit. You’ve gotten good at faking it lately.

What he hopes isn’t totally fabricated is the way you call him big. Strong. Handsome. So stupidly well-endowed that you have to wince for the first few seconds when you sit on it, and go slow when he takes you from behind

“O-ow!” you whine presently.

His dick isn’t even in you yet. You just stubbed your toe on the edge of his dresser on your way to the bathroom.

“You alright?”

“Fuck me!”

I will, he thinks.

“Want me to get an ice—”

“Let go-OW! FUCK!”

Joel barely even touched your wrist and you were flinching away with a brand new pain. You rub it, almost defensively, then pin him with an icy glare. Nice going.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

Now he’ll be lucky if he can swing a half-hearted handy from the one that isn’t hurt. That’s how mad you look.

You turn your body away, and for a second, Joel assumes that his fate has been sealed: you’ll bumble over to the rug by his bed, toss a pillow on the floor, and assume what he already knows to be your least favorite position. You’ll kneel, and talk of migraines and your long, grueling day and in the end find an excuse not to use your mouth. That’ll be okay. But with the debts you owe him now, it also won’t be enough, and Joel will have to ask you back again. He hates sounding needy, but baby, deal’s a deal.

Luckily you don’t give him the chance to use that line. Much to his surprise, you get on the bed. You lie down. You seem to take a little more care settling in this time, but you take off your clothes. It’s a lime green tank top and some ratty jean skirt, but it’s enough to tempt him.

And not just tempt, but oblige him to accept, unblinking. He crawls over the bed to get to you, and he finds that his spit’s filling his mouth a little quicker. His hands are starting to shake as they slide over the duvet, and the tree trunks he once called his legs are runny, like eggs.

He has to remind himself, bluntly, of your last name, the shiny ring on your hand, your husband’s name, your—

“Age—what’d you say your age was again?” Joel asks.

You look confused for a second, but you tell him.

“Twenty-one.”

Way too fucking young to have gotten hitched three years ago. But then he remembers this is Leakey, Texas, and your family hasn’t strayed more than ten miles from the center of town in four generations. You told him that.

“I thought you said twenty,” Joel says, a little uneasy.

“I did. Up until this past Sunday I was.”

“Oh.”

A beat.

“Happy birthday.”

You blink.

“You gonna take your pants off or what?”

And he does. Maybe embarrassed at first, but then the jeans come off, and his boxers go next, and without so much as a word or a breath, his worries are sliding away like water off his back. Like his clothes now peeling off.

Like your smile growing thin at the sight of him half-stripped on the bed in front of you. Joel doesn’t flatter himself to think he’s even half as handsome as he was in his youth, but he knows he has his draws. What endears him to you today is, unfortunately, his wallet. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be convinced to like him more.

More than Stetson, he thinks without humor.

Dumb son of a bitch can’t tell his ass from his elbow and yet he’s won himself you, living it up these last three y—

“Oh.”

He sounds like an owl now. His clothes are off, and you’re rubbing him, pumping him gently in your hand, which you were so kind to make wet with your saliva. It even sounds better than his, the way it squelches with every flick. Joel can only say so much in strangled breaths.

He tries anyway:

“Feel like a dream, sweet pea.”

Sweet pea.

Your pace quickens. Joel swears he can see the corners of your lips twitch, but then he thinks you’re just wincing. You move down to the floor beside the bed. Kneel almost politely while you nestle yourself between his parted legs

Your mouth is warm. It’s always warm. Joel wouldn’t expect a girl’s tongue to greet his dick like ice, but yours is always heated to a thousand degrees, it feels like. He enjoys the sting. Your lips envelop his big, leaking tip, and he swears he can stay like this forever—in you.

On you, too. He’s got his palm resting flat on your head, and he doesn’t mean to, but he pushes. He bunches your hair in a fist and drags your face to make you swallow.

Mean old man, you must be saying in your head when he stuffs your mouth full. Makes your eyes prick with tears.

Sweet girl. My sweet pea, he thinks, affectionately, and continues to rub your scalp. He holds your teary gaze.

And then you’re moving up. Down. Coating his length with shiny spit and tiny whimpers as your lips move gently back and forth, again and again. Joel’s grip tightens in your hair, and he begs for more. More.

“More,” he orders, jaw clenched, “Fit a little more’a me.”

From where you’re kneeling below, you look put off.

Then you pull off, and you wipe your wet chin.

“Chokin’ me,” you grumble, “‘S’too big.”

Normally, Joel loves to hear that.

Now, however, he’s sliding his touch to your chin and tilting your head up to him. Thumbing at the spit dribbling out on either side of your mouth and subsequently coaxing your lips further apart.

He slides back in, and you don’t fight it. You like it. Holding his gaze in a soft, docile look while your lips stretch deliciously around his shaft, you must love it. Every inch and every twinge of pleasure from the brush of his cock going in and out must be your favorite thing.

Joel hopes it is, anyway. He holds your face now, and your throat convulses involuntarily. You’re so pretty.

“Such a good, sweet girl, ain’t ya?” he presses, watching the coarse grey hairs at the base of him tickle your face.

You respond well to praise. You preen under those words, and try to nod. But his cock is so deep down your throat you end up choking again. Joel watches all of it smiling.

Petting your head and not pushing again. Grinning.

“Love my cock nice and stuffed in that pretty throat?”

You blink instead of nodding, but it’s more than enough.

“Love me deep?”

And the head of him sinks somewhere he’s never been. Your eyes are like two wide pools, and your lips leak everywhere—your chin, your cheeks, your neck.

Joel’s smearing it all with his palm and smiling so wide that he thinks he might pull a muscle. He pants heavily.

“Just what you’re made for. Just what you need.”

You look like you might agree. He keeps going.

“My fuckin’ mouth. My pretty, pretty mouth.”

He holds your face. He thinks he might cum.

“Ain’t a damn thing Stetson can do for this mouth, huh?”

And then he doesn’t. Joel barely blinks, and you’re already bucking your head out of his hold, mouth skittering away while the spit spills out. You’re practically drenched down to the chest when your face rears back. Your eyes are alight and no longer smiling when you grit:

“Don’t.”

Joel should’ve known better.

He’s hit a raw nerve, and now he really wishes he hadn’t.

It doesn’t stop there—but it doesn’t get better, either. Things progress in much the same way as they always have but with none of the need, or the warmth, of before. You climb back up and straddle him quick. Not meeting his eye, you just sit down, and slide down, and don’t wince at all. You don’t tell him that he’s big, and he doesn’t get the chance to even groan at the first influx of pleasure before you’re riding him. Bouncing and grinding your hips against his with all the passion of someone perusing the newspaper. You don’t whimper or moan.

Of course, Joel enjoys the feeling. He also wants someone to punch him in the throat for what he’s done.

“Hey, hon—” he starts, voice strained, “Hon, I’m sorr—”

“Shut up,” you snap.

Your movements hardly falter, and now your hand is seizing the headboard. You’re clenching him tight inside your wet, drooling cunt, and it’s obvious you’re trying to make him cum as quickly as possible. You swallow hard.

Joel isn’t sure what to do. On the one hand, his body is being flooded with pleasure, and on the other, he fears you may never do this with him again. Quickly fixing on the latter, he cups your face in one hand. It’s still wet.

His fingers smear the spit, and somehow you look even prettier. You keep grinding your body in desperate little fits above him, and really, you feel fucking amazing, but Joel is too focused on other thoughts. He squeezes you.

“Baby—” he tries again, but you shush him just as fast.

Your hips are moving viciously now. No matter how sore your legs might have been from a long day toiling away—just a couple hours before your shift at your next job, if Joel’s remembering correctly—you’re working him well. Doing him in. Fucking his brains out, but you aren’t his.

His fingers smear the spit even more. Never will be his.

“Sweet pea—”

“Don’t fucking call me that!”

Now he can’t deny that his climax is close. But this isn’t how he wanted it to end—with you so incensed you can hardly look him in the eye. His hand rubs more, helpless.

And just when he’s seconds away from painting your insides white, losing it all to the pleasure, he sees it.

His wet, sticky touch has uncovered a residue.

Joel pulls his fingers away in a blink, and simultaneously, your eyes are fluttering closed. You’re focused now on climax; because of that, you don’t see what he sees.

What he’s stunned to find on his fingers: makeup.

Lots and lots of thick, heavy makeup on your cheeks. Concealer, he thinks he’s heard it called once or twice.

No matter the name, he quickly comes to see what it’s for. Just as you’re hitting your peak, squeezing the headboard behind him, and coming undone with a shockwave trembling all through your body, Joel pales.

The makeup that you applied so heavy tonight hides bruises. Black and blue and awful hues of greenish-purple too, your whole face, he sees, is engulfed.

He doesn’t speak. He won’t ask.

He won’t cum tonight, either.

He’ll finish something else.

You leave Joel’s trailer angry. You don’t say goodbye. The screen door screams shut behind you when you leave, and silently, you wonder why he didn’t cum. For once, you wish he had—and hadn’t said half of what he did.

Six hours pass like molasses, and by the end of it all—the close of your second shift—Stetson’s name still echoes in your head. The way Joel said it. It hums along the walls of your skull while you walk, and as you draw closer to home, you remember that strange and infuriating tone.

Then you remember your own less than two months ago:

Don’t talk to my husband. Don’t talk about my husband.

They were two simple rules, and Joel broke them both.

He must’ve defied the first when paying a visit to make repairs that week, and that’s when Stetson mentioned your hand: how you ‘slipped’ in the bath. Tripped and conveniently sprained your wrist the same night he almost tore your arm out of the socket for looking at a waiter a tad too long at dinner. You’d bet any sum of money Joel didn’t get to hear that part from Stetson when he came over to see about the window, though.

No, your twenty-first came and went without so much as a word about your wrist. Your arm. Your face—used to getting caked with concealer every third week or so.

You wince as you open the door. You walk slowly.

At first, you’re met with silence, and you sigh with relief. Then you hear it, and shortly drop your purse to the floor.

You all but fall down yourself at the sight: your husband doubled over across from you, in the kitchen. His head in his hands. You don’t need to see the face to know that it’s bleeding. Profusely. You tread ever slower into the room, thinking somehow, some way he’s going to blame this on you. And when he straightens a little and shows off the full, gruesome extent of his injuries, you blanch to think that it might be. His body’s been beaten to a pulp.

Your pulse hammers in your head so loud you can’t hear him groan. You see him, but you don’t really believe it.

And when Stetson reaches for you, you stagger back.

Your hands skim the counter, but your brain barely registers it. Your husband’s calling to you now, ‘Quit standin’ there lookin’ stupid, do somethin’, huh?!’ He’s screaming, and you’re not hearing it. Barely feeling like a sentient person at all but just a doll stumbling backward on two wooden legs. As you walk, your palm stays stuck to the laminate underneath it, and suddenly, you feel it.

An envelope.

In this state, you aren’t sure why you grab it, but you do.

You take the lone white paper, and you turn to leave. Your hands shake as you hold the thing, and your legs are hardly any better, but they carry you, miraculously, from the kitchen to the threshold of the back door. Then out. Stetson’s not just yelling but bellowing, loud, every last obscenity known to man as he holds his bloodied side and limps in his perilous, pathetic way. Fortunately, you’re gone just in time to miss the bottle he hurls.

Outside, you walk. And walk. And in the still of the night you’re obliged to find your way through a miscellany of trailers and trucks and old, creaking vans by moonlight, and the throbbing in your head begins to slow. You don’t rush to get far, and you don’t have your keys even if you wanted to drive off. You keep walking. Watching nothing.

When your eyes drift to the envelope in your hand, you barely see that either. You’re just blinking as you look, and breathing as you wait for the sight to make sense.

Inside, you find seven Benjamins, two Grants, and a Jackson staring back. Next to them are a few dozen others—enough to cover August, September, October, and several months before that, if you had to guess.

You hope you’ll get the opportunity to thank Joel, and maybe tell him that you don’t really hate him, someday.

[e-vay]

SONIC’S MOM (in my AU)

I’ve spent a really long time working on Sonic’s mom for my AU but I’m finally ready to share her with you!

I wrote this out in text form below the cut for those of you who need to translate it:

Domino was a free-spirited, independent hedgehog. Despite being dealt some rough cards in life, she always had an upbeat attitude and could find the silver lining to almost any situation. Domino had to get by with just the clothes on her back, so she quickly learned to be very resourceful. She was adamantly against material things, except for her one gold earring that she treasured. Her lack of funds led to a nomadic lifestyle, but this gave her a greater appreciation for the planet and she ended up loving her minimalist way of life.

A one-time tryst led to Domino being pregnant with Sonic at a relatively young age. Though she knew nothing about being a mom, she loved him instantly. She couldn’t offer him much, so she did her best to teach him how to make the most out of what little they had and to appreciate all the wonderful things the planet has to offer. Sonic was able to crawl, walk and soon run faster than most babies, so he was very quick to fend for himself. This made Domino’s life easier and more challenging at the same time!

PHLOX: Sonic’s biological father. He and Domino met while they were both passing through the same village and had instant chemistry. She wasn’t one to stay in one place for long, so she took off after one night together. He never knew about Sonic.

Being a young, single mom is tough enough. When your baby has the ability to run at super speeds, it gets even more complicated. Domino was constantly repairing Sonic’s baby shoes when he repeatedly wore the rubber off, but eventually even her trusty roll of duct tape wasn’t enough to cut it. She ended up giving up her solid gold earring to buy him a pair of durable shoes that could withstand his speed.

Domino had a bad habit of telling tall tales. She didn’t do this to be malicious; she just liked to make her life sound more interesting than it was. This tended to get her into trouble, but made for excellent bedtime stories!

One unfortunate night, a terrible storm rolled in and caused a flash flood in the forest where Domino and Sonic were occupying. Domino knew Sonic would be able to outrun it, so she urged him to get away and leave her behind. Domino did not survive.

This traumatic event had a huge impact on toddler Sonic and is not only the reason he’s afraid of water, but why he stopped talking for several years when he was little. With time, he forgets this event and even forgets Domino, and he finds his voice again.

[bookshelf-dust]

something’s gotta give

gif by @kwistowee

eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 5,988

warnings: swearing, crude jokes, sexual innuendos, general hatred for either party, one small mention of a judgmental christian lady, depictions of an accident involving a box cutter, talk of blood and the ensuing wound, banter, both reader and eddie trying to get under each others skin, enemies to lovers trope

synopsis: eddie munson is a prick. a prick who also happens to be your coworker. you hate his guts. he hates yours. and who would think there’d be reason for anything else?

a/n: well, hello!! i’ve been working on this idea for a little bit, and it was definitely a challenge because i’ve never taken on something with this dynamic before. it was so tricky to come up with all these snarky remarks, to build up a world where it made sense. speaking of, this is without a doubt a 90s!au. i am proud of myself for trying something new and i think it turned out pretty good. shoutout to @clovermunson for listening to me vent about my struggles and helping me mold eddie into the smartass he is. also thank you to @steph-speaks for making me a cutie rb banner!! peep it at the end of the fic. happy reading!!! <333

————

“Here’s your change and…there’s your receipt.” 

You bump the cash register drawer with your hip, slamming the thick metal shut. You give a big, warm smile to the woman in front of you. She has a face full of freckles and the most beautiful silver hair that makes her blue eyes look insanely vibrant. 

She grins back at you, setting her palm on the countertop, her nails painted a pale, shimmery shade of pink. “Thank you, sweet pea. And thank you for helping me find some goodies!” She shakes her paper bag. 

You hand her a complimentary bookmark with the store name on it. “You’re so welcome. You’ll have to stop by and let me know what you think about that one!”

“Of course! You have a good day, now.”

“You too!” You give her a small wave as she walks out the door, and move to put away the store’s copy of her receipt. Your smile drops immediately when you feel a looming presence behind you. The paper in your hand gets crushed when you shove it under the counter. 

“Damn, you flick the bean this morning?” Eddie’s voice drips with malice. You know he’s wearing that sinister ass smirk before you even turn to face him. 

“Why? Need some advice on how to find it, Munson?” You grab a stack of books off the counter and slide out of the way so he can clock in. 

The sound of his boots on the carpeted floors tell you he’s following you. He always is. 

“I think it’s a valid question, princess. You’re in such a good mood it makes a guy wonder…” 

You stop in the mystery section, looking for authors with the last name beginning with ‘F,’ and begin to restock. “Well, Eddie, if I got off and that’s why I’m so bubbly today, it’s pretty clear to me that somebody gave you blue balls last night.”

He laughs, snatching a book out of your hand to put it on the top shelf when he sees you rise up on your tippy toes. It pisses you off. “Harsh, princess.”

You turn around at the sound of the doorbell, but he stops you with an arm outstretched to rest on the wall. 

You grab his hand and shove it out of your way. “I guess you should’ve put that hand to good use then and given yourself a quick, and probably little, job before you came to your real one.”

When you escape his vicinity, you look around for the customer you heard come in. There’s a young boy wandering through the back section where you sell records, tapes, CD’s, whatever the fuck. It’s Eddie’s section, and therefore not your problem. 

You hold eye contact with the man in question, giving him your bitchiest look possible. “You have a customer, Munson. And…” you glance at your watch, “I’m going on lunch.”

Eddie watches as you cross your arms and march off to the break room. His gaze falls to your ass. You’re wearing this long skirt, one that falls just above your ankles so your boots poke out. The fabric is loose and flowy, but manages to cling to your skin and he can see every curve when you walk. Every bounce of soft flesh—

“Hey, excuse me?” The voice of a boy, no more than fourteen, snaps Eddie out of his dick-controlled reverie. 

He spins around to face the kid, putting on his customer service face. “What can I do for you, little dude?”

In the break room, you stand in front of the microwave, shifting back and forth on your feet while you wait for your leftover pasta to warm up. It’s rare now for your shifts to line up with Robin’s. She is a good coworker, and you’d built up this system, this rhythm, that Eddie has never even tried to build with you. 

God, you miss her. And you fucking hate Eddie Munson. 

You pull out a chair and sink down into it, too pissed to care that you’re essentially manspreading and certainly eating like a slob. 

What angers you the most is that you tried to be friendly with Eddie when he was hired. You have seniority over him, and you were happy to help him figure out how things worked. But he didn’t give a fuck. To you, it seemed like he was too good for your help. 

But the first time you saw him ask Robin for help, you realized that he just…didn’t like you. And you don’t know why. You have always been nice to your coworkers. You have no reason not to be. Except when you get to a point that you’re forced to match their energy. 

You down the rest of your drink. You need to go out and get some fresh air, despite the fact that it’s fucking scorching outside. 

Up front, Eddie gives the young boy his receipt and a little bag full of cassette tapes, buttons, and a patch that he helped him pick out. Another child saved from the masses of pop music, he thinks. 

He taps his ringed fingers against the counter, lowering himself so that his elbows rest against the cool vinyl. Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie catches a sticky note stuck to the edge of the computer monitor. 

The store’s goal total for today is written there, penciled messily in your handwriting. Eddie rolls his eyes. Why do you always have to be on top of everything like that? You’re so fucking uptight all the time Eddie’s surprised you don’t waddle because of the stick you permanently have up your ass. 

Ever since the day he got hired a few months ago, Eddie has despised you. He remembers taking a small tour of the shop and being introduced to you where you were organizing a new shipment of magazines. 

You stood, shyly fidgeting with the pin on your fitted denim vest. You were bubbly, with these sweet little doe eyes and an expression on your face like you were hoping to make a new friend. He remembers your palm feeling unsettlingly cold when he shook your hand, and now it all makes sense to him. 

What with the way you can change moods with the drop of a pin, how you manage to bring a storm cloud with you every time you walk in his direction but have everyone else wrapped around your finger. 

A cold-blooded bitch like you must surely feed on the souls of little children every morning. 

He hates how organized you are, how prepared. How you behave all patiently when you’re with a customer who’s been a prick, even though he knows it’s all an act because you’ll give him a death glare at any given chance. 

But most of all? He hates how fucking gorgeous you are. You’d think all that hatred would make you look like an old hag, but no. Instead you walk around in your skirts that show off that perfect ass and every once in a while you wear a shirt that shows the tiniest sliver of your stomach, or in some cases, your back, if you bend over. He hates when you wear those platform boots with the heels that allow you to level with him. 

And the fact that you’re walking toward him right now. 

Eddie watches as you strip off the cropped button-up you’d been wearing, exposing your bare arms. 

There’s a tattoo running up the length of your bicep that he’s never seen before. His gaze lingers on it for long enough that you catch it and raise a brow. 

“You cry when you got that, princess?” He points to the dark ink on your skin. 

You slide behind him and sit on the stool in front of the computer. 

“No, Eddie. I fell asleep. If you want to bond about how you wailed during each of your tattoo sessions, you’ll have to talk to Brian.”

He scoffs. “Guess you can handle a little prick then, huh?”

“I work with you everyday, don’t I?” You smile, but keep your eyes on the computer screen. There’s supposed to be a new shipment of books coming today, and your boss already asked you to set up the display when it gets here. That reminds you, and you speak before Eddie can give you a smartass remark. “Eddie, there’s a box of new vinyls in the back you’re supposed to sort and put out.”

“Yeah? I’ll get right on that, mom.”

You pinch your thumb and forefinger together so that you don’t snap. It’s such a shame that such a pretty man is such a fucking asshole.

The mouse starts to feel slick from your clammy hands as you click around, trying your best to track the package. Slam!

Eddie drops the box of records on the far end of the front desk, making you jump. He grabs a box cutter and pulls open the mess of cardboard and packing tape as aggressively as possible. 

Your head snaps in his direction. “Can’t you do that anywhere else, Munson?”

“Nah, babe. My only entertainment for the day is pissin’ you off, and I just clocked in.”

You facepalm. “Jesus fucking Christ, I miss Robin.”

Eddie cups his hand around the shell of his ear. “What’s that, princess? You need Buckley, huh? Bet she puts up with your shit.”

You stand up. “More like she puts up with me talking about the shit you put me through, because you masquerade as a sweet little angel when you work with her.” You’ve moved toward the other end of the counter before you can even realize, leveling with Eddie and getting in his face.

He places both of his hands on the table, grinning like the cat that got the cream. “Maybe it’s because Robin isn’t a fucking priss, and actually has a personality.”

That hits a nerve, and Eddie catches the way your brows twitch. But your poker face doesn’t slip, not for a second. Your eyes flick to the front door. 

“You have a customer, Munson. I’ll go take care of the records. Oh, and they’re a chick. Maybe you can go see if she has a personality that’s up to your standards and get your dick wet so that there’s a slight chance you become less of a raging asshole.”

Eddie looks over his shoulder at the young woman who’s just walked through the door. She has long, dark hair and more piercings than he can count. She’s his type, and he hates that you clocked that. When he turns back to you, you’re already taking the box off the counter. 

“Oh, and Eddie? Fuck you.”

You get the vinyls sorted and put away in record time. 

————

If it’s possible, the next day is hotter than the last. You’re sweating the second you walk out of your front door, your hairline quickly dampening and your thighs sticking together on the drive to work. 

You put on the one short dress you own today, grateful for the fact that your place of occupation doesn’t have a strict dress code. It’s too hot to wear anything, but the thin, mesh-like fabric and little spaghetti straps will do just fine. 

Luckily for you, Eddie’s shift doesn’t start until one, so you’ll be able to have a chill morning where you won’t feel like blowing your own brains out. Knock on wood, but you even feel a little giddy because Robin opened, which means she’ll be there to welcome you and greet you with a bit of peace. 

You pull open the front door, and pick up speed, knowing the cool air is just within your reach. The sounds of heavy metal reach your ears before you see him. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” 

You consider yourself lucky that the floor is empty, because you did not consult your conscience for one second before expressing your pure annoyance that Eddie is here before he was meant to be. 

You push up your sunglasses so they’re level with your eyebrows, and take a look at the figure standing behind the counter. There is no Robin anywhere in sight. “Where is Robin? Why the fuck are you here?” You catch Eddie’s gaze drag up and down your bare legs and that good mood flies right outside the front door. 

“Why are you dressed like that?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “What’s the matter, Eddie baby? You not see a lot of shoulders in that fuck ass club of yours?”

You pull your sunglasses back down over your eyes and grin, because you’ve just seen Eddie Munson blush. That one really hit the mark, and you are immensely pleased with yourself. 

Even more so when you realize he’s following you. You start switching your hips, knowing where his gaze is. You’re not as stupid as he thinks. 

His wallet chain is jingling, his hair flying behind him as he jogs to meet you in the middle of the store. If a customer were to walk in right now, they’d see the both of you standing nose to nose, a murderous look in your eyes, and probably feel like they’d just walked in on a taping for a soap opera. 

“What do you know about my fuck ass—” He coughs, practically chokes. “W-what do you know about Hellfire?” Eddie asks. You can almost see his blood boiling. 

You put your hand on his chest. “I’m a rogue, bitch.”

The sound of your laugh reaches Eddie’s ears before he’s even registered your hand on him, your breath on his neck, and that you’ve turned around and disappeared. There’s no way you’re not a witch. Are you a witch? What does a hex feel like? 

Eddie starts walking to the stacks, suddenly encouraged to see if you carry any witchcraft-related texts. The doorbell chimes and he’s forced to spin around. 

The group of people that have just pushed through the doors is huge. At least six teenagers of varying heights, followed by four or five college-aged kids. And they all look like they’re on a mission. Two of them head straight for the records, one for the magazines, and he loses sight of the rest down the romance aisle. 

In the back, you lock up your bag and shake out your shoulders. 

Your fingers fly over the radio, quickly changing the station Eddie had chosen to one you know plays much better music. You turn the dial down a little too, having already started to feel blood leaking out of your ears. 

At the counter, Eddie watches in horror as the teenagers grab armfuls of records and CDs. What’s worse is that a family of four walk in next. An older woman walks straight up to him. “Excuse me, sir?” Sir? What is he, a fucking mummy? “Where are your bibles and Christian novels?” He catches her eyeing the ink littering his pale arms. 

“I can show you to them, ma’am. If you wanna come with me, we’ve got a whole section just for that!” Your bubbly voice meets Eddie’s ears. And so do the sounds of “There She Goes” by The La’s. 

The woman turns on you, her smile brightening, and she’s quick to follow your purposeful step. Over your shoulder, you wink at Eddie. 

He knows it’s evil. He knows he fucking hates your guts. He hates that you’ve just charmed that red flag of a woman. But he’ll be damned if he fails to admit that his zipper didn’t feel just a little tighter at that faux flirtation in your expression.

“Let me know if you need help finding anything, alright? And if we don’t have anything in stock, we can always order it for you!” 

Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes and you’re practically stomping on your way back to the counter. You use the walk to actually take in Eddie for the first time since you came in. 

He’s wearing a t-shirt that he obviously cut the sleeves off of at home, purely based on the way they’re fraying. His arms are…beefy, to say the least. His skin looks unnaturally soft, and his biceps are just so big and they look like they’re begging to be squeezed or bitten, even. 

Your eyes wander lower when he’s called over to help a child cart probably ten CDs to the counter. His jeans aren’t tight, not exactly. But they fit. He’s got more ass than most people would know what to do with. You can’t help but wonder what it looks like outside of that ratty denim. Or what else he might use that bandana for. 

You park yourself in front of the register, getting the system set up before the rush you can feel coming on. The cracks in the leather seat below you pinch your thighs, but you can’t be bothered to care. You deserve it for thinking of such a dickhead that way. Why are the gorgeous ones always assholes? 

A quick glance over your shoulder tells you that Eddie’s not helping kids anymore, but shamelessly flirting with a girl who can’t be more than twenty-one. She looks slightly intimidated by him, until he flashes his ring-covered fingers in front of her. You recognize that look, the one that tells you she might just eat him alive. 

You fear she’ll be immensely disappointed when she truly gets to meet his personality. 

In the time he’s been trying to woo this young lady, a line has formed, and now you’re stuck cashing people out. The Christian lady is first. 

“You find everything you needed today?”

She drops some change into the tip jar and takes a mint from the tray you just restocked. “Yes, I did, sweetheart, thank you for asking. You see that? Yes, that one—isn’t it gorgeous?”

She forces you to look at the fancy bible she’s picked out, and you do so despite the voice inside your head screaming for her to fucking pay already and get out because she’s been here long enough and the line is only getting longer. 

“It sure is!” You do your best to smile kindly. You hand her the receipt and a small card that not only thanks her for her purchase, but promises a ten percent discount if she comes back within the next month. 

The next customer is easy, a ten year old with a storybook that has colorable pages and a bookmark with rainbow tassels. You hand him a sticker and tell him you like his Gizmo shirt, and he beams his way out the door. 

When you are confronted with a set of parents who clearly have more kids than they seem to want, you feel a warm breath on the back of your neck. “You have a happy pill on you I can have?”

Eddie takes the stack of books out of your hands and places each one in a paper bag. The customers aren’t even looking at you, what with the husband fussing about inflation and How much for a paperback? and the toddler trying to eat the rug.

“No, sweetie,” you start, sliding the bag across the counter, hoping maybe the woman will notice and take her gaze off the street just outside the window. She takes it without looking at you, without a word, and the husband walks away mulling over the receipt, not bothering to do a headcount of kids. “I can’t keep up with your stash of boner pills.”

Eddie laughs. He tosses his head back, bearing his thick neck to you. It’s a slow sound. You can’t help but feel like it’s not something you should hear. It feels like the kind of laugh someone saves for a lover in privacy. And it’s so gravelly and deep. 

The line has slowed, and all that’s left for you to do is keep an eye out for the customers slowly making their way up front. 

You tilt your head a little in Eddie’s direction, signaling that you’re speaking to him. “You probably do need them though, based on the way you were eye-fucking that girl earlier. God knows you’re gonna need a little…happy to keep up with her.” 

Eddie bends a little at the knees, getting his head completely level with yours, his brown eyes twinkling with malice. “You think about my dick a lot, princess?”

You place your hand on the counter, less than an inch between yours and Eddie’s fingers. One move and they’d be touching. Hell, one step forward and your front would be pressed to his. “More like I worry about it,” you say. 

He quirks a brow, his lips ticking up at the corners. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Since I see you try and pick up a girl in the store at least three times a week and you know what? They never stick. So either it’s that you can’t get it up, or it’s that if you treated any woman as well as you treat that guitar of yours, maybe they’d be satisfied.”

Eddie takes a step forward. You’ve never been this close to him. “You know, Princess, they might not last, but based on your fucking attitude, it seems like you’re jealous.”

“Jealous?”

He pushes a strand of hair out of your face. Your blood pressure spikes. It feels like your veins are turning colors with how angry you are. Eddie has the nerve to laugh. 

“Yeah. I think all this bitchiness comes from the fact that no one will put their dick anywhere near you. They’re probably afraid you’ll make it shrivel up and die.” You don’t say anything, and he just keeps going. “Hell, I’m nice enough that I’d fuck you if that meant you’d get off my back.”

Your entire body goes rigid. And in that moment, you know that’s exactly what he wanted from you. But you refuse to give him the satisfaction. 

“Thanks for the offer, Munson. But I’d rather gouge my own fucking eyes out than let you touch me. If you wanna see me as a priss, that’s fine. But at least I’m not an insufferable prick who can’t give a damn about anyone who’s not shoved so far up my own ass and ready to fall at my feet at any given moment. Some people have to grow the fuck up.” You practically spit out the last few words, your voice laced with venom. 

Eddie blinks. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes glazed over. For the first time since he met you, he doesn’t have shit to say.

————

You and Eddie are the only ones on schedule today. 

You haven’t spoken in days, just moving around one another and doing your jobs in silence. You can’t lie about the pride you feel in your chest from having finally gotten to him. Even if the dead quiet is unsettling, you feel a sick sense of satisfaction. 

You think Eddie might’ve even mastered the art of a fake, but amiable personality. 

You’re currently hiding away in the back room, unpacking new shipments of books, vinyls, display materials, along with all the shit you actually need like paper for the register and cleaning supplies. 

Not that it matters where you are because you’ve had a total of one customer today. But that’s how Wednesday’s go. 

It’s sort of mindless, this activity. You slide the box cutter over the packing tape, rip open each box, take everything out, stomp the box flat, repeat. It’s not very stimulating, but you don’t hate it. 

The last box though is covered in enough clear tape to catch every fly in the world, and it’s taking some serious sawing to get through. You set your hand on the worn and slightly damp cardboard, bracing yourself to get one end of it loose. 

You’re just getting there when the blade finds a raindrop on the silky tape and slips free. You’re not expecting that, of course, and the blade slices the skin of your forearm quickly and thoroughly. 

You yelp, dropping the box cutter. You’re never one to wail or scream, but you let out a whimper at the shock of pain. Your non-dominant hand starts to shake as you take in the wound.

You’re too panicked to realize that your frightened exclamation could be heard up front, considering there’s no music playing and you left the receiving room’s door open. 

It doesn’t look deep enough to need stitches, but it’s bleeding. Quite a bit, actually. 

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.”

There are thudding footsteps, and then Eddie appears in the doorway. “Fuck fuck fuck, what? Bein’ so damn loud.” He pauses, taking in the sight before him. 

Your eyes are glazed over, your hands shaking, and you’re cupping your forearm so as to not let blood drip all over the floors. 

“Oh fuck off, I do not need this right now!” you exclaim, knowing he’s going to berate you or say something demeaning and you are not going to cry in front of him. 

Eddie says your name. 

He never says your name. It makes you look up at him, and you almost feel nauseous at the sincere look on his face. 

“Do you need me to drive you somewhere?”

You roll your eyes. “No, Eddie. I’m not fucking helpless! And I’m not bleeding out either!”

He steps towards you, his hands outstretched like he’s a ringmaster, like he’s trying to tame an apex predator. “But you are bleeding.”

“No fuckin’ shit, Sherlock—”

“Let me help you—”

You decide to shove past him, whimpering your way towards the bathroom. Eddie is on your heels. You try to shut the door in his face, but he plants his boot firmly on the floor and prevents you from it. His glare is unwavering. 

He repeats your name once more. It sends a shiver down your spine. “Just—just fucking stop for a minute, okay? Let me help you. Let me do this one thing without any of this shit, you hear me?” 

You blink. Eddie kicks the door stopper down so it stays open. His eyes flick to the toilet seat. “Sit.”

You’re too winded to say no. So you sit down, cradling your arm, while Eddie rummages around for gauze and wipes and whatever the fuck he can find because he’s not a nurse but he has had to clean himself up on more than one occasion. 

You can’t process that Eddie is treating you this way. Like a human. That he’s insisting on helping you when he doesn’t get anything out of it. 

When he returns, he settles on his knees in front of you, looking into your eyes to make sure it’s okay for him to touch you. You hate the way your stomach flips. But the little shift in your arm tells him it’s alright. 

Eddie’s fingers are cold on yours as he turns your forearm outward so he can look at the wound. You can’t help but watch as he works on you. Takes care of you. 

He sets a paper towel underneath your arm, using another to press down on your skin and make sure the bleeding has stopped. The pressure hurts, but you don’t say a word. 

Eddie hooks his foot around the corner of the trash can, pulling it closer. He throws out the bloody towel and wets another, being as gentle as he can in an effort to clean all of the dried red splotches from your skin. 

The cut isn’t deep, but it definitely nicked a few capillaries along the way. It is a little longer though, and Eddie has to use two big pieces of gauze to cover it. This is after he’d swiped your arm with alcohol wipes, grinning to himself because of how hard you were trying not to show him any weakness. 

Eddie’s thumb lingers on your skin long after he’s taped you up. You’re both silent, sitting in your shitty workplace bathroom. You can feel that he wants to say something, but you don’t know what. It’s why you haven’t gotten up yet. 

You notice his eyes on your face before you meet his gaze. “Will you look at me?” he says. Your heart jolts in your chest. 

“What for?”

“So that I can tell you why I’ve been a giant dick since I met you and you’ll see I’m being real with you.”

Your head shoots up, mainly because you can’t really believe he’s just said those words. “Hold on,” you laugh, “You’re going to explain yourself now? After I spent all that time trying to be your friend and you—”

“Treated you like shit, yeah I know.” Eddie drags his hands down his face. You’re not sure why, but you feel compelled to listen to him. “I showed up and you were there in your cute fucking skirts and you were so nice to everyone and just so…good? I couldn’t stand it.”

You blink. 

“I’m not like that. I’m not good with people and empathetic like you are and it takes me a long fucking time to do anything right. And I chose to take that out on you, to hate you, because you were so perfect, and that was easier than falling for you.”

Your mouth drops open. He what? Eddie waves his hands in your direction. 

“Close your mouth, you’re gonna catch flies. I hated that I could’ve dropped to my knees for you the second I met you. You looked at me like I was precious, like you were happy to meet someone new, and I’m such a fuck up, such a nuisance to so many people, that there was no way I was going to let a pretty girl like you befriend me and have me ruin it all. Because the truth is, I’d kill to be as fucking good as you are.”

You start shaking your head. You feel your eyes glaze over, so you look down at your freshly bandaged arm. 

“And I realize that the only reason you’re a dick to me is because I started that shit.”

You let out the barest hint of a laugh. “It’s called matching your energy. There wasn’t any point in trying to befriend you when you…hated me.”

Eddie says your name again. “I don’t hate you. I do hate myself though, and that I was so—”

“Jealous?” you interrupt, finishing for him. 

He tugs on the hair at the base of his neck. God, this is the most ridiculous fucking thing. 

“Yeah. Jealous that I don’t have as much good in me as you do. I’d see you working, see you happy to help anyone, see you pull more weight than anyone else here. I hated that you’re everything I’m not.”

When you finally look back up at him, you’ve gone all teary, and something inside Eddie breaks. It snaps. 

“We’re not supposed to be the same. If we were, nothing would ever work. You act like you’re just—just this helpless piece of shit, Eddie. You aren’t. But I can’t make you realize that. All I can do is tell you that if you want to be more charismatic—or whatever the fuck—you gotta work at it.”

He’s looking at you with his stupid ass doe eyes, and you think you finally understand him. 

“It doesn’t matter if you’re everything I am, Munson. No one else is livin’ your life for you.” You start to trail off, but not quite yet. “I wish you hadn’t been so fucking sincere so I could yell at you.”

Eddie tosses his head back, bearing his neck to you, and laughs. He raises his hands, beckoning you. “C’mon. Let me have it. You deserve it for how many times I’ve called you a priss.”

You shake out your shoulders, and if you weren’t still drained from the box cutter incident you’d jump up and hop back and forth like you’re readying to get in the ring. 

“I get it, you know? But I also don’t think it’s fair, because, and I’m gonna be honest here, the day you got hired I thought you were so gorgeous. Trust me, I was fully weak in the knees. You were also dressed like, well, you, and I wanted to at least make friends with you because you seemed, to use your words, good.”

“I heard you crack a few jokes, saw you picking up on how things worked, and then with me it was like you had this alter ego. I just don’t think it was fair that I got the short end of the stick here, even if I did enjoy being a smartass to you. So I guess what I’m really saying is, why me? Why weren’t you a dick to Robin, or Brian or fuckin’ Keith? Why not take out your jealousy on someone else?”

Eddie stands up, shoves his hands in his back pockets. “You can hit me if you feel like it, because I know this is going to sound fucked.” He pauses, and then all the words spill out at once, leaving you completely breathless when he’s finished. 

“Not only was I jealous of how perfect your soul is, but you being so sweet made me want you. I wanted you all to myself. I wanted that personality, those kind remarks, that look you get in your eye when you’re listening so well, I wanted it all around me, all the time. It felt like you were this fucking angel, I wanted to lose myself in you.”

“But it didn’t feel like I’d be worthy of you either. I figured you’d get sick of me, real quick, when you realized I wasn’t as good of a person as you. When you figured out all the shit I need to work through. It seemed easier to hate you than to have you see me the way everyone else does. Nobody wants a work in progress.”

You laugh. You take in your surroundings, still in the work bathroom, and you laugh. Eddie’s brows shoot up, and his heart drops out of his ass and onto the tile floors below him. 

“Eddie, everyone is a work in progress. And I am an extremely patient person.”

He recovers himself fast enough to make one more smartass remark. “You’re sure you don’t wanna kick me in the balls or somethin’?” 

You take a step towards him, breathing deeply. Breathing him in. 

“Not right now, Eddie. What’s frustrating though, is how much I want to kiss your dumb ass. Your annoying, over-complicating, completely ridiculous, stupid hot fucking ass.”

Eddie blinks. You might as well have kicked him in the balls because he can’t even think a single coherent thought now. Not with the way you’re pushing up onto your toes and pulling him down towards you, shaking your head so he doesn’t make up something stupid about not deserving it. 

And then your mouth is on his. Your lips are so warm, and everything else disappears. All Eddie can feel is you. Your perfume engulfs him, the heat of your chest pressed against him, the soft fat of your hip under his hand. When you pull on his hair he almost whimpers. 

You kiss hard, harder than he’d have thought, but it’s so gentle at the same time. You’re kissing him stupid. There’s no other way to put it. The only thing that pops in his head is that his suspicions about you being a witch were totally fucking spot on. 

When you finally pull away, your lips have gone all puffy, and there’s this dazed but incredibly satisfied look in your eye. He’d take you home right now and get on his knees for you if you’d let him. 

Your lips tick up at the corners, and he has to shake his head so he can really hear what you’re about to say. 

“Aren’t we on the clock, Eddie?”

————

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

[aft3rhrs]

— game over ღ

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: exes to lovers

warnings: yandere, mentions of blood and murder, kidnapping, restraints, corruption, manipulation, obsession, angst, implied imprisonment, dub con, praise, degradation, dirty talk, hints of fear kink, spanking (like once), rough sex, creampie, implied multiple orgasms

The floor creaked quietly under a pair of heavy boots. You kept your eyes on them as he moved towards you, too stubborn to look up, and too frightened not to tremble.

"Oh, sweetheart," Yoongi cooed, crouching down in front of the bed. "I'm so sorry it took so long. Can't have the cops tracing my steps, can I?"

His fingers felt cool as he grasped your chin, and yet they did nothing to soothe the heat blooming through you. He smelled like snow, his cheeks rosy from the unforgiving bite of winter air.

Tilting your head, he kissed your taped mouth with utmost tenderness, like he wanted to leave a love note on the silver.

"Cold?" He murmured, noting the chills that erupted down your arms, his fingertip tracing their journey to your elbow.

In the golden glow of candlelight, with nothing but the pearly tape adorning your body, somehow, you weren't cold. Only uncomfortable, left sitting in the same position for what seemed like hours — knees bound to your chest, wrists tied together — though that was certainly the least of your problems.

"I'll untape your mouth now. Don't scream."

You shut your eyes as he reached upwards. A quick rip followed, the sting making you wince.

"Sorry," Yoongi soothed, stroking your hair, "Sorry, baby."

You didn't scream. It was pointless. He drove a long time to get here, civilization outside the tinted windows dwindling mile after mile. You had no doubt there was nowhere you could go, no one to hear your pleads for help. You'd sooner freeze to death trudging your way through the snow.

The arrogant smile playing on Yoongi's lips was infuriating. He looked like he could devour you, a cat that has finally caught its mouse.

"Good girl," he praised lowly, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger.

Your stomach flipped.

"Let me go."

It came out as a whisper.

His eyebrows raised, head cocking to the side. Probably not the smartest thing to come out of your mouth, but what else were you supposed to do? Accept your fate as his little pet?

Yoongi released the soft strand, as if he got burned.

"I've been locked up for half a year... And this is how my girl greets me?"

His girl.

Why was he doing this to you? You barely dated for a few months before he chopped up two men who have been bold enough to bother you. Parts of their bodies were still in the process of being found all over the south of Seoul.

Were you going to end up the same?

You swallowed the knot in your throat, willing your heart to stop pounding. No words came, your thoughts too frantic to make sense of.

Yoongi clicked his tongue.

"The usual bratty attitude I can handle. But silent treatment? I can't fucking stand it. Your stupid little friends had enough time to convince you I wasn't good for you, huh?"

"You did that yourself!" you suddenly shouted, eyes brimming with tears. They spilled over, dripping down your collarbone. "You killed people, kidnapped me like some fucking lunatic!"

Yoongi stared at you as you sniffled. Once the dam broke, the fear broke loose too, pouring all over your lungs, making it hard to breathe. Panic started setting in. You had no idea if your outburst was going to be punished, even though in the short time that you knew Yoongi, he had never caused you any harm.

If you ever knew him at all.

He narrowed his eyes. You hated the vulnerable position he forced you into, hated how his gaze felt like a phantom touch.

"I didn't kill any people. I got rid of trash, and I did it all for you. To protect you."

He buried his face in his hands, hiding the shine of his own tears.

"Fuck. Are you actually scared of me right now? I would never hurt you."

What did it matter? Nothing about this love was healthy, and you longed to rip your heart out of your lungs to numb the feeling. You couldn't do this; couldn't let him taint your morals, or at least, couldn't let him see that he started.

All you had to do was convince him, and then yourself.

It didn't matter. It didn't matter. It didn't matter.

"I hate you," you whispered.

Yoongi froze for a moment, then looked back up at you slowly. You stared right back into his eyes through your wet lashes, no longer disturbed by their dark depths. A flash of uncertainty passed through his expression, promptly replaced by a cryptic calmness.

He hummed, shrugging his jacket off.

"Let's play a game, then."

Your stomach jumped when he placed his palm on your shoulder, slowly turning you away from him.

His lips inched towards your ear, hot breath brushing over its shell.

"I don't believe you, not for a fucking second. But I'll entertain you."

You stared at the shelf in front of you, the melted candle wax and golden jewelry laid out beside red roses. The bouquet looked small and miserable after you threw it at him.

You felt just about the same; small. Helpless as he hovered behind you, his intentions unclear, your fate even more so. Your pulse quickened as seconds ticked by.

A loud gasp escaped you as he pushed you forward. Your head spun from the suddenness of the action, cheeks instantly burning and knees trembling.

You fell face first into the silk sheets, ass up, like a little doll for him to use. He had to hold on to your hip so you didn't tumble. You've never felt so powerless before, so stripped of your dignity, or so hot when you heard him unbuckle his belt.

The adrenaline rush intensified your emotions, made your throat close up. Only a whimper passed through your panicked breathing.

"Look at that," Yoongi murmured. "You're dripping already."

You flinched as you felt his finger run down your folds, clenching needily. Everything was happening too fast—

"I missed you too."

No preparation, no warning; one moment you were empty, and the next you were full.

He groaned, leaning over you, dropping his forehead onto your back, and his hand in between your thighs.

The stretch hurt. You could feel his cock twitching inside you, hard and thick as you pulsed around it.

No mercy, no patience; he started fucking into you, choked groans and wet smacks filling up the room. His fingers quickly parted your slick folds, rubbing into the little nub between them to ease the pain.

It worked — it bloomed into a searing pleasure that made your tummy and your vocal cords quiver, soft, helpless whines fleeing your lips.

"Fuck," he cursed, his voice broken, "fuck, you were made for me."

You shivered, finding yourself unable to fight against the restraints he put on you. Nevermind the tape; it was your soul that was truly imprisoned, and that made everything ten times worse.

His lips touched your ear again.

"If you don't come," he whispered, panting softly, "I'll let you go. But if you do, you will stay with me forever, do you get that, baby?"

Was this the game?

Fear clutched your heart in its iron fist, mingled with your most private, forbidden desires and desperate needs, made your eyes and your pussy wetter.

He reveled in it all.

"Go on," he taunted, "show me how much you hate me."

You did hate him.

Because nothing else made you feel like this, no matter what your friends said, no matter what seemed right or wrong. The blood on his hands dripped like an offering, all for you, a threat and a promise that predators loved, too, that they'd kill to protect their own. There was no life for him without you.

You urged yourself to hold on, to not give into your weaknesses. But it was hard when you were already tightening around him, on the brink of delirium and craving more.

"Yeah, there she is," Yoongi breathed. "My dirty little slut. My good fucking girl."

You cried out, your entire body tensing up. His cock throbbed inside you, rutting into you faster.

"Almost there? Are you gonna gonna let me keep you, baby? Chain you the fuck up like a good bitch?"

He was so close, playing dirty just to tip you over the edge, just to prove that you belonged to him. Hands curling into fists, you made an effort to focus, whining out a "no" that sounded pathetic even to your own ears.

"Yeah," Yoongi moaned. "Filthy fucking liar."

His fingers dug deeper into your hips, the hard grip marking your skin, planting the memory of this moment beneath it. Bruises would blossom tomorrow, and he wished he could see them all over you, a violet garden that grew from his love. Yet all he could do was slam into you faster, abuse that little spot inside you that his cock reached with way too much ease.

"Stop fighting it," he grunted, landing a sudden slap on your ass. "You're mine."

The harsh sting, the cursed words, the heat — it was all too much. The tension stirred and coiled in your abdomen, making black dots dance around your vision. Your cunt squeezed his cock desperately, barely allowing him to continue fucking you.

As if you were under water, everything became blurred, and soaked, with tears, with sweat and the orgasm rushing through you, encouraged by his filthy groans. So wet you didn't even realize he was coming too, until he stilled entirely, spilling inside you as you limped.

You listened to his breathing slow, your body thrumming, head pulsing with blissful nothingness. Too high and too weak to do anything but breathe with him.

A kiss was pressed into your spine.

"Mm... Should I give you one more chance?"

At that, you seemed to come back to your senses, breath hitching and eyes open wide.

Yoongi smirked, running his fingers along the tape softly.

"Let me grab a knife, pretty. I'll get you nice and comfy."

You almost flinched when he leaned over you again, his cock jerking and hardening in your sensitive hole.

"You did so well," he whispered into your ear. "Such a good, little bitch. I'm so in love with you."

A weak shudder went through you, ending with an ache right in between your legs.

Yoongi nuzzled your neck.

"Yeah, there you go. Don't you worry. We have all night to play."

Was it fair to play games one was destined to lose? Probably not, but unfortunately for you, that made it all more exciting to Yoongi. He wanted you to see yourself fail over and over, realize there was no running from your love.

It seemed you were about to.

He slipped out of you gently, biting his lip and watching his cum dribble out of you. His hand slid down to your ass, giving it a few, tender pats.

"Sit tight, sweetheart."

With that, he left you on his bed, again, ruined and aching and beyond lost. You heard him rummage through his drawers somewhere in the cabin, heard your heart beating in your own skull.

For some reason, you had a feeling this was just the beginning of a whole eternity. Hit play. Lose. Repeat. Try another level. Until your bones turned to dust and you were wrapped up in each other six feet under the ground. There was a sadistic side to Yoongi that seemed to enjoy the process, the struggle, the conquering of your mind.

Not surprising in the slightest; all dangerous creatures liked to play with their prey. Even more so when they loved it... And Yoongi would never stop loving you.

taglist 💌: @baalsgurl1913 @httpsbts @hoseokshobagi @pynkgothicka @ar14dna @sweetempathprunetree @blueberryarchive @messyjk @themochiverse @minyoongiboongi @chimmisbae @crisle19 @bangtans-momma @bnagtanx1306 @get-that-brain-working @babycandy111 @shyygrl

[ikarakie]

one of the known, undisputed rules of riding in steve harrington's car: passenger seat gets music privileges.

if you brought your own tape, and won the usually vicious battle for shotgun, there was a 100% chance that the drive would be backed with music of your choice. hell, there was even a small collection growing in steve's glove box of music that wasn’t his, because people left them behind either on accident or on purpose. no one really knew what steve liked to listen to- maybe minus robin- but he always seemed happy with whatever the passenger put in.

until one day, when dustin and lucas and mike climbed into his car. dustin had won passenger seat privileges, after a rather tense game of rock, paper, scissors, and instantly reached for the tape player.

steve smacked his hand down. "paws off, henderson." he scolded, not unkindly. all three kids stared at him like he'd grown a third limb as he pulled out of the wheeler's driveway. electric guitar played at a semi-low volume.

"what the hell?!" dustin squawked. "why can't i change the tape?" steve rolled his eyes, fingers tapping along to the rhythm of the beat on the wheel. none of the kids recognised the song, and it certainly didn't seem the kind of thing steve harrington would willingly listen to.

"is it so surprising i want to listen to my own tape in my car?" steve asks. dustin shouts an affronted, 'YES!' to which steve just shakes his head and continues driving.

the man on the track sings over heavy drums and guitar, talking about how he needed someone to 'show me the things that make true happiness' and 'he must be blind.' then, there's a guitar solo that steve smiles at.

"who are you?" mike asked, suspicious. "what did you do with our steve?"

"oh, shut up, wheeler." steve meets his eye in the rearview mirror. "next one to complain loses tape privileges for their next three turns."

that does shut them up. they make idle conversation over a couple more songs before they pull up to their destination. mostly threatening each other over high scores and making bets. steve waves them off with the usual 'don't be stupid' lecture and pulls out of the arcade parking lot, the bass of whatever the next track had been audible even through his closed doors and windows.

after that, steve retains ownership of his stereo every now and then, always playing some form of heavy metal. it just becomes the norm, though never fails to confound whoever's in the car. (because, seriously? polo shirt wearing steve harrington and heavy metal?)

they only ever hear anyone else listen to it after they join hellfire. eddie invites them to his trailer to create their characters together, and when they walk in one of the songs from that dumb tape is playing from a record in the corner.

"woah! you like this music too?" lucas asks. eddie nods excitedly.

"yeah, man! you a fan?" his smile dims a little when lucas shakes his head, but dustin is quick to jump in.

"our friend steve is always listening to a dumb mixtape with this sorta stuff on it." he explains, missing how eddie's eyes light up and his smile turns a little bashful. "he used to let us play whatever we want, but ever since he got that tape he makes us listen to it sometimes when he drives us around."

"well," eddie sighs, fiddling with one of his chunky silver rings. "seems this steve knows someone with very good taste in music." there's a warm look in his eyes before he claps his hands and diverts their attention to the character sheets he printed out.

later that night, steve gets a call.

"you told me you only listened to that tape once." the voice on the other end drawls. it's low and teasing, but it's undercut with obvious wonder and fondness. steve doesn't even bother pretending to be confused.

"well, it's good." (it makes me think of you) he replies, like it pains him. eddie giggles, and steve eyes the tape in question. sat on his bedside table, 'for my stevie' scrawled across it in eddie's neatest handwriting. shitty little hearts drawn around his name and an even shittier skull at the end. "how'd you know?"

"recognised my mötörhead record." eddie coos, "told me how you revoke their music privileges to listen to it." a pause. "you're so fucking cute."

steve can't help the dorky smile that spreads over his face. the way he twirls the phone cord like a fucking lovesick loser. he cracks a joke about making eddie a mixtape featuring the likes of duran duran and tears for fears, which makes him fake retch. they chat for a little while longer, whispering 'i love you's through the phones like it was their first time saying it.

the tape stays firmly in the bmw's music rotation.

[fayeraa]

I THOUGHT WE HAD REALLY GOOD BED..CHEM ! ☆

⋆ an — this music goes like brrr in my mind. lowercase intentional ; suggestive.

it all started with a movie night.

an intense burn-out ran over you two after a long succession of days, weeks and months of work and red tapes, so it wasn’t surprising to feel this overwhelmed. tho, you found an agreement. when your days-off synchronized, you’d rest in the comforting embrace of your lover to finally have some rest and free time on the couch together. but you never thought it’d turn this way.

a simple brush of his nimble fingers over your pelvis got you worked up for a full-blown make out session.

it was probably one of the better ways to release all the pent-up stress that plagued your tensed bodies at the moment.

so— with a smooth swift of a finger, he started to gently snake over your soft tummy, trailing a invisible path down to you pelvis. the air was hot, but the tension even hotter, as you just laid there on the quilted sofa, your head messily resting on the fluffy cushion, and your body felt oh— so heavy.

your lover continued his journey, now two hands of his carefully clasping your hips and rolling soothing circles on the warm flesh, as his honeyed lips began to smooch up to your chest, leaving delicate wet kisses on your ribcage, giving the same attention, care and affection to each one of his smacks.

you lowered your hand to his head, to grant the same love he wholeheartedly gave you on a silver platter, and combed his downy strands, shining in the dim light of the living room. it was mild, a slow endearment between to loved beings, shared on a random night, on a random day.

your lover didn’t stop, even if your mind was fuzzy with all sort of thoughts, he remained focused on his task, making you feel good. he brushed his hands all over your sides, your tights, your arms, ending up burying his face deep in your neck and breathing in hard, as to feel you completely, while he hold you with one arm on your spine and the other atop your back.

then, when you’d be fully relaxed and your soul would be serene, he’d leave a thousand of love bites whilst you’d whimper his name and pat his hair, to assure him that he was doing good, and all that for you.

and he’s not stopping yet, not until both of you will achieve a complete restful state of mind and that you’ll be able to share your love again, and again, and again.

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. . . shinso, shōto, keigo (bnha), osamu, kageyama. kita, akaashi (hq), inumaki, nanami (jjk). feel free to add more ppl that you think would fit

[@ fayeraa. do not copy, steal nor claim as yours, and do not translate/repost on other platforms.] reblogs appreciated <3

⋆ — erm, hello after 4 months of no-posting and i’m back with something really shitty, hope you’re still enjoying tho 😞

[noceurous]

lights, camera, action

your boyfriend gets his hands on a handycam, later on you

warnings: mentions of divorce, mentions infidelity, Dave’s family is also mentioned, some self-doubt and angst, looots of feelings (sorry idk what took over me ehehe), swearing, smut: fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), p-in-v sex, slapping, daddy kink, usage of various nicknames (baby, darling, etc) minors dni (18+) reader is able bodied + has some length of hair + afab.

a/n: my birthday is officially on 10th of september, but this fic turned out to be longer than i expected, so i said post it with a fic you feel good.

a/n2: this fic takes place in the same universe with [take the heat away, make the girl stay] but they can be read separately.

Carol was a really nice woman after the divorce.

It was nice of her to call you a homewrecker, among many other names.

It was nice of her to fill Molly and Alice’s heads with wrong ideas about you.

It was nice of her to call Dave in the middle of your date and tell him that he’ll come back crawling back to her after he’s done with you. just like the girls before and made sure you heard it.

Lastly, it was nice for Carol to send all of his belongings to your tiny apartment. You didn’t even know how she got your address. Just after a simple ring of the doorbell, you were standing between piles of light brown boxes.

“Shit, did she really do that too?” Dave asked over the phone as you stood inside the labyrinth made of boxes.

“Yep, what’s left of your relationship is now inside my living room.” You said as you eyed over the boxes. Trying to find out if your relationship was enough to fill one box.

“They’re mostly clothes, family photos and Father’s Day gifts. There is nothing left of the relationship.” You were familiar with the last sentence. Dave used that to reassure you during the beginning of your relationship. 

He also used that sentence to girls, and Carol. When any one of them accused you of breaking them up.

“Yeah, probably. I’m gonna take a shower. When will you be back?”

“Fifteen minutes tops. Do you want anything?”

“No, just you.” His chest hurt when he heard how your voice cracked before you ended the phone call.

He hated Carol when she did that. Blaming you for everything went wrong in the marriage. Taking her anger out on you, when in truth you came into him long after he decided on a divorce.

—

“Darling? I’m home.” He didn’t hear your reply, but the water sound came from the bathroom.

He took off his long coat, his keys still in his hand when he walked towards the living room. Greeted with a pile of boxes. He couldn’t imagine how you felt when a box after a box came into your place. He would call Carol again, but he knew pretty well whatever he said to stop her, just would fuel Carol’s anger.

He raised his key, slashing and opening one right through the tape with it.

Fake plastic trophy of being the Best Dad Ever, broken hand painted coffee mugs, a photograph in a frame from Alice’s first soccer game. 

He went through some of the boxes more. As he assumed they were mostly clothes and stuff related to girls. Mainly photo albums which were half empty since Carol only sent him photos he was included. Nothing more.

When he was going over his last box, something silver at the corner of the box caught his eye. When he took it out, he was greeted with an old handycam.

“No way.” He smiled as he took it out. Shocked when he found out it was still charged.

He heard your footsteps when you came towards him, wrapped a towel around your body and another one around your head.

“What is that?” You walked towards him, the scent of your shower gel filling his nostrils.

Orchids.

“That’s my old handy-cam. Got stuck between stuff, still works.”

He explained as he checked if there were any pre saved videos. He remembered using it for Alice’s school plays and Molly’s soccer practice. Half remembering that he already saved them to Carol’s computer.

He pressed on the record button, when he saw the red blinking light he raised the camera to you.

“What are you doing!” You chuckled, covering your face.

“Recording my lovely girlfriend.”

“I’m in a towel.” He shrugged, still keeping the camera on you.

“That’s better.” He said as he zoomed on your legs, slowly lifting the camera to your body. “Don’t be shy. Camera loves you.”

“Is it the camera? Or is it my horny boyfriend?”

“Both. Give me something baby, come on.” You rolled your eyes, blew a kiss and winked at the camera.

“That’s better.” He said as he placed his hand on your towel, raising an eyebrow.

Before you could understand his next move, he tugged the towel down, watching it pool around your ankles.

“Dave!” You protested, hands covering your breasts.

“Don’t be shy honey. This is just for me. Show it to me.” You huffed, placing your hands at your waist. Sticking out your chest more as he pointed the camera at your breasts, recording every inch for you.

He licked his lips at your sight. “I’m a lucky bastard aren’t I?”

“Try the luckiest.”

He chuckled, motioning you to the couch. “Take a seat.” You rolled your eyes, swinging your ass as you walked towards the couch. You knew he was zooming in there.

He whistled, “That’s my girl” as he followed you. Sitting further from you on the coffee table. “Open your legs for me, come on.” The sight of your glistening pussy was on camera, Dave’s hand was slightly shook, blurring the view for a second. He tried to play it like he was affected less from the sight of you than he actually was. 

“Hmm, you’re wet baby.” You smirked at the camera, slowly nodding. “Who made you this wet?”

“You did.” You pressed your fingers on your lips, spreading them to show him your swollen clit covered in your silk. “See? It’s all for you.”

He felt his pants tighten, he didn’t even find the time to take off his tie since he got back. Now you were standing all naked for him, showing off your perfect body. And he had too much clothes on to feel you on his skin.

“Be a good girl, play with yourself for me. But don’t cum.” He said as he slowly placed the camera on the coffee table. Angling it to the perfect angle.

Your eyes were looking into his eyes, as he clicked his tongue pointing at the camera. “Eyes on the camera baby.” You swallowed down your whimper. Thumb pressed onto your clit, feeling your walls clench around nothing.

You pushed a finger inside you, moaning at your wetness. You closed your eyes, for a second, your other hand was on the cushion, grasping it tightly.

You started moving your finger, in and out, playing with your clit then back in. “Open your eyes.” You opened them, seeing Dave in front of you, behind the camera.

He was naked, his cock in his hand, slowly pumping himself. You could tell he was rock hard, it was painful for him not to touch you. “See what you’re doing to me?” You gulped, nodding quickly.

“Add another finger.” You did as he said, your toes curled, walls clenching around your fingers. You didn’t have to look down to know your juices were dripping down on your couch, making a mess.

You continued to finger yourself slowly, eyes locked on the red light on the camera. You could feel you were close to reaching your orgasm, trying to hold it as long as possible.

Your whimpers filled his ears, his eyes locked at the way your naked chest came up and down. Each second it became harder for him to not feel you on his skin. You were a sight for his sore eyes, all he carved for his life.

“Show me.” He said as he knelt between your legs. You took your fingers out of your pussy, the wet sound of it crying made both of you moan.

Your fingers were glistening with your juices, you took them inside your mouth, sucking off your juices.

His warm breath fanning your weeping pussy. He quickly hooked your legs on his shoulders. Diving into your pussy, drinking your juices right from your core. 

Your body trembled as his warm tongue touched you. Drawing long strokes with the tip of his tongue. “Oh Fuck!” You said as your hand went back to cushion. Supporting yourself as Dave continued to lick over your folds aggressively. 

He raised his face, his lips and chin covered with your juices. The corner of his lips raised into a smirk. “You taste so good.” He said before he dove back in. Sucking down your clit.

You smirked at the camera, hand going to your breast. “Fuck! Dave! You are so good!” You pinched down your swollen nipple. Pulling him closer to your core by pressing your ankles on his back.

He pushed a finger inside you, eyes pointed up to your blissed face. You were looking right at the camera just like he told you. His pretty girl always followed his orders without making him give them twice.

“Fuck!Fuck!Fuck!” You were chanting out as he was brutally fucking you with his finger. His lips on your thigh, kissing along the soft flesh, pressing his teeth on your inner thigh.

He pushed another finger inside. “Are you going to cum?” You looked down at him, eagerly nodding.

“May I? Please daddy, I’ve been so close.” He chuckled, curling his fingers inside you. Earning a loud moan from you. “Please.”

Who was he to deny you from pleasure?

“Cum for me.” He said as he sucked your clit once more, fingers still moving inside you. Your body shook when he brushed along your sweet spot. Pads of his fingers pressing on it just right. “Fu—“ Your body jolted backwards, your mind went blank as the white pleasure surrounded your body.

You were panting heavily, as he got up between your legs slowly, his hand wrapped around his cock. Fingers shining with your juices. Your mouth watered with the sight. You wanted him. You wanted more.

With the dark look in his eyes, you knew he wanted the same. “Get on the floor. On your hands and knees.”

You got in the position like he asked, shaking your ass a little when you got on your knees. He slapped you harshly causing you to fall on your hands. Your lips parted, showing him one of his favorite views; your ass in the air, your hole greedily waiting for him.

He pressed his tip on your entrance, “Look at the camera, don’t close your eyes, or I’ll stop.” You knew this was more of a statement than a threat. Before you could say something he gradually pushed himself inside of you, letting go of his breath when he reached your limit. His cock twitched inside you when your walls welcomed him inside.

“Oh.” You moaned at feeling full, still sore from his fingers. Your pussy greedily accepting him, already addict to the sweet pain.

He could see your glossy, lustful gaze thanks to the camera. Cursing himself for not thinking this sooner. Not thinking of saving these moments of you. Not starting saving anything he could save from you.

He placed his hands on your waist. Getting his momentum as his hips started slapping against your ass, not wasting any time with being gentle. Today was not one of his gentle, love making days. He needed you. He needed to take what was his.

He was not having a great time at work. Now he also had to handle Carol and stop her from attacking you.

He had to protect you and he had no objection to that. If it was allowed, he would tear up the limbs of anyone who dared to hurt you. It does not have to be physical abusive, just a simple word was enough to get him violent. There was nothing in this world that would stop him to protect you.

You were his purpose in life, his guiding light.

“Please.”

Your crying voice turned him back to reality, his eyes snapped back to the camera from your shaking ass. Your eyes teared from pleasure, thin layer of sweat covering your cheeks.

“Yes?”

“Please cum inside me. I missed feeling your cum inside. I’ve been empty for days.”

He had some stuff to take care of in Denmark. Unfortunately his little business trip took longer than he expected. So all you were able to do were some quick calls and exchanging text messages. Whispers of “I miss you” were exchanged as you bit your tongue not to say “I love you” too soon.

“Baby…” He said, getting faster than before, chasing his pleasure. You moaned, when he pushed in a bit too hard. Your hand stopped you from falling forward. Forehead almost hit the coffee table.

He cursed his ignorance, wrapping his arm around your neck, leaning over figure. He pressed his lips on your sweet spot behind your ear, feeling your body tremble between his arms. He nudged your temple with the tip of his nose, taking in your smell.

“I’ve got you.” He whispered, eyes locked with yours on the screen.

“You look so good, baby. I feel how you tighten around me, you want to cum again don’t you?”

“Yes, please.”

“You want me to make you?”

“Ye—yes...” His hand went to your clit from your waist, flicking it rapidly. “F—fuck! D—dave!”

“Go on, come all over my cock baby! Fuck you’re milking me so good.” He slapped your ass, grabbing a handful of the soft flesh before whispering to the shell of your ear. “You want me to cum inside don’t you? Fill you right to the brim?”

He groaned at how your walls tighten around him with your question. “Yes! Fuck yes! Please fill me up. I’ll do anything, please.” He sucked a bruise your neck, his hot breath from his nose fanning on your throat.

“If you really want to…” He said as he spurted out his cum inside you, pressing down on your swollen clit. Holding your body with his arm still wrapped around your neck as it trembled with your orgasm.

“Dave!” Your voice shook as you tried to keep yourself up. Feeling his hot cum spill inside you. He turned your head to the side, smashing his lips to yours. You moaned into the kiss, opening your mouth for his tongue to enter. Your salty taste on his tongue as he sucked yours.

Taking everything you offered to him.

He slowly took himself out, some of his cum spilled out from your hole. He tsked, gathering them with his fingers and pushing them back in. You hissed with the contact, looking over your shoulder to him.

“I’ll send someone tomorrow, to take care of the boxes. I don’t want you to worry about them.” You nodded, as he lied down next to you. Pulling your naked body to lie on his naked chest. You buried your head on his chest, kissing right above where his heart his.

You took the camera from the table, stopping the recording. You smiled at the video, thinking how better you looked than you guessed.

“Like a true temptress.” Dave said, as he buried his nose in your hair, his fingers drawing circles on your upper arm.

“Can I keep a copy as well?”

“Anything you want darling.” He said as he kissed you, slowly moving you to his lap between kisses. “Anything for you.”

—

The next morning Dave’s men came to collect the boxes. And Carol had an anonymous email in her inbox with no subject.

It was a small photo where Dave was eating you out. When she scrolled down, she saw your text added underneath.

Mine, back off.

Needless to say, the email disappeared a few minutes later it was read, without leaving any trace.

—

please provide comments/reblogs if you liked this fic. they always mean a lot 💙

[hello-gloomy]

Metal Bambi

--------------------------

Megatron x Gen!Reader

Description: Seeing something crash into the woods by your house you go and check it out on a whim.

Warnings: Slight OOC. Death threat, alien bleeding. Alcohol mentioned at the end. You/Your pronouns no definitive description of reader.

A/N: Bro I didn't even put his name in till the end, also I like to think this takes place during a truce ( in the TFP universe ofc). Anyway enjoy my projection of my daydreams and let me know if u want a part two.

1,300 Words

--------------------------

Despite better judgment, you followed the large, silver, crashing object into the woods. Just for fun, you think to yourself for comfort. You take all your mechanic tools in the case as if it were a giant object in the sky. You were leaving your vehicle as you couldn't take it through the heavy terrain. Running across the forest floor and jumping through bushes, you follow the reoccurring crashing noises and shuffling. The nearer you were, the better you could make out a deep rumbling; it sounded like uttering. A very angry utter, rounding the final tree in your path, you found a robot as giant as the trees in the forest sitting down against one of the said trees. It looked injured, leaking a blue liquid covered in what looked like ash. Its silver plating seemed covered in scratches, and some looked dented. Glancing farther up, straining your neck, you glimpse at what you guess to be its Face. Its eyes are closed, and what you think are its arms are holding its chest. Getting closer to it, you climb over its legs and get closer to its chest. Examining the shrapnel sticking out its chest, you put on some thick gloves and position yourself to yank in harshly out. Before you make some motion, a voice stops you dead in your tracks; you quickly whip your head up to the noise.

" What do you think you're doing." It says in a low grumble. You blink at him and then remember that you need to respond lest it end your life before you can help.

"Taking this out.." You state as evenly as you can. He looks at you, processing your words while glaring at you the best he can, as he's in such a state of disarray. You wait a beat, hoping he doesn't swat you away and kill you from the sheer size of his hand. He lets out a deep hum and moves his arm to let you pull it out. Getting into position again, you steady your feet, mustering all the strength you can, and you pull with all your might. With one final tug, it flings out onto the ground with a resounding clang of metal. He lets out a deep sigh above you. Steadying yourself on one of his legs, you stand on the tips of your shoes and glance at the hole left by the metal spike. Some cords are broken and leaking that blue fluid that you saw earlier. Hopping down from his thigh, you lay your bag on the ground and take out some black electrical tape. Then climb back up his legs and reach into the hole to start patching up the loose cords the best you can, without even really knowing what he is, aside from the fact he is a giant bleeding, at least you think bleeding, robot.

" I don't think a bandaid is going to fix the giant hole in your chest, but...I uh stopped the bleeding..." Trying to lighten the mood, you trail off at the last bit awkwardly as he doesn't say anything nor laugh, so you peek up and see him staring at you, calmly breathing as he studies your Face.

"So, how'd you get beat up?" Your odds of obtaining an explanation from him appear slim.

"Predacons."

"Wow." That was a stupid response, though you didn't know how else to respond. He lets out another low hum at your reaction to his answer.

" Why are you helping me?" You don't have the answer to this intriguing question, so give him the next best thing.

"Because you're injured, " you declare with little confidence but straight-faced. He lets a huff out at your reaction. He moves his arm toward you, and his hand cups half of your body. He leans down slightly to convey his point in his following words.

" I could crush you in the palm of my servo." His eyes baring into your soul made your heart seize at his words.

" If you wanted to, you would have done it already." Spoken with Faux confidence and a slight tremble in your voice as you held his fierce gaze. You resume your work and finish patching him up the best you, as he started guiding you after his original threat.

"It'll heal on its own, " he says suddenly. You tilt your head, confused at his sudden words.

" The hole." He explains it to you in a few words, referencing your previous joke. You let out a quiet 'Oh' to him in understanding.

" If you want, you can follow me home; I can clean you up better there. And wash off most of that dirt, too." You offer to him while packing up most of the tools you had originally packed with you. He's staring at you again, and then he balances his arm against the tree he is lying on and moves to stand up. He looks down at you expectantly, and you take that as your queue to lead the way back out. The walk back is primarily quiet, aside from the crunching of leaves under your feet and the resounding thump of the robot's footsteps following you. Reaching the road again, you look at your car and then back to him. You move to say something, but he beats you by transforming into a tank.

" What the actual fuck." He scoffs and flashes his lights as a sign to start driving the way home. You get into your car, slightly exasperated at the situation that you found yourself in. Pulling up into the driveway, you park on the grass instead of in the large shed to move easier back and forth.

" Wait here real quick." You holler behind you at the mech while rushing inside for a tarp for him to sit, as your garage and shed are a bit undersized, and you'd rather not risk making him uncomfortable while injured. Running back out to him, tarp in hand, he turned back to his more humanoid form, standing with his arms crossed while looking at your home. You quickly lay it out on the ground for him with a slight 'Tah-Dah' for added effect and a wave of your hands. His Face remains the same, and he waits for a beat before shifting to sit on it.

" I would offer you some water, but I don't think you drink that, considering what was leaking out of you." You sway awkwardly, trying to converse with the giant before you.

"Energon." He states with no explanation. You give him a 'Uh-Huh' with a little nod, pretending to understand. You turn on the hose and blast him with warm water, getting all the built-up dirt and dried energon on him. Finally clean and shiny again, you notice hints of purple and red on his plating that you couldn't see before.

"You're pretty for an alien robot, you know." You say offhandedly while checking out the odd symbol on his chassis. He lets out a full laugh at your slight advance to him; it made you jump due to its unexpectedness.

"You're brave for your size."

"Thanks.." You return with a grimace.

"What's your name, organic?" He asks seriously

"Y/n. And you?"

"Megatron." He holds out a single digit to you, and you wrap your little hand around it in response, giving a little shake for good measure.

"I won't forget your bravery today." He gets up off his knee and stands at his full height. Turning his back to you, he walks a little ways away from you, giving you one final glance before turning into a ship and flying off.

"I need a drink." You kick the hose and head inside.

[kokonoisgf]

jealousy - chuuya nakahara

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☆  character: Chuuya Nakahara

☆  tw: MINORS DNI 18+ sexual explicit content (fem reader) : jealousy sex, "princess", "doll", praises, idk yo I just love that man

☆ note: been ages lolz, anyways i'm trying to get back into writing so sorry if this is rusty UGHHH enjoy my loves *: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*

☆ word count: 3.8k

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Intimate hues of the lights adorned the halls were oh so perfectly framing your face as you talked - or rather extracted information - from  a member of the X party. Abundance and richness dripped from every corner of the rooms: candles flickering lazily, buffets on silver platters filled with caviars, smoked meats and fruits, champagne, and lots - oh yes lots of diamonds. It looked as if everything was too good to be true, a glittering illusion masking darker secrets beneath. And that’s exactly why you were there with Chuuya by your side on a mission to gain crucial information about X- said information specifically requested by Mori. There had been news going around town that they had been stealing shipments late at night, and that meant stealing from the Port Mafia’s ground. Crossing lines that they should've never crossed, unless they wanted to end up six feets under. 

You walked through the crowd, the slit of your dress went  up your soft thighs, as it almost reached your waist, letting people swarm over you like moths enamoured by the brightest flame.  It was as if all the lights in the room were on you, your gaze looming over the executive, needing just that last piece of information to finally call it a night.

The mission went even more smoothly than you thought, your hand slowly touching the man’s arm, a sweet laughter dripping from your parted lips at his joke. Every gaze was filled with a desire to touch, to know, to possess.

His attention was easy to catch. He leaned in closer, clearly infatuated, eager to please. But you kept your smile soft, your tone disarming, and yet beneath it all, your gaze was sharp, ready to extract the information you needed. You were so close, one more well-placed word, one more laugh, and you’d have the final piece of the puzzle.

Chuuya, who was sitting at the bar a few seats from you, narrowed his eyes, sharp canine poking from between his kissable lips. Downing a drink in silence,  his eyes held a barely restrained fury ��Fuck’ He cursed under his breath, low enough that only the nearest patrons might hear, eyebrows cocking as the man seemed to be about to devour you whole. Leg shaking under the table, he impatiently taped the side of his glass with his gloved fingers. Said gloved fingers slick from the condensation of the drink. A droplet slid down the side of the glass, slow and deliberate, before landing with a quiet plop on the polished oakwood of the bar. He could hear everything: the ticking of the clock, the chatters all around him, but more so how your sweet voice responded to the man. 

He was losing control, and he knew it. This wasn’t just about the mission anymore. It was about you, and the way this man had dared to even look at you, there was no way he could ever get away with it. Chuuya had to remind himself over and over—it’s part of the plan, it’s part of the plan—but the jealousy clawing at him was winning. The thought that maybe you didn’t see him the way he saw you ate at him, and he was two seconds away from tearing the whole operation apart.

And then it happened. The man, charmed  by your smile, your attention, let his hand slide lower, reaching out to grip your thigh. You could feel the roughness of his fingers skimming across your skin, and your body tensed instinctively. Before you could even react, a sharp sound cracked through the tension—a gloved hand smacking the man’s away, so forcefully the slap echoed across the room.

‘Sir!?’ Confusion filled  the executive’s  voice, as his eyebrows raised, clearly not ready to back out so easily. You could  only sigh internally, it had always been like that. Every time you worked to get close, Chuuya lost his cool just before the crucial moment.  It would have been a blatant lie to say that it annoyed you, in fact you found his jealousy strangely endearing.

‘Back off asshole, she’s with me’’ Growled Chuuya, Cerulean eyes boring into his. His arm was  firmly wrapped around your waist, bringing you even closer, gloved fingers digging into your soft exposed  skin as if to reiterate his point. He looked absolutely breathtaking like this -  when his possessive side showed like that, you thought in a haze. His cologne mixed with his natural scent only made your head spin even more. 

‘I believe we were having a discussion - ‘ The executive stammered, trying to assert himself until he was cut by Chuuya’s rough voice. 

‘Shut the fuck up’

The Mafia executive spat, cutting him off mid-sentence. He clearly was not having it, and before the man could even say another word, He whisked you away upstairs in a closed room where he slammed the door shut. He clicked his tongue in irritation, unbuttoning the upper half of his shirt, unveiling a sliver of his ivory-white skin with each pop. He felt  like he was  losing his damn mind, needing to cool down for a second, everything becoming way too much way too quick downstairs. 

Your gaze never left  his, cradling your face in your arms as you laid atop the plush mattress of one of the many many rooms in this mansion. You could see the storm raging inside him, the jealousy, the protectiveness, the raw need. And you couldn’t help but tease him, just a little 

‘Chuuya, focus on the mission, would you?’

Your teasing tone did  not go unnoticed as a faint blush dusted his cheeks, his jealousy so clearly put on display. Freezing for a moment, he was suddenly hyper aware of every breath he took.Turning  around to face  you, he frowned.

‘I can’t stand seeing any of those pieces of shit touch you’ He was more than bold, cornering you against the bed. ‘Would you understand that?’ He raised an eyebrow, playing with your words. You couldn’t help but enjoy this. This desperate jealous side of him that you always saw on missions like these. Flickering your eyes to his lips, you smiled innocently. 

‘It's part of the mission Chuuya, how else do you want us to get that information Mori asked for’

He only gruffed, leaning against the wall beside you.

‘There’s just no way I can see that and stay calm, y’know me’

He raised an eyebrow, as if this was the most evident thing in the entire universe.

‘Besides, I’d rather use my fucking fist then let one of the these dirtbags breath the same air as you’ 

Gosh - It made your heart flutter. You leaned forward, almost tauntingly letting the silky satin drip down your chest, exposing your cleavage. ‘Yea? You would? Tell me more’

Chuuya narrowed his eyes at you, a faint blush back on his cheeks, as his gaze desperately tried to avoid the valley of your breasts so prettily put on display for him. 

‘Cut that crap already’ He paused scowling, regrouping his composure slightly before letting himself sit next to you on the bed. You taunting him was enough to send him to heaven and back. Not to mention the way your dress hugged your curves so perfectly, the material dipping exposing your curves - Stop. He had to control himself. 

‘I mean it…’ You were now the one who was bold. Your hand coming to rest gingerly on his thigh. He tensed, his whole body feeling as if an electric current ran through him. ‘I want to know what’s on your mind right now…’ You cooed, your eyes drinking in the sight of his flustered face. You’d had wanted him since forever, and now it was enough, you could not hold back anymore. Seeing his possessive side shine through in missions always aroused you more than you’d ever admit, but today was your breaking point — The faint glow of the candle light illuminating the side of his face, taunt jaw, pursed lips, and furrowed brow. He was beyond handsome, but that was no news to you.

The tension in the room felt thick, like a cord pulled taut, ready to snap at any moment.You shifted slightly, the soft silk of your dress brushing against your skin, reminding you just how far you were pushing him. The material clung to you in all the right places, the slit revealing enough to make anyone pause in their tracks, but it was the way Chuuya looked at you that set you alight. His gaze burned with such want, that he felt himself getting dizzy with need. 

On the other hand,  you couldn’t help it. You loved testing him, pushing his limits just to watch him unravel. The way his jaw clenched, the subtle twitch in his fingers like he was fighting the urge to grab you, it made you delirious with want.

His sharp gaze, usually so bold and confident, held a tinge of timidness in the depth of it. Clearing his throat, his eyes zeroed on the way your thumb gently caressed his thigh, the sensation alone enough to send a surge of heat to his groin. It was as if he was at a loss for words,  a rare sight indeed. Years and years of longing for you coming to crash down on him like waves perpetually hitting the shore. 

‘You know…’ you purred, voice dripping with that teasing edge he loved and hated all at once, ‘if you can’t handle this, maybe I should’ve gone with someone else. Someone who could keep their cool on a mission like this.’ You just wanted to rile him up enough so that he could confess his feelings, and gosh — seeing the look in his eyes as his face snapped to meet yours. It was all too good.

His gaze  flashed, anger and desire swirling together in a dangerous mix. He shifted, grabbing your hand that once rested on his thigh  in one swift motion, holding it just tight enough to make you feel the strength behind his restraint.

‘You’d better not even joke about that’ he murmured, voice low and  eyes dark with barely restrained jealousy. ‘Am’ the only one who can touch you. Got that?’ His hand gently grabbed ahold of your chin, tilting it up to meet the seriousness of his gaze - and at that moment, you  wondered  if you pushed it too far. 

‘Touch me right now then..’ Your voice sent a deep shiver through every pore of his being. Chuuya's keen eyes flashed, pupils dilating with sheer lust as he took a moment to register your words. 

‘Yea? Sure’ you can handle it?’ His grip on your chin faltered until he pushed you down gently on the bed. You almost melted into a heap on the mattress, his nervosity seeming to vanish in one-go and you knew you were in for a ride. Chuuya did exhibit such a calm demeanour before you, yet his insides were twisting with a mix of want and apprehensiveness. Truthfully, he would have been lying if he said he hadn’t been dreaming about this moment for so long, and now that words had been spoken, holding himself back was not an option anymore. 

You felt your insides burn and turn as he lowered himself on top of you, cornering you between his body and the plush mattress. Your plump lips parting to voice your thoughts, but you remained silent as if in awe of the man above you: long ginger strands cascading atop his shoulder, cerulean eyes swirling with a twinkle of lust and his white button up slightly — oh so deliciously unbuttoned exposing the fair skin of his collarbones. 

He hummed, eyes taking in the sight of you sprawled below him, completely at his mercy. 

‘Hmm why you so silent now? Seems like just now you had so much to say’ He purred teasingly, leaning down to whisper against the shell of your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine.

“So what is it? Cat’ got your tongue princess?’ You just looked so damn edible underneath him, that the Executive couldn’t help but trail his gloved hand down your face, until his thumb rubbed soothing patterns on your cheek, tilting your face slightly to make your gaze meet his. The way you gazed at him, looking utterly vulnerable beneath him, lit something inside him as he gulped down, eyes racking over your whole body, until it met yours again.

Even though his teasing tone, his eyes held such pure and raw affection for you, that you felt time stop for a mere moment. Swirling in his sapphire gaze was years of love, jealousy and pure lust.

‘Can I kiss you?’ He blurted out, biting on his lips as if using all his crumbling self restraint to wait on your answer. Chuuya would never do anything to displease you — you were his muse, his reason to go on, his soulmate: all he did in life was for you, to one day be able to call you rightfully his. He was a romantic at heart, but just for you.

 Leaning his forehead on yours, he held your face affectionately pressing a chaste kiss on your forehead 

‘You don't know for how long I’ve wanted this- how long I've wanted you.’ He exhaled, eyes closing as he felt you nod, allowing him to finally seal his lips with yours, and gosh at that moment he swore the heavens made you just for him. 

Fishing a hand through his strands, a desperate whimper of his name caresses your lips as his tongue delves into your mouth wasting no time. He smiles into the kiss pressing himself against you, his hand moving to grasp both your wrists, pinning you against the mattress. He doesn’t want you to move nor do anything, he just wants the whole mansion to hear who you belong to. 

‘Fuck-’ He cursed under his breath, letting off a breathy exhales, a string of saliva connecting your mouth to his. At that moment you can truly say that Chuuya has never looked so gorgeous.

‘Need to taste you on my tongue doll- right now. ’ Oh- now he’s even bolder. Kissing was more than enough to send electricity racking through his being, but Chuuya was a greedy man when it came to you. After spending countless nights fisting his cock to the idea of his tongue buried deep into your soaked pussy he really can’t seem to be able to hold himself back anymore. 

Cutting straight to the point, all he cared about was tasting you, your own pleasure building his brick by brick. Besides, he swore he could most likely get off to pleasuring you—your pleasure his own.

You’re quick to hitch your leg up his shoulder, Chuuya’s breath hitching in his throat, fingers letting go of your wrists to instead dig into the subtle skin of your thighs. 

‘God- I could cum just from looking at you’ He cursed, and you see it in his eyes that he’s being truthful and it stirs the deepest blush onto your cheeks. Another moan of his name slips past your lips as he presses a series of kisses on your inner thighs, his eyes looking like he’s teetering on the verge of insanity, high on you and your scent. Lashes fluttering closed, he skillfully hooked a finger under your pantie moving it aside giving him prime view of your soaked cunt. 

‘Fuck- this wet just from kissing me, huh?’ He felt himself spinning, mind unravelling at the sight before him. You, on your back with your dress hitched up to your waist, a leg comfortably resting on his shoulder with your pretty pussy just waiting to get tongue fucked by him. 

‘How long you been wanting this, tell me princess’ He cooed such tease dripping from his tone as his eyes drank in the sight of your flushed face. 

‘Years..’ you confessed, as he chuckled the air that exited his lips caressing your drooling folds.

‘That’s it… that’s my pretty girl’ he purred, completely and utterly drunk on you, feeling you throb against his index finger collecting your slit, bringing it to his lips. He felt your fingers grasp his locks, gasps resonating throughout the luxurious room, before he slowly manoeuvred his finger up and down your slit, index delving into your cunt. His mouth gaped, as if entranced by the view of his finger disappearing into your pussy, your juices drenching him. It’s not long before he adds in his middle finger, almost salivating at the sight. 

‘Taking my fingers so well baby’ Chuuya praised, his tongue locked onto your pearl, pretty lashes of his fluttering shut, his hips grinding into thin air. Flicking his tongue against your poor fucked-out nub, Chuuya’s fingers were skilfully moving inside you, wasting no time to repeatedly abuse your sweet spot. 

’Mine — all fucking mine’ He possessively whispered, lips hungrily latching onto your clit, fingers relentlessly pumping in and out of you. You were bucking into his hand, à thin ring of cum coating his fingers. Eyes zeroed on your cunt so greedily swallowing his fingers, he babbled drunk on your pussy

’Made for me’ all of you, - Fuck’

Your body arched under him, every muscle tightening as the pleasure built and built, coiling inside you like a spring about to snap. Chuuya's fingers moved with such skill, as if he'd memorised your body long before tonight, knowing exactly how to bring you to the brink of release. His mouth on your clit, hot and demanding, had you squirming against him, but his strong hands kept you firmly in place.

‘Chuuya—’ you gasped, voice cracking with desperation. You were so close, oh so close to an  overwhelming climax. His name left your lips like a prayer, which only seemed to fuel him more, his grip on your thighs tightening as he fucked you with his fingers and  greedily ate you out like a starved man. 

Then suddenly, the  tension in your body snapped like a cord pulled too tight, and your orgasm washed over you in waves, pulling you under with such force that you could hardly breathe. You tried warning him, but you could babble moans of his name as your body trembled against him, and Chuuya never let up, his fingers still thrusting into you, dragging out every last ounce of pleasure until you were a shaking, gasping mess beneath him.

He groaned, feeling the way your walls clenched around his fingers, his hips grinding down against the bed in search of some kind of relief. He looked utterly drunk on lust—his face flushed, his lips wet with your juices, his eyes blown wide with lust and satisfaction.

‘You’re so fucking beautiful like this’ he rasped, pulling his fingers from you slowly, and bringing them to his lips to taste you again. He licked them clean, savouring the flavour of you as if it rivalled the finest wine.

You were still panting, your chest rising and falling with each laboured breath as you tried to come down from the high of your orgasm. Chuuya hovered above you, his body shaking with need, but he didn’t push you didn’t demand anything from you. He simply looked at you, as if the sight of you in this state of bliss was enough to satisfy him somehow.

Although,you wanted more- you needed him. After catching your breaths, you pushed him down, climbing on top of him. His eyes widened at your actions, a blush dusting his cheeks up to his ears as if he wasn’t just eating your pussy two minutes ago.

‘Need you inside me’  your hands made quick work of his dress pants as he sucked in a breath, eyes darkening further at your words. You could feel the hardness of him through the fabric of his underwear, the bulge leaving little to nothing to the imagination. 

‘A-Ah Fuck- wait-’ He cursed again, a whimper threatening to escape his lips as his gaze flickered between your beautiful angel-like face and your hand positioning him into your greedy cunt. A few strand of his long ginger hair stick to his face, cock already throbbing with anticipation to cum.

‘Won't last long I- got me so riled up earlier eating you-’ He bashfully mumbled, feeling beyond embarrassed only wishing that earth could open up and swallow him whole, looking off to the side. Cheeks now almost matching his hair. Truth was, he almost came from eating you out earlier, your soft moans of his name way more than enough to send him over the edge 1000 times over. 

His cock was so beautiful: flushed and leaking his precum dribbling down its shaft. Rubbing his tip against your soaked folds, Chuuya threw his head back against the pillow, eyes rolling into the back of his skull. His hands gripped onto your hips as if holding untold ear life, leaving crescent moon indents into your plush skin. He was desperately trying to suppress his moans and whimper, biting down on his lip almost drawing blood, until you slowly sank his length into you, seating on him.

A choked out gasp escaped his lips, curses filling the room, his hips gyrating upwards to meet your movements on top. 

‘S-So good to me’ He babbled out, drunk on your pussy, milking him, as if it was made to take him in. Cockhead kissing your cervix, he’s merciless, feets digging into the mattress to push his hips upward meeting your every thrust. Chuuya could revel in the feeling forever, whether it was the grip of your velvety wall around his pulsating cock, the way your lips parted shamelessly moaning his name like a mantra, or the way your tits bounced with every movement on his length. The pleasure was unbearable for the both of you already feeling your second orgasm creep out, impaling yourself on his cock at a faster and harsher pace. Your hands pressed against his chest leaning forward to bounce on him, and Chuuya swore he had been sent to the afterlife. 

‘C’mon baby- let me feel you cum on my cock-’ He choked out,and the words nearly sent you over the edge. His eyes met yours, and it was the way he gazed at you with such love  that finally gave you the slight push you needed to come undone on top of him. 

Tears streamed down your cheeks as the pleasure overwhelmed you, every thrust of Chuuya’s hips upward  sent shockwaves through your body, and you finally came on top of him. Fucking you through your orgasm, the redhead finally halted balls deep, knuckles turning white as he gripped your hips with sheer force enough to leave bruises indicating he reached his limit too. 

‘’C-Cummin-’’ He gritted through his clenched teeths, body twitched releasing thick long ropes of cum inside your pussy, his release flooding you with warmth. Collapsing on top of his chest, his hand tangled into your locks, slowly trying to catch his breath. He felt like his heart was right about to burst straight out of his chest. 

For a moment, everything was still. The world outside didn’t exist—there was only you and Chuuya, wrapped up in each other, your bodies still buzzing from the intensity of what had just happened.

And then, slowly, he cleared his throat, his eyes soft as they met yours. He wanted to say so much, yet his lips parted and his mind blanked looking into your eyes—your flushed face, parted glossy lips and doe eyes piercing right into his soul.You were so breathtaking, it completely made him lose his mind. Your fingers grazed the skin of his collarbone before you smiled softly speaking in a hushed voice

‘You wanna know something?’

‘Yea?’ 

‘If this is what happens when random creeps flirt with me on missions, I just might have to let it happen more often.’ 

Chuuya only chuckled, rolling his eyes, as his hand came to caress your hair lovingly. Pressing a chaste kiss on your forehead, he nuzzled your locks swearing that one day he’d make you his, and that this was only the beginning.

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+ back to masterlist

⋆ likes and reblogs are always super appreciated ⋆

[jasperthehatchet]

I upgraded my altiods tin sewing kit! (More details are in the image ID)

I added more needles, safety pins, thread, and a sharp pair of thread scissors just small enough to fit inside the tin. There's usually two needle threaders in here but one is in use atm. And there's enough stuff inside to fit perfectly so that the lid can close all the way and nothing slides around so that's nice

I am gonna post my little altiods tin emergency chronic pain/migraine kit within the next few days as well so keep an eye out for that if you're intrested

[ID: various pictures of a metal altoids tin, about 3.5 inches by 2 inches, with sewing supplies inside. A little bag of silver safety pins, varying colors of thread on 5 small spools, more colors of thread wrapped around two small rolls of paper and inside a small plastic bag, a folded piece of paper measuring tape, a small pair of orange thread scissors, a needle threader, and some buttons inside a little bag. There are varying sizes and types of sewing needles that are stuck in a small rectangular piece of green felt that fits on top of everything inside the tin. It has sharps, darning needles, embroidery needles and one curved needle.

The colors of thread included are: light pink, a muted rusty orange, white, a few shades of light brown and off white all wrapped around one piece of rolled paper. The other paper rool has more vibrant saturated colors including red, blue, yellow, dark green, and orange. The little bag had extra recycled pieces of thread i salvaged from other projects that are long enough to still be used. And the colors on the 5 small spools are black, dark mossy warm green, dark brown, light brown and white. End ID]

[cemeteryspider]

Family Fragments Part 2

Stanford Pines x Child! Reader

Summary: Flashback to what happens the night of Ford's disappearance, and how you meet your Uncle Stan.

Trigger Warnings: Nightmares, Fear, Trauma, Violence, Loss, Family Conflict

Word Count: 2.7k

There was little Ford did these days besides pacing the floor, playing dolls with you, caring for you, and drinking coffee. In fact he had tricked himself into thinking that nothing was wrong and simply just allowed himself to be your father. Even in the pull to the basement was strong in his mind he tried to keep out of it for as long as possible.

When you had turned 5 years old he had thrown you a birthday party not inviting anyone from town. There was no adult that he trusted with you for fear of them being possessed and overpowering you. Other than Fiddleford of course, but he was off the table after his trip into the portal sent him spiraling.

Stanford had just gotten done icing the cake with strawberry frosting, you had requested an all pink cake with a gnome on top. He ended up taping a picture he drew of a gnome to a toothpick and sticking it into the cake after three failed attempts at using icing. He had hypothesized that it would be like drawing on paper, he was very wrong.

He went up to grab you from your room and saw you drawing on the floor, "Hey dad!"

His loud footsteps indicate his presence in your room. He walked close to you and looked over your shoulder onto the paper, only seeing yellow triangles covering the sheet. Ford’s blood ran cold. The yellow triangles stared back at him from the paper, like they were watching him. He swallowed hard, pocketing the drawing. He couldn’t let you see his fear. Not now.

"Are you ready for your birthday?" He asked, allowing his heart rate to come down as he led you down the stairs.

You were practically bubbling with excitement, "Yeah I can't WAIT!"

He covered your eyes with his six-fingered hands and led you to the kitchen, "Keep your eyes closed, Sweet-Pea."

You giggled as he ran around trying to find his matchbook, and while he was at it he threw your drawing onto the open flame of the fireplace, content as the edges curled and darkened distorting the yellow triangles until they were unrecognizable.

Quickly he lit the candles surrounding the gnome on the pink cake, "Open your eyes."

When you did there was a loud gasp, and your sneakers stomped on the floor as you jumped up and down. He placed his hands on your shoulder and began to sing Happy Birthday to you, and when he was done you blew your candles out allowing yourself to stare at the cake.

He plucked the candles from the top of the cake and got up to get the kitchen knife from the locked drawer, locked not just for your safety but as a precaution.

While cutting the cake he looked toward you twirling the drawing stuck to a toothpick between your fingers, "What did you wish for sweetie."

You looked up at him and smiled, "What would a good wish be?"

Ford's eyes softened, focusing on your eager face. He smiled gently, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. "You know, Sweet-Pea, a good wish is something that makes you feel happy and safe. Maybe it’s something you’d like to see happen in the future, something that brings a little bit of hope."

He paused, his heart aching with both worry and love as your brows furrowed in thought, "How about wishing for something like...more days filled with laughter?"

Your face lit up at the thought. You looked at the cake, deep in concentration for a moment, then turned back to him with a bright smile. "I wish that you'll always be my best friend, Dad."

Ford felt a lump form in his throat, and he pulled you into a tight hug, trying to hide the tears that brimmed in his eyes. "That's the best wish I could ever imagine," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

He wiped his eyes, careful not to alarm you with tears on your special day, he got up and grabbed a small gift wrapped in sparkly silver wrapping paper. Inside was a zippered pouch that opened up revealing many pencils, colored pencils, erasers, pens, and a pencil sharpener. Below that a journal almost identical to your father's except yours had a crescent moon on the front.

You had a knack for drawing and like your father a naturally inquisitive mind. Before this you had even written your own journal entries in your father's journal which were some of his favorites even though they weren't very scientific.

In an instant your arms were wrapped around your father's neck and he was ensnared in your tight hug, "Thank you, dad. I love it."

After a long night of movies, popcorn, and a few slices of cake you were falling asleep in the armchair in front of the TV. When he brought you upstairs, tucked you into bed, and sat himself in the chair in your room.

He didn't notice the sleep sneaking up on him until it was too late, and when he woke up he was standing on the roof of the cabin. Looking out into the woods of Gravity Falls, swaying slightly in the chilly night air. Ford’s heart stopped. He wasn’t on the ground anymore—he was on the roof. How? His breath came fast, hands shaking as he grabbed the gutter, forcing himself down, foot by foot.

As he was shimmying down the gutter he heard an ear piercing scream which caused him to fall the rest of the way down, and rush into the house. He tore up the stairs, each step echoing like thunder. Inside your room, the air was cold, stale. You were huddled in the far corner of your bed, knees tucked to your chest, trembling. Frantically he looked around, trying to spot what had made you so afraid. However when he looked to the ground he felt a familiar pit of terror fill his stomach.

Rats, unmoving, spelling out the words 'Happy Birthday'. He looked at you silently crying as far away from the offending offering as possible. He let out a deep sigh and went to grab the broom and dustpan, hoping to get the rats out of the room as fast as possible.

After he had placed them a little ways into the woods, he returned to your bed and sat down on the edge just looking at you as silent tears streamed down your face.

"Are you okay?" He asked not quite sure if he should be speaking, and despite knowing the answer.

You shook your head and rapidly swiped the tears from your cheeks. After a moment you pulled your arms into your sleeves and tucked your face under your collar.

Ford sat beside you, his hand hovering just above your shoulder before he placed it there, unsure but trying to comfort you. You collapsed into his side, your small frame shaking with sobs. It broke him, every tear you shed a reminder of his failure to protect you.

"What’s haunting you, Sweet-Pea? Please, talk to me,” Ford said, his voice cracking slightly, desperate to understand what his daughter was going through.

"I'm having nightmares," A cold chill ran down his spine and he held you a little bit closer, "Always the same, I wake up and you're gone. Except you're there just not right. Your eyes are yellow and you just stand there everywhere I go... just staring."

Before he could respond there was a loud knock from the front door. He looked over at you, and rubbed your arm, "Let me see who that is, don't come downstairs until I say it's safe okay?"

You peek your head out of your sweatshirt and nod at him. Your father had told you about making deals and shaking hands with people, or things you don't know. What you didn't tell him is that a yellow triangle forced you into these nightmares when you refused to let him into your mind.

The journal entry on a triangle entered your mind, but raised voices from downstairs drew your attention away from your thoughts.

"Ah! Hey! What is this?" Quietly you sneak down the stairs and peak into the messy room to the right of the staircase. You saw your dad frantically talking to someone dressed in a red sweatshirt and who seemed to have a mullet. You never knew your father to let anyone in let alone some random man from off the street.

"Oh!" Ford’s voice wavered as he caught sight of you peeking out from behind the wall. He turned to Stan, the weight of this introduction hanging heavy between them. "Stanley, this is my daughter… your niece, Y/N." Stan’s eyes widened, the words hitting him like a punch. A niece? His brother—a dad? It was like hearing that pigs could fly. For a moment, he didn’t know what to do. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, offering you a grin that felt too stiff, like he was trying on a new suit that didn’t quite fit.

Quickly the man that your father called Stanley turned around and you saw your father's face staring back at you, "Sweet Pea, this is my twin brother, your uncle, Stanley."

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself before stepping out from behind the wall, the cluttered room feeling suddenly too small as your uncle’s gaze fell on you.

"Hey, uh, kiddo. I guess I'm your Uncle Stan," He stretched his arms out in a shrugging motion and you took it as an opportunity for a hug. Nearly toppling him over with the force. He let out a little 'oomph' and his arm was still open to the air.

His arms were stiff at first as you barreled into him. This tiny child- his niece- was holding onto him as if he were her lifeline. He wasn't used to this. Not since the good ol' days with his brother. His idea of family was always messy, complicated, but here you were, trusting him instantly, and felt a familiar tug in his heart he hadn't felt in so long. It took him a moment, but soon his arms enveloped you and gave you a little squeeze.

Once you let go and looked at your dad his eyes had softened and his mouth hung open a little bit. Maybe he was wrong to keep you tucked away in the woods away from the rest of the world. For the first time in a while he thought of his parents and his family.

He pushed that away from his mind, "I have something to show you... something you won't believe."

Your Uncle Stan looked from you to his little brother, and there was a brief moment of thought where he considered having a niece to be something he didn't believe, "Look I've been around the world, okay? Whatever it is I'll understand."

You looked up to your father and shook your head, he definitely would not understand the machine in the basement. Taking your Uncle's hand you followed behind Ford to the basement, he even looked confused at the retinal scanner.

Your father had ushered you over to his work bench and sat you down with a pen and a piece of paper in front of you.

"Let me talk to your Uncle Stan alone for a moment. Could you draw a picture for me?" Ford's voice softened, but beneath the tenderness was an edge of unease. The warmth from the birthday evening lingered, yet the basement held a different weight. It was as if the shadows grew longer here, the air charged with something Ford couldn’t quite shake. He led Stan into the portal room, his mind a whirl of questions he wasn’t ready to answer.

You smiled and nodded your head, knowing that he was asking this of you to distract you from their conversation. However, you knew that your dad had not seen his brother in years and if you hadn't seen your dad in years, you would want a moment alone with him too. You sat and drew a picture of you, your father, and your uncle, occasionally looking up.

It wasn't until they crashed into the door fighting that you realized the fight that was happening. Quickly you got up after the big machine started glowing blue. With your father occupied you started moving your way toward the glowing circle.

You stood just feet from the looming machine, the hum of its power vibrating through your bones. For a moment, everything seemed to slow down, your heart pounding in your ears as you stared at the glowing portal. Then, without warning, your father shot forward, colliding with the lever. Time snapped back into place, chaos breaking loose all around you. Looking at the verbal onslaught you reach toward your dad but only manage to catch his coat as Stanley pushes him backwards toward the portal.

You and your father started to float, gravity slipping away beneath your feet. Panic seized your chest as the world shifted and twisted. Desperate to hold onto something—anything—you reached for him, fingers brushing his coat. 'Dad, don’t let go!' Your voice cracked with fear. His grip tightened for a heartbeat, but the force was too strong. You screamed again, fighting the pull, wishing with everything inside you that you could somehow stop what was happening. Stanford quickly pulled you tightly into his chest and held you tightly for a moment before shoving one of his journals into your arms.

“Y/N!” Ford’s voice cracked as he fought against the pull. “No matter what, remember that I love you! You’re everything to me… I’m so proud of you, Sweet-Pea. Don’t ever forget that!” His words echoed as he was pulled into the portal, the brightness swallowing him up. Once he was gone there was a flash of white light that sent you hurtling toward your uncle causing you both to crash to the ground in a heap.

You reached out, desperate to stop it, your small hands clutching at air as your father’s grip loosened, "Dad, don’t go!"

You rolled off of your uncle and sat on the ground as he got up and started banging on the metal structure.

You sat on the floor, knees drawn up to your chest, clutching the journal tightly. Your mind raced, replaying the scene over and over, desperately trying to understand how it had all gone so wrong. One moment, your dad was singing Happy Birthday to you, and now... now he was gone. Gone into that horrible, glowing machine. Every nightmare you'd had, every fear that kept you up at night, had just become real. And it was your fault. If only you'd been stronger, smarter—if only you’d done something different—he’d still be here.

"STANFORD! STANFORD, COME BACK! I DIDN'T MEAN IT!" He looked back and over to you. Tears forming in your eyes and your lower lip starting to quiver.

Stan pulled the lever again. Nothing. He pulled harder. Still nothing. Panic clawed at his chest as he slammed his fist into the console.

"STANFORD!" he shouted, but it was too late. The machine was dead. Your father was gone. And in the heavy silence that followed, you could feel it. Everything had changed.

Stan stood by the dead machine, hands shaking as he looked between the console and you, lost in the gravity of what had just happened. For a moment, he was frozen, unsure of what to do. He had never been good at this—at emotions, at comforting others—but seeing you there, small and fragile, clutching Ford's journal like it was a lifeline, something cracked inside him. He knelt down beside you, unsure of what to say, “Hey, kid...” 

His voice was rough, but there was a softness beneath it, “I’m gonna bring him back, okay? I promise.”

You looked up at him, tears brimming in your eyes. His promise hung in the air, but you weren’t sure if he even believed it. But the way his voice wavered, the way he clenched his fists, made you think that maybe he needed to believe it as much as you did.

[skeltnwrites]

S'mores - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie takes you camping

Word Count: 3.6k

TW: bad driving, maybe a bit of angst

A/N: This might have something to do with that box of money from my last fic (kudos to those who guessed correctly), also writing this had me giggling and kicking my feet so good luck if you thought the last one was fluffy

Silver-clad fingers tap against the steering wheel, more in tune with the van’s blinker than the Ace of Spades cassette blaring through the speakers. Eddie glances over his shoulder before veering into the next lane, throwing up an apology wave to the sedan he just cut off. You peek up from the map, sights darting to your side mirror, then to your boyfriend. He’s inches from scratching the sticker-loaded bumper ahead of you, gassing and breaking repeatedly. 

You’re well aware that Eddie’s never been a good driver. Frequently snagging curbs and pushing speed limits, once having picked a note from the windshield about his poor parking job. It’s a miracle that he’s only been in a couple of fender benders over the years. You once nabbed his driver’s license, swatting away his hands so you could see the grainy photo of teenage Eddie. But every now and then when his foot slams against the pedal and you lurch forward in your seat only to be caught by the belt, you wonder whether it was a fake. Today, somehow, he’s in even more of a rush than usual. 

The tape ends, leaving you in silence apart from a distant honk and the familiar chug of the air conditioning. “You know the campsite isn’t going anywhere right?” 

He hums dismissively, hands gripping ten and two as his gaze darts between the road and his rearview. 

You throw a palm over his thigh, squeezing. “Eddie.” 

He’s locked in, swerving in failed attempts to get back over. “One second, sweetheart,” he manages when you retract your hand. There’s a risky opening and he takes it, the car behind instantly laying on the horn. Your eye twitches. 

He rolls to a stop, with nowhere to go between the bumper-to-bumper traffic as far ahead as you can see and highway patrol parked in the median. “Seems everyone and their mother had the same idea, huh?” He turns to you with a dopey half-smile. 

“What’s the rush?” 

He shrugs, picking at the rip in his jeans, “Just wanna get set up before dark.” 

“We’ve got flashlights.” 

“No– well, yeah. It’s not that. I just don’t wanna have to worry about it later.” 

You tilt your head, “No biggie if we set up late.” 

He nods, knowing you’re right. 

When you’d got home from work Eddie didn’t give you a chance to kiss him hello before he urged you into the bedroom to pack for a surprise weekend camping trip. Rented camping gear and a bag of gas station snacks were thrown into the back of the van and within the hour, you were on the road. As he pulled onto the interstate he’d abruptly toggled off the radio as the host discussed details of the pending meteor shower, the part of the trip he intended to keep secret. You pretended not to hear when he asked, despite having read about it in the paper the afternoon before. 

The sun sinks out of sight as you reach the exit ramp. A light pitter-patter against the windshield has you preemptively cranking up your window. Your feet cross each other over the dash as you trace the approaching circle on your map with your finger. 

“You said Bronson?” Eddie asks. 

“Mhmm. Left on Bronson Road.”

“Ya sure? Cause it’s definitely blocked off.” 

You whip your head up at the construction signs and equipment lining the street, or lack of street rather. 

“Damn it.” You rub the bridge between your nose. 

“I could just try to drive through it? I mean those big trucks can–” 

“Eddie,” you raise an eyebrow. 

“What!” He slaps the dashboard, “This girl's gotten us through a lot of adventures, right? One more won’t kill her.” He’s dead serious; Zero problem with driving past a sign that says ‘Closed’ and ‘Do Not Enter’.

“I’ll find another route, keep driving.” 

“Come on,” he groans, sagging into his seat.

“Do you want to pop a tire and be out here all night waiting for help?” 

He scoffs like you’ve insulted him, “I know how to change a tire.”

“Do you have a spare?” 

His mouth opens in rebuttal and quickly shuts.

“Drive,” you roll your eyes, hiding your smirk behind the map. 

You try another road that connects, or so you thought until you pull up to a dead-end sign. It’s pouring now and pitch black out, road signs are hard to see, street lights are sparse, and you’re both cranky from being trapped in a car with each other. It’s your fourth attempt at rerouting when Eddie declares you are officially lost. 

He holds his hands up in defense, “Look I don’t wanna say it but–” 

You send him a glare before he can finish. “We’re not lost.” 

“Look, it’s okay if–”

“But we aren’t. Look, right here,” you flick a pen against the paper. “I’m telling you this is the one.” 

He falters at your serious stare, biting a nail, and sighs, “Okay. Fifth times the charm, right?”  

“That’s what they say,” you smile. 

To both of your surprise, the fifth time is the charm and you’re able to get back on track with your navigation skills. You’re on a long stretch of dirt road, miles since the last light or building or car for that matter. Still, you swear you know where you are and Eddie believes you. He drives shockingly slow, bobbing his leg and squinting at the windshield. The wipers squeal against the glass, working overtime.  

You push your palm against his knee. He continues to drum against the floor mat. 

He feels your gaze and anticipatorily answers, “Have to piss.”

“You did on the side of the road like half an hour ago, dude.” 

“Think it’s the rain. Rainiest fucking day in Indiana history. Thought it would’ve stopped by now.” His voice trails off in this dejected sort of way that you rarely hear from Eddie. 

You’re lips form a tight line and you bring your fingers up to his nape to scratch under a thick mop of curls. “It’ll let up bub.” 

He nods, eyes trained ahead. 

You literally scream when the headlights glare against a campsite sign. Eddie smiles so hard you’d bet his cheeks hurt. An unimpressed teenager mans the check-in booth which you pull up to. She slides the window open to abruptly tell you they closed ten minutes ago, not allowing you to reply before it slams shut. Eddie raps on the glass, pointing to a crisp twenty-dollar bill which she accepts, offering a parking pass and spot number in return. 

The van is parked and you jump out, delighted that the rain has let up some. It’s sprinkling and clouds block any hint of stars, but you couldn’t care less. Eddie grabs the tent first, recruiting you to help stomp the stakes into the ground. He fumbles with the flaps, scratching his neck trying to understand where the door is supposed to be when the rain picks up again. You scramble to finish setting up, throwing bags, food, a radio, and whatever else easily accessible into the tent. It isn’t until you’re both inside, soaked to the bone, that you realize how cramped it is. 

“This is definitely not a two-person tent,” Eddie chuckles, hunched over like a wilting flower, knees digging into yours. His curls are slick and shiny in the lantern glow. 

You flick a mosquito off his arm and grin, “It’s cozy for sure.” 

He flops on the twin-sized inflatable mattress you’d previously used as an umbrella. You wriggle up beside him, clothes drenched and clinging to every curve. 

“I mean think about it, this size would go for, what, a grand in New York? They’d call it an urban studio apartment with bright ceilings and textured floors,” you say magically.

His laugh bleeds into a dramatic groan as he slings an arm over his face. You leave a wake of kisses from his elbow over to his wrist until he’s peeling it away to hold you. Your cheeks are warm against his palms as he says, “I’m sorry we didn’t get to see the meteor shower.”

You lift an eyebrow, “What meteor shower?”

He covers your face, snorting, “Shut up, you knew. You aren’t a good liar.” 

You crack a smile, peeling his fingers away one by one until you can see him again. 

“But really,” he says, seriously. “We are soaked and cold and we didn’t even get to make s'mores!” 

You drop your head to his chest, “You’re right. I don’t think I’ll survive without s'mores.”

His hand finds your crown, his lips too. “I’m serious!” 

“So am I,” you mumble into his tee. 

You are content to lay there in each other’s warmth for a while despite the chills worming up your spine but Eddie breaks the stillness, “Come on. Get up. We need to change.” 

You lift your head, “Wait!” You poke at his chest, “I need to tell you something.” 

He hums, brown eyes heavy as they search yours. 

“I love you,” you say earnestly. 

“Sap!” He pushes you off, crawling over to his JanSport to fish for dry clothes. He chucks you a pair and you waste no time stripping off the sticky fabric. Before long, the lantern is off and you're wrapped in the single dry blanket, shuffling back into him for more warmth. He pecks your shoulder and mutters, “I love you too,” before you drift off. 

You aren’t sure what time it is when you wake but Eddie is breathing hot air onto your neck, curls itching you in a way that makes you pull away. His arm slinks under the covers as you sit up. No light leaks through the tent so it must not be time to get up, you decide. You feel far from sleep, however. It’s cold and somehow sticky. The pant leg pinched up your calf gets tugged down, only to realize the fabric is damp. 

Eddie must feel you shuffling because he starts mumbling and groping around your pillow. His hand claws at your sleeve in an attempt to suck you back in. He whines sleepily when you don’t budge. 

“Eddie,” you whisper, sliding a hand up the tent’s coarse walls. 

“What,” his voice catches, soft against his pillow and hoarse with sleep. 

“I think,” you swipe at the floor until your fingertips graze a freezing puddle. “There’s a hole in the tent or something.” You blink rapidly trying to see the damage. 

He cranes up with a hum, elbowing you as he scratches his face. 

“The floor is wet.” 

“Where?” 

You wrap your fingers around his in the darkness, guiding them past your body to skim the floor.

“Shit,” he sighs. 

You prod around, shoving away non-lantern-shaped or textured items. 

“Here,” Eddie clicks his lighter. It sparks a few times before lighting, casting skewed shadows against the walls. He yawns, gesturing at the lantern with closed lids. You click it on, dangling it over the gap beside the mattress—golden light glimmers against the water. Eddie climbs over you to view it, hair swaying as he shifts. Your heavy eyes travel up in tandem to catch the steady drip from the roof. A small, fraying line splits the fabric. He pushes a thumb against the next forming bead. His tongue slips back in his mouth to clear his throat, “I’ve got duct tape in the van but I don’t think it’ll stick to this.” He scratches the canvas, “‘specially not in the rain.” 

You nod, observing as his brain churns. His gaze flicks to his wrist watch and then he’s folding over his legs in a cat-like stretch. Hunched over, he says, “It’s too early for this. Let’s just go sleep in the van.” He hums as if to ask, “How does that sound?”

You trace the curve of his spine as he stretches, “‘kay.” Neither of you move. Rain pelts the tarp rhythmically. 

“Come on,” he sighs deeply before pushing up to unzip the tent. Stray raindrops blow inside, a couple catching your hand where it bunches clothes together. You sweep whatever is near into his bag, passing Eddie his sneakers. You don’t bother lacing yours. 

He throws his denim jacket over your shoulders before you race out, shoes squelching against the mud. Your heel dips into a puddle as you plant your hands against the slick sliding door. Eddie jams the keys in the lock with rehearsed practice, climbing in and pressing buttons until the rest of the locks click. You rapidly pull the metal handle, nearly eating shit as your foot slides. 

Eddie jumps back out. “Piece of shit door,” he grumbles and bumps your hip, pushing with you until the door lurches open. When he clears it, you slam it behind him. The backpack and his jacket are discarded onto the floor before you climb over the center console after him. He starts the car, cranking the temperature knobs until warm air blows from the vents. 

As soon as your eyes meet, you crumble into giggles. Any bit of sleepiness left has vanished. His hair is flattened with moisture and his cheeks rosy from the cold. You curl your nail under a black strand stuck to his chin.

“Needed a shower anyway,” Eddie shakes his hair out like a dog, spraying you in the face. 

You yell and shield yourself with your sleeves. 

He licks a stray droplet off his lip then leans over the seats searching. Eddie gets up and squirms between them, kicking the water bottle in the cup holder. You slip your shoes off, pushing them under the seat to avoid tracking any more mud. 

Your palms hover flat against the heat for a while. It’s quiet per Eddie standards so you glance behind your seat. In the dim car light, your boyfriend shuffles through his backpack. He’s chewing on his lip as he tips it over to dump the contents out, mostly clothes. His eyes widen when he finds you staring. 

“Find me something to wear?” You ask. 

He nods after a moment, still watching you like a child with their hand in the cookie jar. You turn back around hesitantly. 

You busy yourself with reading the campsite pamphlet you’d been given at the entrance. But the grinding of the slider door has you whipping your head back around. Eddie’s halfway outside, shouting, “One sec’!” The door shuts abruptly leaving you alone in the van. You climb into the back, cupping your hands against the foggy glass. Your boyfriend has his jacket slung across his back as he crouches into the tent. A couple of minutes pass and he’s running back. You pull the door open for him and he thanks you as he hops in. 

“What?” You question. 

He flashes a tight-lipped smile, “Forgot this.” He holds out his lighter in one hand, placing his jacket on the floor neatly with the other. 

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’ve got like three in the glovebox, Eddie.” 

“This one’s my favorite.” The lighter is lime green, adorned with a fading smiley face drawn in sharpie, thanks to you. He scratches his neck sheepishly. You don’t know whether to believe him since he’s never shown a preference for lighters before now but he seems genuinely embarrassed that you’ve found out. 

“Oh,” you settle with, choosing to let it go, lest you embarrass the poor boy further.  

You dissolve into separate chores in the back of the van. He smears the puddle by the door with his already wet t-shirt and you hunt for another pair of his pajama pants for yourself. Dry clothes are dwindling, having soaked two pairs each already. But you manage to find new bottoms and a fresh shirt for Eddie. He’s slipping it over his head, crisscrossed on the floor in only his boxers. You circle the small space, plucking any soggy clothes off the floor to hang dry on a camping chair that had been left in the van. As you scoop up Eddie’s jacket something rolls out onto the floor. You kneel to pick up a small, black box with your free hand. You scratch curiously at the velvet, wavering to hand it off to Eddie. Gears turn in your head as you glance up at your boyfriend who stares at you from the floor a few feet away. Your expression mirrors his, mouth agape, eyebrows raised. 

“I—”

“Is this?“ You say simultaneously. 

Your limbs are locked in place, mouth dry as you try to string together a coherent question. Suddenly the heat pouring from the vents is too hot. You might as well catch fire with how your cheeks burn. 

He deflates in front of you, shoulders sagging and chin drooping in one motion. 

You shove the box into his hands as if that will fix it. 

He furrows his brows and looks away, “Shit.” 

You are about to offer to pretend you haven’t seen it when he continues.

“This whole trip has really gone to shit, huh?” He shakes his head, throwing a hand out defeatedly, “I mean– I had this whole perfect plan and I was trying so hard not to fuck it up. The shower and the fucking rain. Hell, Steve, even Wayne warned me to do it right and I– I just.” He scoffs, head tipping back against the door. “I almost lost it.” 

It’s then that it dawns on you that Eddie Munson, your boyfriend, intended to propose to you on this trip. That he plans to marry and spend the rest of his life with you. 

“–want you to think that I don’t care enough—“

“Eddie,” you whisper.

“–and I wanted you to know how seri—“

“Eddie!” Your on the dirty floor of his van, knees digging into his as you push the box further into his chest, “Fucking ask me already.”

He melts under your stare, breath shuddering hesitantly despite your growing smile. “I– Will you—“

You're already nodding at the first word. “Yes, you idiot.” You’ve lunged into his chest, smiling uncontrollably into his neck. 

He chuckles nervously into your temple, slowly wrapping an arm around you. But he pulls back, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you answer immediately. 

His eyes dance around your face, lingering on the spot below your ear he likes to kiss. He presses his nose there instead, giggling like a little kid. “I can’t believe you said yes,” he whispers breathily, more to himself than you. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” You squeeze him, eyebrows furrowed. 

“I dunno, I just thought,” he trails off. 

“Eddie,” you peel him off your skin, waiting until he looks at you. “This is perfect.” You knead your nose and eyes before anything escapes. “I don’t care if it rained or if we didn’t see the meteors or about fucking s’mores for Christ’s sake!” You smack him lightly in the chest, smiling hard. 

His eyes are glassy and he swallows hard. “You haven’t even seen the ring yet,” his voice shakes when he says it.

“There could be a paper ring in there for all I care.” 

He grins, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Should’ve told me that before I bought something.”

You laugh wetly and he brings the box up to your hands to open together. Rings are not something you and Eddie had discussed much if at all and yet somehow he managed to find just what you envisioned. 

The tears finally fall as you say, “It’s gorgeous, Eds.” 

He chases them away with kisses, cupping your cheek to pull you closer. 

When you're momentarily done studying the jewelry you press your lips to his. He’s reluctant to pull away, diving in for a second, then a third, like you’ll change your mind if he lets you go. 

“Here,” his hands are shaking as he plucks the ring from its cushion and cradles your hand. The ring slips on easily, a tad too big, but “Wayne knows someone who can tighten it.”

You nod, grinning wildly at your hand. He’s watching you with a similar wobbly expression when you glance up. You remain a tangled pile of soppy limbs on the metal floor until your back aches. He’s pulling you up and clicking off the lights before crawling up front. 

“I don’t know how you expect me to fall asleep now,” you whisper giddily, cheek pressed to the reclined passenger seat. 

From across you, he says, “I don’t think I can either.” He watches you fondly as you twist the ring around your finger. He’s thinking about how stupid he was to worry so much about what Wayne and Steve fucking Harrington of all people warned him about. That he knows he’s never felt so strongly about someone before and that he’d be crazy to let you slip away. 

Your gasp breaks his stream of consciousness. You’ve sat up, pointing through the windshield. “Look!”

“What?” he’s ducking his head, flipping up the sun visor, and glancing from you to the glass, trying to track your line of sight. Then he finds it, a long arc of light breaking through the clouds. It’s faint, fading in and out of the darkness as it streams from one end of the sky to the other. It passes, and you both observe for more, wide-eyed and stiff like dolls. 

“Look at that,” you blink deliriously, slumping back into the seat. 

“Did you get the universe in on this or something when I wasn’t looking?” He’s baffled, chuckling to himself. 

“Maybe it’s a sign,” you smirk. 

He nods, leaning over to peck the corner of your lip. “Didn’t need one. Knew you were it from day one.” He slinks back into his seat, leaving you a blushing ball of flames.  

[foggieststars]

hear me out. sebchal family friends fic with uni student charles. seb is friends with charles’ mother maybe? even better if the age gap is more rancid than usual. they fuck in charles’ childhood bedroom during the christmas party when they’re drunk on wine. and of course the whole mentor mentee thing they have going on.

When Charles takes him by the wrist, Seb doesn't even think to ask where he's being led. The music is too loud, and the wine's gone to his head, and the way Charles winks at him sends something spinning through his bloodstream.

"Charles, where are you going?" Pascale calls from the doorway. "It is nearly time for cutting the cake."

"Yes, maman," Charles calls back, fingers tightening around Seb's wrist. "I am just giving Seb his present. It will only take a moment." He pronounces Seb the same way he has since he was 14, when Sebastian first met Charles, the second son of his thesis advisor. Seb-uh. Soft, French, exaggerated.

Pascale opens her mouth to argue, when one of the many children in attendance lets out a loud shriek from the living room. It's followed by a terrible crash, and she disappears in a whirl of blonde hair.

When Sebastian looks back at Charles, he's smiling, eager and wild.

He leads Seb into his room without a backwards glance, and Seb lets the door swing shut behind them. His room looks much the same as it did the last time Seb was in it, helping Charles over the summer break with his university project. A Ferrari banner hanging above his bed, photos of his friends and family tacked up on the walls.

Charles rummages through the drawer of his bedside table, and Sebastian can't help but admire the almost aristocratic tilt of his head. The defined profile of his nose, his chin. His mouth.

Charles turns around with a present in his hands, a box wrapped in silver paper. There's a golden ribbon tied around it, and Charles plays with it, twisting the ribbon through his fingers before he holds it out for Seb to take.

"I feel bad," Seb says, feeling ill-at-ease. "I didn't bring anything for you."

Charles laughs, gestures Seb down onto the bed. Seb perches on the very edge, well-aware of the way Charles' knee is pressed firmly against his own.

"That's okay," he shrugs. "You gave me so much help with my courses this year. I would never have made it through without you."

"Charles," Seb chastises. "You know that's not true. You're very intelligent. You just need to apply yourself more."

Charles ducks his head, a blush appearing faint on his cheeks. He shrugs. "Open it, then."

Seb does as he's told. He pulls on the end of the golden ribbon, neatly untying the bow. He slides his finger beneath the edge of the wrapping paper, tape coming unstuck.

He can't hold back a smile when he slides the box from its wrapping. Inside is a pristine miniature of the F2004, an even tinier Michael Schumacher behind the wheel.

"Do you like it?" Charles asks eagerly. "I noticed you didn't have it, when I was in your study. It's the only Schumacher championship car you don't have."

Seb feels a thrill run through him at Charles' words, one he really shouldn't be feeling. This is Charles, the same Charles who Seb has known since he was 14. It doesn't matter that Charles has been paying attention - that Charles noticed something that small.

"Thank you," Seb says, tilting the box to look at it from every angle. "This is really thoughtful, Charles. I used to have one, but it got damaged when I moved house. I've always meant to replace it."

Charles beams at him. "Well, now you don't have to!" he says, eagerly. "Look, see - I got the one with the Marlboro rear wing, because, well, obviously..."

Seb watches Charles chatter away, pointing out small details about the car. He nods along, unable to tear his eyes away from the shine of Charles' lips.

What is he doing? Sitting on a bed with a 20-year old he's known for 6 years half in his lap, letting him get closer and closer, hands brushing against Seb's own when he turns the box to point something out. It doesn't matter that Charles has a crush on him, that he's a legal adult now. Charles has had a crush on him for years, a childish flight of fancy. It's nothing Seb's ever paid attention to, and certainly nothing he should act on.

"Seb?" Charles asks, pulling him from his thoughts. "Are you okay?"

Seb's still staring at his mouth. "What?" he blinks, shaking his head. "Yes, yes. I'm fine. Thank you for this, Charles, really."

Charles shrugs again, blush spreading to the bridge of his nose. "I'm glad you like it."

"Of course I do," Seb says, and then - "I'd like anything you thought to give me."

Idiot. Stupid, foolish, idiot.

Seb sees the way Charles' pink tongue darts out to wet his lips, the way something in his eyes lights up. This is dangerous ground he's stumbled onto. He needs to tread carefully.

"Shall we - I think your mother will have a conniption if we don't get back in time for the cake." Pascale would have a conniption if she knew what Seb was in here thinking about doing to her son, more like.

Charles hesitates, teeth catching on his bottom lip. "We could," he offers. "But you didn't give me my present yet."

Sebastian's blood freezes in his veins when Charles moves closer, shifting so that their legs interlock.

"I thought you said I didn't need to get you anything," he protests weakly.

"I lied," Charles retorts, soft and low. "There's something I want. Something only you can give me."

There's a mirror hanging on the wall, over Charles' shoulder. Seb catches a glimpse of his own face in it. He looks old, tired. Too old to be in here, doing this, with someone as young as Charles.

"Charles, I really don't think --" and then he's cut off, by the harsh press of Charles' lips against his own. It's sloppy and uncoordinated, their noses bumping together, teeth clashing.

Seb draws back, and Charles makes a low, wanting noise in the back of his throat. His pupils are blown wide, a thin circle of green around them, and he's urgent underneath Seb's hands. It's not an excuse for what Seb does next.

And then Charles says, "Seb, please," - and the last, wavering strand of his self-control snaps clean in half.

He tangles a hand in Charles' hair, freshly washed before the party and left to softly curl, and brings him in slower. The meeting of their mouths is gentler. Charles tastes like red wine and spearmint from those candy canes he kept sucking. He smells of something faintly smokey and rich, probably from the body spray Seb saw on the nightstand. It gets into Seb's nose, into his mouth, somehow, until the whole world smells like smoke. He moves under Seb's hands like a wild thing, wriggling into his lap, knees on either side of Seb's thighs. Seb can feel the hard line of his cock pushing against his stomach, even through the denim of his jeans. It's a sobering reminder of his youth, his relative inexperience.

When they come apart, Charles' lips are kiss-bitten and his face is flushed. A small whine sounds in the back of his throat. He looks sweetly eager, moving in Seb's grasp like he can't help himself.

"You like your Christmas present?" Seb asks, and Charles snickers. It's a pleasant sound.

"You're telling me that's all there is to it?" Charles pouts. "I'm disappointed."

Seb squeezes his waist, no idea when his hands came to settle there. "I'm going to have my hands full with you, aren't I?" he asks, and Charles preens, bringing a hand up to thread his fingers through Seb's grasp.

"I really, really hope so."

[fourtyforever]

Get in losers were making a fic rec masterlist

Hi y’all it’s me, your local multishipper, and I’m about to be the change I wish to see in the world by putting all the best f1 fics in one place.

Maxiel

cool things to say to your soulmate by @powerful-owl (E, 14k)

A collection of shorter soulmate stories by the great em powerfulowl. Essentially the maxiel thesis as far as I’m concerned. If you ever catch me talking about the goose fic, this is what I’m talking about. Fun story: this was actually the first F1 rpf I ever read and I blame it for why my standards are so fantastically high.

Thursday girl by @boxboxlewis (M, 3k)

Max is outed by the press. Shocking emotional impact to word ratio and off the charts tenderness. Short and sweet and low key a comfort read to me.

the being unknown by anonymous (E, 12k)

Body swap with really unique and emotional vibes. Ngl this one hurt me (in the best way). A fantastic and heart-wrenching take on the horrors of 2022.

Charlos

win or lose (it’s how you play the game) by @f1-stuff (E, 18k)

Hickey bet between charles and carlos. Cannot get over this fic for as long as I live: the silliness is off the charts, the vibes are literally the most perfectly balanced tenderhorny I’ve ever read and the writing is just really that good. I think about this fic minimum once a day.

last night by venerat (E, 24k)

College au. Ngl this one is just especially spicy, but also very very funny and fully captivating top to bottom (see what I did there? haha). Also a great ensemble cast here, which I always love.

Once more (before we die) by @f1-stuff (M, 6k)

Fantasy AU where charlos are princes of warring kingdoms. I love this AU and I love the tenderness between Charles and Carlos that we get out of it. I’m usually not really an AU type of gal but this one really did change my mind.

Playing games by @vegasgrandprix (T, 4K)

Gay chicken. WIP, but I can already tell so clearly exactly where this is going and that is delightful to me. Honestly this really is how they act like 90% of the time already.

Yukierre

match made in heaven by venerat (T, 4K)

Pierre is yuki’s matchmaker. this one is just so sweet and sooooo silly. Comfort read 100%

Loscar

Are they gay or European? (the answer is both) by periwinkle_bumper_cars (T, 30k)

Logan keeps walking in on other drivers in compromising positions. 100% balls to the wall silliness from beginning to end and just completely delightful the whole time. Background carlando, kmag/hulkenberg, brocedes, maxiel, and honestly the ensemble cast is what takes this one from great to top tier.

Landoscar

By a thread by @mctwinkdom (E, 32k)

The classic Australian thongs misunderstanding (gone sexual). Incredibly silly, amazingly hot and honestly a top-tier character study of both Oscar and Lando. A great study in unreliable narration as well (probably part of what accounts for my previous point).

carried away by orphan account (E, 22k)

Fake dating. Honestly this one got me in my feels so much more than I expected from the premise. Sweet and a little bit angsty and just a delightful read all the way down.

Strollonso

green light, red wine (and I don’t feel fine) by @vicsy (E, 19k)

Mafia AU where lance is the son of Fernando’s arch nemesis. THEE strollonso fic of all time I tell you. Unparalleled characterization on the part of both nando and lance, fantastic ensemble cast, FANTASTIC writing, and off the charts unreal spiciness. If you haven’t read this yet then what are you doing

El dick plan by @waddlingpenguin (E, 800)

Lance says ‘daddy,’ both Fernando and Lawrence answer. Short, sweet and SILLY.

camera roll by @penaltyboxboxbox (E, 5k)

Sexting/sex tapes. Overall nice and spicy and just fantastic characterization. Also absolutely crucial is the companion art also by dave penaltyboxboxbox which is literally like the ice cream on top of the cake for such a wonderful fic

silver platter by @wewentcarracing (E, 10k)

getting together fic featuring long suffering estie bestie. Honestly the fic is amazing and spicy and just so well written but Esteban’s ever growing dismay is lowkey my favorite part. Works as a pretty great lance character study as well.

Brocedes

Roseberg’s vs haminkton by @jean----ralphio (E, 16k)

Tattoo artist versus flower shop, except they’re rivals. This is like…just how they are honestly. Absolutely stunning ensemble cast and absolutely hilarious buildup to lewis and Nico finally getting together. Side order of seb just being a massive shit stirrer which honestly I think is the role he belongs in

The real reason nico rosberg retired by periwinkle_bumper_cars (G, 3k)

Secret Santa (gone horribly wrong). This is…..also just how they are unfortunately. The rancidest of vibes but also screeching-out-loud funny.

will be updating this on the reg so stay tuned for more good fics. also maybe if I am very lucky someday I will have my own fics to add to the list. definitely I need to become slightly more insane before I can start writing for this fandom but believe you me I’m well on my way.

[rabesbabe]

Silver Soul

Jackie Taylor x Fem!Reader

part one part two part three ➴

Summary: You try to figure out why Jackie is so upset with you and end up surprised at the truth.

A/N: Hii thank you for the love on this series! This is gonna be the last part I hope you guys enjoy! Sorry for that this is little bit shorter than the other parts

Equations were the last thing on your mind as you sat in Math class. It was the Monday after the Halloween party and you finally had to face Jackie. You had tried to call her over the weekend but never got a reply.

Shauna and Jackie sat two rows in front of you in math class. You would talk to her in there but Jackie had been avoiding you all day. When you did try to talk to her, she’d make up some excuse and say she had to go do something.

The only other idea you could think of to figure out why Jackie was so upset with you was to ask the one person beside her that had to know.

At the end of class, Jackie practically ran out when the bell rang leaving Shauna behind. You stopped Shauna on her way out the door.

“Hey, Shauna. Can I talk to you?” You ask, starting to walk through the halls with her.

The look on her face let you know she knew why you wanted to talk to her. “Look I know Jackies been avoiding you and stuff and that sucks. But, she has a good reason to. You really upset her you know.” Shauna replied.

You look down at the ground feeling guilty. “I just don’t get what I did though? Everything was fine and then she stormed off on me at the party.” You say.

Shauna adjusts her backpack and sighs while looking at you with her doe like eyes. “You really need to pay attention more,” She says almost laughing at you. “Jackie talks my ear off about you constantly Y/N. She really likes you and she’s tried to give you signs but you’ve ignored basically every single one. And based off what she told me, what happened in the bathroom was just her final straw I guess.”

Your eyes colored with realization at Shauna’s words. Jackie really did like you. You had been so oblivious. You were going to make it up to her. “Thanks Shauna,” You say practically running to your locker. You needed to do something big. You needed to show Jackie how much you really cared for her and you had just the idea.

-⚽️-

You skipped the rest of the school day so that you could make it back by the time soccer practice was over. You went to over 3 stores just to get everything you’d need to surprise her. You had flowers, a handmade sign, and a mix tape with all the songs you guys had listened to together in your car.

You had asked Taissa to make sure that Jackie stayed a little later after practice.

Even after what Shauna had told you today, you were still doubtful about how Jackie felt for you. You knew it was stupid but you couldn’t help but be nervous about your plan. What if she rejected you?

You put your doubts aside and waited in the parking lot for practice to end. After a few minutes you noticed Taissa and Nat walking up to your car.

“Hey lover girl,” Nat says in reference to your plan.

“She’s over there by the bleachers, it’s now or never Y/N.” Taissa says smiling at you hopefully.

You get out the car and grab the sign and all the gifts.

“Goodluck!” Nat says while you walk over to the bleachers.

While making your way to the bleachers you could’ve sworn your heart was gonna shoot out your chest. Your hands were shaking so much you could barely hold the sign you’d made.

You cringed a little at your sign which seemed so clever when you’d first made it. The sign said, “Smash my heart like a pumpkin or be my girlfriend?” You hoped Jackie would get the reference to the Smashing pumpkins since you knew she liked them.

You look up from the sign and saw Jackie sitting on the bleachers. She hadn’t noticed you yet but you knew she would soon. You stood at the bottom of the bleachers.

“Jackie!” You called out hoping to get her attention. She looked over at you and rolled her eyes.

“Are you kidding me,” She says. “Take a fucking hint Y/N!” She starts to get up but you run up the bleachers to her.

“Wait, Jackie, please. I’ve been an idiot i’m sorry.” You say wholeheartedly.

She turns to look at you her face still looking angry but her eyes displaying hopefulness.

You continue to talk, “I shouldn’t have ignored all the signs, I just thought it was impossible that you’d like…me.”

“Why would you think that?” She asks sitting back down. You sit next to her and look at your feet to avoid her staring gaze.

“You’re sweet, beautiful, and I literally can’t get you off my mind.” She admits.

You look up at her and smile, shocked at her words. “You kinda ruined my surprise you know.”

You hand her the poster and gifts and she laughs. “Oh my god this is so corny.”

Your cheeks flush at her words and you laugh, “Is that a yes?” You ask looking into her eyes.

She moves one hand to your waist and the other to the side of your face. She closes the gap between you, and presses your lips together. Her lips tasted like the strawberry lipgloss you always saw her apply. Your mind was full of Jackie in that moment and you both only broke apart when you heard Natalie Whistle a cat call in your guys direction.

You look down the bleachers to see Natalie and Taissa clapping at you and Jackie. You and Jackie’s faces were red as beats as you both rolled your eyes at their antics.

You flip them both off and kiss Jackie again, not caring that they were watching.

When you finally pull apart Jackie giggles at you. Her cheeks had to hurt from how hard she was smiling.

“Cmon, I’ll drive you home and we can get coffee or something.” You say offering her your hand while getting up.

She gets up quickly happily complying.

-⚽️-

You and Jackie had been dating for two months now. Since things were still fresh you thought it’d be good to make sure she didn’t feel pressured to tell everyone. You knew it was a big change for her and you wanted her to feel supported.

You sat on Jackie’s bed watching her get ready for you guys date in a few minutes. “This shirt and this skirt or,” She spins around to grab a dress off her vanity, “This dress?”

You shrug, “You’ll look beautiful in both of them so either one is good.” You were trying to listen to her but your mind was occupied with what you wanted to talk to her about.

She gives you a quick peck,”Very cute but…you’re not helping me.” She focuses her attention back on her outfit and seems to choose the dress.

“You know we don’t have to go to the movies or anything. We might see people from school there.” You say fidgeting with the hem of your dress.

“So?” Jackie says confused, you look at her and make a face. “I just don’t want you to feel like I’m pressuring you to tell everyone, you know?”

She sits down by you on her bed. “I don’t care who knows Y/N,” She explains, “I want people to know we’re together.”

You grab her hand and smile. “Are you sure? I’m okay if you want to keep things quiet for a while, I promise.”

“No matter how hard or scary it is, it’s worth it to be with you and not have to hide anything.” She says her hazel eyes looking into yours.

You smile at her and wrap your arms around her.

You both spent the rest of the day together watching “Scream”, Having dinner and, walking around town. You couldn’t be happier. Your relationship with her was unexpected but one of the best things to happen to you.