#putting this here again as the tags are working now

[dailynnt]

AURORA

ᴺᵒʳᵗʰᵉʳⁿ ˡⁱᵍʰᵗˢ

༘✩ Summary: A relationship that survived a breakup but could not be forgotten. Like the northern lights that appear only at certain moments, their feelings had their peaks and troughs, but always remained on the horizon. You meet your ex at some event. The feelings are still alive.

༘✩ Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ The Reader

༘✩Age restrictions: 18+

༘✩ Size: one shot

༘✩ Tags: ex to lovers, longing, smurt, cursing, sex, unprotected sex, detailed description of explicit scenes, alcohol

༘✩ Dedication: This work is dedicated to my beloved Armys. I wrote this work thinking of you. I hope this work resonates with you - @myjungkookthighs, @kelsyx33, @someoneelse0109, @mskookie, @kooccult, , @smokinghotstargirl , @curse-of-art, @rispwr, @kooko007

༘✩ From author: I have long dreamed of writing a story like this and here it is in one day. I tried my best for you and I really hope you will like the way I described the love that does not die, even if it seems that it is the end. Inspired by a song I found not so long ago and it immediately associated me with Jungkook💜❤️‍🔥💘 And I'll add another one, the lyrics of which are also here. Enjoy 🙏🏻🥰

You didn't expect to see him. You thought you would never see it again in your life. Certainly not here, among dozens of strangers, in a room flooded with soft light that resembled the glare of the northern lights. But he was here.

Your eyes meet and your heart skips a beat. He is approaching, accompanied by one of the organizers of the event you have come to. He keeps his eyes on you and you can't look away either. He seems to be the only one who could touch the strings of your soul, and they seem to be starting to pluck.

He approaches and stops a few steps away. He didn't expect to see you again either. Your last words had clearly created a great gulf between you that neither of you could cross.

He was not prepared for his heart to beat faster and his breath to become ragged, as if after a long run. But he couldn't show it, he had to control himself.

"Y/N would like to introduce you to one of our biggest sponsors. Jeon Jungkook." - He introduce Jungkook. "And Mr. Jeon, this is Y/N Y/L/N. She's a writer with whom our publishing house works." - Your eyes are greedy. You literally study each other, trying to find what has changed. And if anything has changed at all.

You look at him, waiting for him to behave. Will he pretend that you don't know each other? Or will he say that there is no need to introduce you? Because you used to be the whole world to each other.

"It's nice to meet you, Y/N." - Jungkook says. So he chooses not to be an acquaintance. Hmm, in fact, he is.

"Likewise." - You reply briefly and discreetly. Jungkook pulls your hand towards him and you put yours in his. An electric pulse goes through your whole body.

He has the same look in his eyes. The same movements you know. You used to know every detail about each other. And then you lost it.

This man in front of you was your ex-boyfriend. He was the man who made you feel like the world stopped when you were with him. He was your passion, your trusted friend, your lover. Everything between you was intense and pure, but like everything that burns brightly, it burned out. The breakup was hard and painful.

You felt your heart flutter at the familiar touch. It was more than physical contact - it was like coming home after a long journey. You didn't want it, but just like then, you couldn't shake this deep attachment. You tried to forget him, tried to let him go, but he was remained by you every day, in you every thought. And now, when your hand is back in his, you realized that you was never really ready to let go.

"I read your story. It's amazing. I'm not surprised why it's so successful." - Jungkook says, and you think you're going to fall through the floor. He's a great actor, you've always known that. But you're don’t. Even though your heart is burning with excitement and old feelings are bubbling to the surface, you think you have to go. You can't even let him be with you, because you'll lose all control.

But let's be honest, the walls you've been building for six months since the breakup has cracked. Just looking at him makes you want him to be yours again.

"I am sincerely grateful for your words. But to be honest, you don't strike me as someone who reads romance novels." - You can't contain your sarcasm. Jungkook laughs lightly, his husky voice vibrating, and this vibration ignite your bones.

"Actually, Mr. Jeon is a very creative person. He's a professional photographer." - The event organizer explains, not realizing how much these words can make your heart beat faster. Because you know his profession well.

Jungkook smiles, his eyes rest on you again, and his words sound as if he wants to share something more intimate.

"Yes, I often photograph couples." - He says, his voice softening as if he's immersed in his memories. "For me, photography is not just art, it's a way to feel emotions. Sometimes music, movies, or even novels can inspire moments that seem real only through the lens." - You can't help but smile. He's fended off your sarcastic attack, but the thing is, you doubt he could have read your novel.

Jungkook glances down at your red silk dress, which fits your figure perfectly, seductively emphasizing all the curves of your body. Curves that were once his territory. The curves he knows so well, the ones he's touched so many times

Jungkook holds his breath for a moment. He remembers how that delicate skin trembled under his fingers, how your breath grew deeper every time his hands traveled over your body. And now, looking at you, he feels an almost unbearable urge to run his fingertips over your collarbone again, to go lower, to run his hands around your waist, to put his hand on your lower back, where his touch always made you moan slightly.

His imagination shamelessly draws pictures of that red silk fabric slowly sliding off your body, revealing to him everything he remembers so well. His fingers involuntarily clench into a fist - the desire is too sharp, too real. He knows he has no right to touch you, knows that there is a gaping hole between you, created not only by hurt feelings but also by time.

But, damn it, how much he wants to reach out, to touch at least the ends of your hair, to run his fingers over your cheek, to feel the warmth of your skin again.

And then, when you finally catch his gaze, he quickly masks the thirst in his eyes with a barely noticeable smile. If only you knew what's going on in his head right now. If you knew that this evening is awakening in him what he has been trying to suppress for so long.

"Then I apologize for my hasty conclusions. I am sincerely grateful that you read my work." - You say and quickly add, because you can't stand Jungkook's company anymore. If he wants you to be strangers, you should stay strangers forever. "It was nice to meet you. Have a nice evening." - You say, giving the men a casual smile and walk away, barely able to keep yourself together. You don't let Jungkook know how much of an impact he has on you, even six months later.

After the breakup, your life turned into an endless marathon of forgetting, although in reality you were just trying not to remember. Your heart was cut like glass, and your mind was exhausted from trying to make yourself stronger. Every day you were learning a new role: a successful woman who was moving forward, even though your inner world was in ruins.

There was no shortage of men around. They came and went-attractive, confident, ready to give you everything you lacked. But each of them remained a shadow, and even the best moments with them felt empty compared to what you had with him. Those evenings when they spent together in bed, or just watching a movie in each other's arms, when there was no time, no space, nothing but your two hearts beating in unison.

You were trying to be "normal," trying to find your way and not think about him. If someone had told you six months ago that he would reappear in your life, you would have laughed, because you were sure that you would never let that happen again. You did everything you could to forget. You immersed yourself in work, wrote, traveled, had short-term meetings, but all of this was just a temporary escape from your own pain.

Over time, you thought, that you might actually be left alone, just to find myself again. You were no longer looking for someone who could give you back the feeling of the real connection that you had. It was your choice, your decision to try to relive this love that you couldn't forget.

But all fate decides. It's not interested in your plans or his plans. It has its own plan and it made sure that your paths crossed again. You are afraid that you won't be able to resist if Jungkook tries to make contact. You love him, but it's unlikely that you'll ever be together again.

The official event is over. You stay at the afterparty. When you enter the restaurant where the party is taking place, you feel a lot of stares. But you are not interested. You stayed after the event because you are excited. Because of the meeting with Jungkook, you can't get rid of the obsessive thoughts and feelings that want to find him and be with him until the morning.

You cautiously study the crowd around you. You don't find Jungkook. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you hope that he has already left, that your chance meeting was just a game of chance, and that's enough. But the part of you that never learned to forget him feels empty.

You stand at the bar, twirling your wine glass in your fingers, letting yourself relax. The atmosphere of an afterparty is lighter, more relaxed than an official event. People are laughing, the music is flowing with a soft rhythm, making your body sway slightly.

And then you feel it. A gaze. His gaze.

Like an echo of the past that won't let go. At first, you don't turn your head, don't give him that pleasure. But you can't stand it, and your eyes meet. You literally give him a second of your gaze, look away. This is enough for him. He comes closer, stands next to you. His perfume is a familiar scent that makes your pulse quicken. A scent that makes you almost crazy.

"Dancing?" - His voice is low, almost inaudible over the music, but it cuts to the core. You look up at him. His eyes are dark, deep, something has changed in them, but at the same time they are still the same. The eyes that looked at you with love and passion.

"I don't think that's a good idea." - You answer, sipping your wine so that he doesn't notice your excitement.

"Come on. It's just a dance." - He holds out his hand and you look at it. You hesitate, but the devil on your shoulder whispers: you want this. He wants this. Go. Go with him. It's just one night. And you make a choice. You put your hand in his.

He leads you to the dance floor. A slow, sensual melody fills the space between you. His hand on your waist is hot, his fingers gently squeezing the silk fabric of your dress. With his other hand, he holds your palm in his, gently but firmly.

You move to the music, his body almost touching yours. It's not just a dance - it's a dangerous game, a test of willpower. And you seem to have already lost. He has deprived you of all willpower.

You look into his eyes and try to understand what is in his mind. What does he want? Just to know what your life has become? Or does he want to try to cross the line? Jungkook's smile is mysterious. The hole from piercing on his lip stretches. You make a titanic effort not to look at his lips.

You dance, every movement a dangerous test. His hand slides to the small of your back and your breath hits you. He always touched you like this - confidently but slowly, as if he was savoring every moment.

But suddenly he leans a little closer, his lips dangerously close to your ear.

"It's... so familiar, isn't it?" - His voice is husky, and you know he feels the same way you do. It's an unrestrained desire to give in to the feelings that overwhelm you. You pull away and look up, catching his eyes. There, in their dark abyss, something forbidden flashes. Memories. A desire.

"It's in the past for me." - You lie. "The past should stay in the past." - You try to make your voice sound confident, but you don't seem to be succeeding. His hand presses lightly on your back.

"Do you really believe that?" - He asks. The silence between you says more than words. You are standing on the edge of an abyss where it is so easy to fall.

You don't know what to say. Your heart is pounding furiously in your chest, and your hands seem to remember what it feels like to touch it, to feel its warmth. You continue to move to the music, but now everything seems even slower, even more tense.

His fingers gently run down your back, a barely perceptible touch that leaves a pulsating trail. He leans in a little closer, his breath burning your skin.

"You say the past should stay where it is." - He smiles at the corner of his lips, as if he can read your thoughts. "But it seems to be catching up with us, Y/N."

You want to object, to say something prickly, but your body is treacherously drawn to him. His hand moves even lower down your back, almost on your buttocks. It makes you hold your breath. This is nothing. It's a game you've both played before. But didn't you know that things always go over the top with Jungkook?

You stop. He stops too. There are only a few centimeters between you, but it's enough to make every cell in your body burn.

"Jungkook..." - You whisper, not even knowing what you want to say. He looks at you, carefully, almost painfully slowly. His gaze slides across your face, lingers on your lips, and then meets yours again.

"Tell me I have to stop." - He whispers, leaning closer, barely touching your cheek with his nose. "I won't touch you unless you let me." - He says it quietly but confidently. And this is the cruelest thing. Because you don't know what will be worse for you - if he actually touches you or if he pulls away.

You want to tell him to stop. You really do. But instead, your fingers involuntarily clamp down on the fabric of his jacket, not allowing you to move away.

"I can't..." - You give up. So quickly, so foolishly. This admission was enough.

His lips touch your neck very lightly, causing a shiver to run through your body. You sigh, tilting your head as if to give him more access. And he does not refuse.

"Why do you still have this effect on me?" - You protest out loud. He was quiet, almost broken by his own feelings. He ran his fingers along your collarbone, causing your eyes to close.

"Because we never really let go of each other." - He said what you needed to hear. What you hadn't allowed yourself to admit for six months.

You inhale sharply, meeting his gaze. Deep, dark, full of desire. Another moment, and this thin line between temptation and prohibition disappear completely.

"Let's get out of here." - His voice sounded almost like an order, but you knew it was not just a desire. It was a need. Your shared need for each other.

You nodded, and he immediately took your hand, intertwining your fingers. You left the hall quickly, without looking back. The night city greeted you with cool air, but a fire burned inside you.

Jungkook opened the car door for you, and you got in, feeling your heart pounding madly in your chest. He quickly walked around the car, got behind the wheel, and in a moment you were already pulling out of the parking lot.

"Where are we going?" - You asked, even though the answer wasn't that important. Jungkook gave you a dark, hot, intoxicating look.

"To my place." - He answered. Your heart literally threatens to jump out of your chest. The sensation of butterflies in your stomach excites you to incredible emotions. He puts his tattooed hand on your thigh, as if to claim you. You can feel your underwear getting wet in anticipation of what will happen at Jungkook's house.

"This is crazy." - You say, barely audible. Jungkook smiled.

"And you like it." - He said, still smiling. You wanted to deny it, but why would you, when it's really true.

Jungkook closes the door behind you, and you immediately find yourself pressed against the wall. His lips are so demanding, so powerful over yours. Your insides tremble because it's all so familiar to you. It feels like the six months of separation just didn't happen.

Your hot breath mingled with his as he pulled away from you to take a breath. He was looking at your face. Your eyes were slightly squinted, your lips swollen from kissing, your skin burning from his touch. You were as beautiful as the first night he fell in love with you.

"Are we really going to do this?" - You asked. Your voice broke into a whisper as he ran his fingertips down your neck, along your collarbone, and even lower to the neckline of your dress.

"Yes..." - He says hoarsely, between kisses on your neck. "I should stop, shouldn't I?" - He asks your opinion. You want to moan as he bites your skin and then runs his tongue over the spot.

"Jungkook..." - You breathe out. You don't know if you're begging him to continue or to stop. He stops kissing your neck. Your faces are separated by a few centimeters.

"Last chance to say no, my love." - He says. Fuck, he called you "love," he called you that because he loved you, does he still love you? You ran your fingers along his jaw, gently but firmly.

"Do you want me to say it?" - You ask with a challenge. Let him decide too, you are not the only one responsible for your actions. He squeezes your buttocks with his hands.

"No." - Jungkook says confidently. You smile seductively, giving him the green light. But he's in no hurry to continue what he's started. You know he's waiting for the words.

"Fuck me, love." - You ask. Jungkook's cock twitches in his boxers when he hears those words. Fuck. How can you say that so easily? He's going crazy. He throws himself on your lips, pressing his strong body against yours. His tongue enters your mouth with authority and finds yours. Six months. Six fucking months he wanted you back. He dreamed that you would be in his hands like this. And he made a promise to himself that if he could get you back, he would never let you go again.

Your underwear is getting wet. You are so excited that you think you will burn with passion. Jungkook's tongue seems to be punishing you for being away for so long. His hands are squeezing the meat on your buttocks with good pressure. He picks you up in his arms, and you only cry out softly, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Jungkook puts you down on the floor in his bedroom, interrupting your unrestrained kisses. He lightly touches your silk shoulder and runs his finger under the strap of your dress. He sees your erect nipples through the fabric of your dress. One movement and the shoulder strap is on falling down. He does the same with the other strap. He pulls down the silk and it slides over your figure.

As the dress falls to the floor, gathering at your feet, a picture he literally imagined when he saw it at the party flashes before his eyes.

His cock hardens even more, because your naked body is a frenzy. It's his weakness. That's what makes him commit sin.

He takes your tits in his hands and squeezes it. He feels that you are real. That he is not dreaming about you, as he has been for the last six months. He bends down and eagerly sucks on your erect nipple. Oh, it's a rosebud on his tongue. It tastes so sweet. Jungkook plays with your nipple with his tongue. When he sucks harder, you feel pain, pain that brings pleasure and sweet agony. Jungkook massages the other breast in his hand, and then smoothly moves to the other breast to savor it as well.

You throw your head back and enjoy his actions. You're addicted to the way he crosses the line.

Your pussy is throbbing and you're wetter than ever. You haven't had intimate relations since you broke up with Jungkook, so now you're just going crazy with every move.

Jungkook pulls away from your chest and smiles. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his hard cock sticking out of his pants.

He comes close and puts one arm around your waist. You watch him closely. He leans in and you think he's going to kiss you. You even close your eyes, but when nothing happens, you open them to check where he is. He's right there, and he's wearing a cheeky, sly smile.

"Let's see how wet my girl is." - He suggests. His hand goes into your panties, instantly finding your excited clit. He presses his fingers on it and you forget how to breathe.

"Fuck. Honey, is this waterfall for me?" - He asks you, and you can't answer him because you're losing your mind to his movements on your clit. You moan, loud and seductive. Jungkook can't help but kiss you. He covers your lips with his own and kisses you deeply, hotly, while building up your orgasm with his fingers.

You moan into his lips. Jungkook plunges two fingers into your passage and wants to curse. He forgot how tight it is in here. He's angry, thinking that someone else could be in that pussy besides him. So his movements and kisses become rougher.

The pressure he creates with his fingers excites you even more. You like it, but it's not enough because it's not his cock.

Jungkook gently lays you down on the bed, which is so familiar. It has witnessed your love so many times. Jungkook pulls down your thong. He looks at your pussy with great greed, the thong sliding down your slender legs. When your underwear is in his hand, he is in no hurry to throw it away. He touches the fabric with his nose, inhaling your scent.

"This is what my love smells like." - He says. You blush. This is so damn intimate. Jungkook throws your thong somewhere near your dress at floor. You watching him.

He's still as handsome as ever. A slim, toned body where every muscle is visible when it moves. You know so well what those muscles are to the touch. Only he seems to have new tattoos on his right arm. You notice that the eye that was below the elbow is gone, and now there is a green ink mark that says "bulletproof" instead. Oh yes, it's really about him.

"Did you have sex with anyone after me?" - Jungkook distracts you from looking at his tattoos. You raise one eyebrow. Why would he want to know in the middle of your lovemaking?

"Why do you ask?" - You don't answer, but ask your own question. Jungkook takes off his pants and throws them somewhere else.

"Answer me." - He says with authority. And this word sounds more like an order. You resent this. Why do you have to talk to him about it? You, for example, know without a doubt that he has definitely fucked some girls.

"Does it matter to you?" - You ask, not listening to his order. It matters to him. He was your first man, and the thought of anyone touching your body, which is unprecedentedly his, pisses him off.

Jungkook takes off his boxers. You can see his cock, hard and erect, hitting his thighs. You salivate at the sight of it. Jungkook's nude figure drives you crazy. You dream of him entering you and finally destroying you and all your desires not to be with him.

Jungkook approaches you dangerously.

He grabs your ankle and pulls you to the edge of the bed with a sharp movement. You scream, not expecting him to do this. He sits you down on the edge of the bed and leans in almost touching you. His lips are near yours and his breath burns your skin.

"Answer me when I ask you questions. Because when I want to know something, it's important to me. So, will you tell me? Did some dickhead touch my pussy? Or at least your tits, which also belong to me?" - He speaks low and commanding. His voice echoes in your head. How does he have such power over you? Why are you so excited by these words? You want to tease him more. You know it could be dangerous, but you've always been a gambler.

"What would you do if I told you that dickhead were?" - You ask. Your words have an immediate effect on Jungkook. His eyebrows raise and his eyes darken with rage. He lifts you up, pulling on your arm. It doesn't hurt, but it's sharp. He presses you down and you feel his erect cock resting against your pussy.

"So you're saying you were?" - He asks, but his voice isn't as hard as he looks. "You promised you'd be mine alone. My little slut. You wouldn't let anyone fuck your pussy. You're lying to me." - He says, smiling defiantly.

"I didn't lie. I asked you what you would do if I was like you and found a free cock? Huh?" - You ask with the same audacity. Jungkook squeezes your buttocks.

"I'd wipe him off the face of the earth." - He says casually. "Because he touched something that's mine."

"I'm not yours." - You say. But what are you saying? You are his. Every cell of that body belongs to him. You can't be with other men because you've never met anyone who can compare to him.

"Mine." - He argues with a wide smile on his lips. It makes you angry, even though you agree with him. "You're still mine... that's why you're here now. No one can touch you like I can, no one can love you like I can, no one can fuck you like I can, no one can keep your secrets like I can. I will give you all of this, and I will never let you go." - The lump in your throat prevents you from breathing normally.

You hold back the tears that threaten to fall down. Let these words be true. Let him keep his promise. Because you want to be with him. Jungkook breaks into you with a kiss to assure you of his words. Two lonely tears drops melt between your hot kiss. Jungkook pulls away and you breathe heavily into his lips. He wipes away the tear tracks with his thumbs.

"I haven't had anyone." - You confess, your voice desperate. "I couldn't even bear a strange man touching my body. So you are right. I couldn't be with anyone else." - Jungkook smiles with satisfaction. He knew that.

Jungkook sits on the edge of the bed and invites you to sit on his lap. You climb on top, holding onto his shoulders. Jungkook's cock lies between you, and you look hopefully between your bodies. Jungkook touches your chin with two fingers and lifts it, forcing you to look at him.

"I need to stretch you first, baby. You haven't had sex in a long time." - Jungkook says with pleasure in his voice. You nod your head in agreement.

Jungkook puts one hand on your hip and moves the other to your pussy. He dips one finger into the passage and moves the top down, creating some friction. You sigh blissfully, closing your eyes. After a while, he plunges his other finger in. The pressure increases and you moan softly. And when Jungkook plunges his third finger in, you feel a slight discomfort. It's only his fingers, when he puts his cock in it will hurt.

Jungkook has stretched you properly, and then he invites you to ride him.

"Give me a good ride." - He asks you. You smile and get up to sit on his attractive cock. Jungkook puts his cock’s head against your entrance and presses. You slowly lower yourself and when his tip plunges into your passage, you almost immediately feel pain. You scream out in pain and he stops, but not for long. He gives you a few seconds and then pushes down on your hips, lowering you. You're in pain, and you bite your lip to hold back your screams.

Finally you are filled with his cock to the brim. You feel it twitching inside you.

"Fuckin' shit." - Jungkook curses. He holds back as best he can. He really forgot how tight you are.

You sit like this for no more than half a minute. In the meantime, Jungkook has been working on your clit to get you used to its length. You squeeze his shoulders. He kisses you and you want to get down to the real business.

You start moving on his hips, lifting yours. The first movements are accompanied by pain. But after a while it feels good. You squirm on his lap and let out strangled moans. Jungkook helps you by supporting your hips and admires his beloved's face. It eloquently shows pleasure.

"How do you like riding my cock? Huh, baby? Did you miss it?" - Jungkook asks playfully. His voice breaks because you're riding his cock so well.

"Yeah..." - You answer in a long breath. It feels so good, it's pure ecstasy, it's euphoria. You're chasing an orgasm and he's taking you there.

"Let's make this reconciliation unforgettable." - Jungkook suggests. He takes over the initiative with his hands. He squeezes your thighs harder and pushes you deep and sharp. Your head is spinning from these movements. You bite your lips again, but Jungkook moves closer to you. "Don't hold back the moans I deserve." - He orders. You stop biting your lips, and now your loud moans fill the entire room.

Jungkook has found just the right spot. You feel like you're about to come. Your fingernails tear off the skin on his shoulders.

"Love..." - You call out to him. "I'm close."

Jungkook absorbs your expression with an absolutely lustful gaze. He speeds up his movements, but not so that he can come. He's definitely not done with you yet. You raise and lower your hips on Jungkook's lap to finally have the orgasm you've been waiting for.

When the knot in your lower abdomen is untied, you throw your head back and moan long and hard. Your velvety walls are squeezed by Jungkook's cock, and he jerks you upward to keep from cumming himself. You don't realize it right away. Only when you're on your knees, resting your pussy against Jungkook's abs, and you feel his hands on your buttocks.

"What a good girl. You have your first orgasm." - He counts.

Jungkook orders you to lie down on the pillows and spread your legs for him. He positions himself between your legs without sinking into you. He kisses you on the lips, filling your mouth with his tongue. Your tongues intertwine in a dance of love and passion. When you need air, Jungkook breaks the kiss. He goes down to your jaw, then your neck. He savored every inch of your skin, memorizing it again, as if he were discovering something long forgotten but painfully familiar.

He covered your body with kisses until he was in front of your pussy. The memory of his tongue on your clit makes you wet. Jungkook kisses your folds with a weightless kiss, and you're already trembling. He smiles out of the corner of his mouth.

"I forgot how sweet she is." - He comments. You lift your head to see him between your legs. He kisses the inside of your thighs, not wanting to leave an inch of skin on you that he hasn't kissed.

When he begins to lick your clit, making circular motions around your clit, you can't hold your head up. You fall back on the pillows. Your back arches unconsciously. Jungkook squeezes your buttocks and then sucks on your center. You moan again, and Jungkook thinks he'll never get tired of the sound. He's happy that he's the only one who hears these sounds.

You come on his tongue very quickly. Your swollen, excited clit didn't need much attention. You jerk on his tongue and Jungkook presses his tongue against your center to make sure you have your second orgasm of the night as long as possible.

You stop twitching and breathe heavily. Jungkook kneels down by your spread legs and you can see his beard glistening with your juice. He wipes his chin with his hand and comes closer to you.

"Is my baby satisfied?" - He asks. You are almost unable to speak. You smile and barely speak.

"It was just as fucking gorgeous as ever.” - Jungkook laughs heartily, and once again wants to kiss you. You taste your cum on his tongue. His kisses become slower, deeper.

"I've been waiting for this for so long..." - His voice was quiet, almost hoarse, when he broke away from your lips. You, too, had secretly dreamed that you would have the opportunity to be together again. And who knows how it all will worked out.

Jungkook plunged into you again. His cock entered you painlessly this time. You couldn't get enough, because this is what you will always need. You bent to meet his touch, feeling your bodies merging in a single rhythm.

Every movement was slow, as if he wanted to prolong this moment as long as possible.

Jungkook knew every curve of your body, every weakness that made you sigh and tremble. But this time it was different. Deeper. Stronger. It wasn't just desire. It was something more.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as your lips found each other again. He was everything to you that night - a fire that burned from the inside out, and a sea that enveloped you in its waves.

He took his time.

You didn't want it to end.

Your breaths mingle, hot and uneven, as his movements become stronger. He feels a wave of some new emotions, as if he is rediscovering a familiar body.

"You have no idea how much I..." - Jungkook stops, his lips barely touching yours. You open your eyes and stare into his handsome face. You notice beads of sweat on his face and a few loose strands of hair.

"How much what?" - Your voice sounds almost hoarse, and he smiles because he knows you're on the verge.

"How much I missed you." - He finally whispers. You don't have time to say anything because Jungkook is pushing you. You lie in his arms. Your legs are intertwined around his waist. He is deep inside you and this is the best moment of the whole year.

His movements are slow and deep at first, but with each new one he speeds up. He fucks you like never before, and you close your eyes, enjoying the sensation. You feel another orgasm coming over you. Jungkook's hips thrust fast and you choke on the sweetest orgasm of the night.

Jungkook comes after you, filling you to the brim with cum. He jerks inside you for a while and stops only when he releases himself with a whimper.

He collapses into the crook of your neck and you both breathe heavily. You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. His heavy breathing mingles with yours, and your heart hasn't yet returned to its normal rhythm. Your throat is dry, and you urgently need water.

Jungkook finally stands up and smiles at you with satisfaction. You reflexively do the same.

"You... water?" - Your voice breaks, and you're almost ashamed of how weak it sounds. Jungkook smiles slightly, realizing that you're asking him for water.

"Just a moment, my love." - He says and pecking on your lips. He gently pulls out of you. You try to sit up and cover yourself with the blanket you had sex on.

Jungkook puts on his boxers, finds a bottle of water on the table, unscrews the cap, and hands it to you. You take a few sips, trying to come to your senses. Jungkook sits down next to you, rests his hands on the bed on either side of your hips, and looks you straight in the eye.

"I don't want to let you go anymore." - He says clearly. You freeze.

"Jungkook..." - You want to say something, but you find yourself unceremoniously interrupted by him.

"I'm serious." - He interrupts. "I was an idiot for letting you leave back then. I thought it was for the best, that you and I would destroy each other if we stayed together. But you know what? It was even worse without you."

You look at him, feeling something hot squeezing your chest.

"I don't know if..." - If we should start again. You want to say. But he interrupts you again. The conversations during sex were frank, but now that you're back to reality, things are just as complicated as they were.

"I know." - His large hands gently wrap around yours. "And I'm going to do everything I can to make up for my mistakes. I don't want just one night, Y/N. I want everything. I want you. I want our future."

You see the sincerity in his dark eyes, and it almost scares you. You're afraid, even though you really want to start over.

"What if it doesn't work out again?" - You share your worries.

"I will make it work. Every day. Every time you doubt, I'll prove to you that I love you more than ever." - He leans in slowly, giving you a chance to stop him. But you don't. Your lips meet again, and this time the kiss is not so hot, not so hasty. It's deeper, more tender.

Like a hope.

Like a promise.

"Let's try again." - You agree. You look into his eyes, reading everything he didn't say out loud: fear, hope, devotion. Jungkook has never been a man to give up easily, and now he was proving it again.

Your fingers involuntarily squeeze his hand, as if checking to see if he is real, if this moment is real.

"Do you promise we will?"

He leans in even closer, his forehead touching yours.

"I promise." - He whispers. And this time you believe him.

Like the northern lights that appear only at certain moments, your feelings had their peaks and troughs, but they were always on the horizon. You could get lost in each other, disappear, losing light, but you came back, blooming with new colors.

Because your love is like the sky itself. Eternal. Unpredictable. And worth waiting for.

[thefrontmanscockwarmer]

Tell Me You Love Me Again

Player 001 x reader [FLUFF]

Masterlist <- comment on this post to be added the tag list

You stood in the cold rain, in the middle of the game field. In Ho watching you from the window. Your savage performance during the games surprising in him. He hadn’t known you joined the games until you first showed up. His eyes widened in surprise as your name showed up on the roster. He held his tongue, special treatment for you would ruin the games, it would take away the fairness, he was putting his job ahead of you.

You dropped to your knees, exhaustion washing over you, the finally breath of air leaving your chest as you realized you won the games. You kneeled on the ground, sobbing heavily as you screamed, mourning the loss of Sang-Woo who had helped you through the games, who had your back as your boyfriend watched you from the comfort and safety of his headquarters.

In Ho went down to the field as you sobbed, leaving his guests behind. He ripped off his mask, throwing it on the ground as he dropped in front of you. Embracing you in a hug.

“You’re okay” he repeated into your ear. “You made it” he said, his own eyes watering as he truly realized the gravity of the situation, you could have died.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” You say through heavy sobs as you realized who was embracing you. His familiar scent flooding your nostrils. You held him tightly. “In H, Why are you here?” You repeated as he kept telling you “you were okay”.

“I can’t tell you” he said regretfully. You let him go, pushing him back. Rain pouring harder now, soaking you to the bone.

“What do you mean you can’t tell me?” You say with disgust. “Have you been here the whole time?”

“Yes” he looked down shamefully. “I work here”

“You mean you could have saved me?” No answer, just a shameful look at the ground. “Answer me” you shouted.

“Yes” he said, barely audible above the sound of the rain.

“Are you serious?” Your voice breaking again. “You could have saved me?!” Your knees buckled underneath you, falling back onto the gravel again. A guttural scream left you as you looked up into the rain. He moved to embrace you once again, you didn’t push him. All strength at the reality of the situation had left your body. A billionaire, having killed a friend, surviving a series of deathly games, your boyfriend.

“I love you” he whispered his words of devotion. The 3 words that he had deemed forbidden in the few months of your relationship.

“Again” you sob in return. “Tell me that you love me again” You repeated in heavy sobs.

“I love you (y/n)” he says again. Placing a gentle but meaningful kiss on your lips. “I love you” deeply sobs riddled your body as you shook. You cried in his arms, your cries ripping his heart into pieces. He hated himself for not saving you, for traumatizing you, you’d never be the same. He picked up your shaking body. You felt lighter, you had lost weight due to malnutrition during the games. He carried you close to him as he walked to his room.

“You’re going to be okay” he said, almost as if promising you. “Everything is going to be okay” you nodded, your eyes red and puffy, tears still falling but no sound came out of you, you had expended everything you had, sobbing on the game field.

“Okay” you finally said aloud.

“I love you” he said grabbing your face, firmly kissing your lips.

“I love you too” you reply back, a few final tears dripping from your eyes.

Taglist:

@player279achlys @xcinnamonmalfoyx @nakiio5775 @christinamadsen @watasinekoru @sebbymybaby21 @galaxygurlll @angelofthorr

[binnybinnychickendinny]

psa for all of hockeyblr: please please PLEASE try to keep your lb posts out of other teams’ lb tags!!!! i think i speak for everyone when i say that it is really annoying to go into my own team’s lb tag and see hate posts from fans of whoever we’re playing against! you can still make hate posts; idc about that and i’m certainly not innocent of it myself, but there are ways to keep it from going into other teams’ tags.

to be clear, this is absolutely the fault of tumblr’s wacky tagging system, but that’s probably not going to be fixed any time soon. so for the sake of civility let’s all try to find a work-around instead of being rude, right?

with the way the tagging system is currently set up, if you make a post that has a) your lb tag and b) a tag that mentions the name of the team you’re playing against, it WILL end up in the opposition’s lb tag. so just as an example, let’s say you put “leafs lb” and “i hate the oilers” as two separate tags. that will make the post show up under “oilers lb”. it’s silly, but that’s how it works.

HOWEVER. i think a pretty easy work-around for this (if you feel that you absolutely must express your distaste for a team in the tags) is to not use the same reference to the team that their lb tag uses. so like, if you say “i hate edmonton” instead of “i hate the oilers”, then it shouldn’t show up under “oilers lb” anymore. again, i know it’s silly, but it could solve a lot of strife within this community.

i think a lot of people on here genuinely don’t understand that that’s how the tagging system sorts things, so hopefully this post helps a bit. i always try to be conscious of this when posting about other teams, but even i probably slip up sometimes. i just think that being aware of the issue is still helpful!

and again, this is NOT meant to say that you can’t post about teams you dislike. it’s a sports fandom. most if not all people are going to have teams they aren’t fond of, and that’s perfectly okay. one of the most popular posts in the fandom right now is about being shocked by who other people are fans of, lmao. this is just suggesting that it would be a good idea to try to keep such posts out of the space of your hated team’s fans. bc otherwise you might just make people angry. yk?

anyway. that’s it! thanks for reading all of this if you did :)

[dumpywrites]

Ugh! - Jeon Jungkook

Prompt: “Aren’t we done?”

Prompt request: HERE

Genre/tags: Pure fluff, tsundere Jungkook?, exes that are so not done with each other lol

Pairing: Jungkook x she/her reader

a/n: I wrote this while picturing pouty and bratty Jungkook, so instead of simp Jungkook we ended up with somewhat of a tsundere one lol

It had been officially the first day of waking up being single again after not in seven months. Previously you had been single for a while too, so it was not like this was something new for you, it was just… odd. The wound was still fresh after all. 

Looking at the reflection in the mirror, the first thing you saw was your puffy eyes. You had been crying, bawling your eyes out to sad songs, basically putting alcohol to your freshly cut wound. Life must continue. Even if you were in the verge of losing your mind, you still had to wake up. 

It was your first (and apparently last?) big fight your now ex, Jungkook. You for one, never liked how the guy would doomscroll through tiktok and instagram for hours and hours and ignored you. Not only that, he ended up losing sleep too. Yes, you had your own fair share of consuming social media, same as everyone else, but you never let it disturb your health. Still, he never changed for the better, since the beginning you found out about it. 

So when one day you found out the guy was sent to hospital due to exhaustion, your first reaction was to be upset and pissed, instead of a more logical reaction. The fight ended up spiraling, branching into digging old unresolved frustration you had, worrying about his well being. Jungkook being a stubborn guy he was, turned full defense mode. Then the word was spoken. 

Everything had now led you to this exact moment, where you had to open your door to your ex in the morning, while looking like a complete mess. 

“Do you really need to come this early in the morning?!” You asked, annoyed. 

Jungkook was in his usual black oversized hoodie. You could see his beanie peeking through from underneath, it was in the same pitch black color. He looked like he didn’t even take a shower before showing up. Eye bags could be seen decorating his round doe eyes. 

“My PS5 is here.” He argued. 

“I can just mail it to you or something.” You rolled your eyes. 

“Well, I wanna play the new game I just got!” He walked past you, totally ignoring your scoff. 

“You can’t just do that.” You sighed, following him from the back. 

“You’re dramatic.” He said as he unplugged the console from your TV. 

You watched as he took the controllers and the cables and collected them all in his arms. “You need a bag with that?”

“No.” 

“Alright.”

Once he was done, man stood up as he somehow managed to grab everything in his hands. He looked like he was struggling, but you knew the man too well that he would never let you know about it. Your eyes fell on a few of video game CDs left on your drawer. 

“You sure that’s everything?” 

“Yeah.” He looked at you with a frown. 

“If you say so.” You eyed the games again and shook your head. Somehow refusing to say a thing. “That’s all?”

“Uh-huh.” He said, not moving from where he stood. 

“Then?”

“Then what???” The audacity of this man to sound offended. 

“Why aren’t you leaving?!” 

“Just making sure I didn’t leave anything.” He said and finally made his way to your door. 

There was a very faint hit of his fragrance came to you as he walked right past. You hated how your heart could betray you so quickly because it got you so worked up over the smell. 

You walked him to the door with words unspoken. You swore you saw him almost bending down, like he was gonna kiss you goodbye. It was probably a muscle memory, but he managed to stop himself before doing anything. 

“Bye.” He quickly said. 

“Bye, Jungkook.” You closed the door behind you, avoiding to spend any more second in his eyes. 

The first few days after breakup were supposed to be the hardest. At least that was what you heard from your friends. So, in order to distract yourself and to avoid spending your free time crying, you invited some of your friends to join you for a short karaoke session after work. 

“Explain to me why are you inviting us and why are you paying again?” Somi asked. 

“Jungkook just dumped her.” Mingyu snickered. 

Somi gasped. “I’m so sorry to hear that, are you okay?”

“I dumped him.” You glared at your other friend, correcting him. “I need a distraction.”

“Karaoke, is your idea of distraction?” Mingyu looked at you in disbelief. “Your ex literally has a whole karaoke bar in his house—“

“Shut it.” You put your hand over the guy’s lips, cutting his sentence short. “I can just go with Somi if you don’t want to.”

“Fine, I’m sorry!” The taller guy whined and followed you and Somi to the karaoke room.

Doing karaoke was fun, but it did not do any help. Every song seemed to constantly remind you of him, and you spent the whole two hours holding and containing yourself so it would not show. 

You decided to record an Instagram story. Deep down there was this tiny bit of hope on Jungkook seeing your story, since you didn’t block him and all. Maybe if he saw, he could see how you could have fun without him just fine. 

“I think I lost my voice…” Mingyu said as all of you exited the room. 

“No one asked you to sing three Adele songs in a row.” Somi laughed. 

“This is the first time I’ve ever heard you sing like that!” You laughed along with the girl. “Thanks for coming though, that was—.”

You were stunned upon seeing who was right in front of the entrance. Your boyf— ex, was walking back and forth, looking antsy. The extremely baggy t-shirt he wore was flowing due to the wind blowing outside, along with his hair. 

“Why are you here?” He asked, posing a dumbfounded expression. 

“That’s my line.” You folded your arms. 

“Can’t I go out with my friends?!” He rolled his eyes. 

“Jungkook, you have a karaoke room in your house.” You rolled your eyes. “Plus I don’t see anyone with you.”

“They’re not here yet.” 

“Uh huh.” 

Somi and Mingyu both eyed each other, seemingly holding their dying laughter. 

“Are you not gonna go inside?” You asked him. 

“Are you not gonna go away already?!” He retorted back.

Maybe you were being sensitive, but there was a slight pang in your chest, hearing him telling you to go away. 

“Jungkook my dude, I honestly thought you were brighter than this.” Mingyu chuckled, dragging you by your shoulder. “Come on miss girl, we are going home now.” 

Somi politely smiled at the guy before running to catch up with you and Mingyu. You glared at him one last time before turning your glance away. 

It was two in the morning that you heard your phone rang on a random Wednesday. You were barely awake and your room was dark enough that made it hard for you to see the caller name. But the heart and bunny emojis were a dead giveaway. You still had not changed his contact name.

“How do you insert back a hoodie drawstring?”

You looked at the hanging clock on the wall again after hearing that ridiculous question. “Do you know what time this is???”

“You borrowed this hoodie last time so maybe you ruined it.” 

“Jungkook, you can’t be serious right now.” You sighed. “That was like what, a month ago?!”

“Yeah, but I haven’t worn it since.” He retorted. 

“Can’t you just look up youtube tutorials or something? I can’t believe you called me just for this…” You complained. 

There was a short pause from the other line before he spoke again. “I’ve tried it, it’s still won’t go in. You fixed my other hoodie before too.”

You sighed again. Knowing the guy, you were sure he was pouting and looking miserable. “Hook a safety pin on one end of the string, that way you can easily slide it through the hole.”

“Alright, I’ll go get a safety pin.”

“Cool, I’m hanging up now.” 

“You’re not gonna wait until I’m done with it?”

“Do I have to?!” 

“Right.” His voice went low. “I’m sorry, thanks for picking up the call though.” He said before ending the call. 

Later on you spent the next hour fighting with yourself on whether you should text him just to ask if he managed to fix his hoodie or not. You ended up falling asleep before you actually send any chat bubble. 

Time passed and the next thing you knew, you were batshit drunk, asking for another shot at the bar with your already ruined makeup. 

You didn’t know why you decided to go drinking alone. Work was getting to you and all the pent up stress was just too much for you to bear for the day. At times like this you would usually call Jungkook, and man would show up at your doorstep no questions asked. No matter the time, he would always be ready to cheer you up. Now with him gone and him being the main reason you were miserable as well, alcohol was calling your name. 

As the bartender fixed you another shot, you took out your phone from the back pocket. Your vision was a bit blurry but you could still make up what was on the screen. There was an unread notification from Jungkook, blabbering about the games he left at your place and that he wanted to pick them up. 

Without much thinking you replied with, “Can’t. Too busy drinking my feelings away.” 

Not even thirty seconds later, a call rang. 

“Hello?” 

“Where even are you???” Jungkook asked. He sounded serious, the tone of his voice was laced with worries. 

“I’m at Joe’s.” You giggled, clearly not thinking straight. You were still sober enough to know what you were doing, but not enough for you to make a logical decision.

There was a long sigh from the other line. “I’ll pick you up.”

“N-No! Kookie— I mean—“ The call was already dead when you protested. 

Your rescue came just around ten to twelve minutes later. Your rescue came in a form of a beautiful man dressed in washed out grey hoodie, ripped jeans, fluffiest hair, who just happened to be your ex. He came to the bar and leaned over to ask the cashier about your order, paying for them. He sighed and turned to your direction again.  

He took you by the wrist. “Let’s go.”

You, undoubtedly still affected by alcohol, started to feel all kinds of things. Looking away, all you said was “No.” 

But you let him drag you from the seat, just silently holding your hand and guiding you to his car. 

The drive was silent and Jungkook didn’t even bother to turn the music player on. You avoided looking at his direction as best as you can, instead you tried to focus on fidgeting your own fingers.

“You sure you can manage on your own?” 

You only nodded. 

“I know I’m not one to talk but please take care of yourself. Don’t go drinking alone like this ever again.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“No, don’t be.” He sighed, running fingers through his locks. “You sure you can go to your room alone?”

“Why did you come?”

Jungkook looked at you, as if you were speaking in foreign language. 

“Aren’t we done?”

Truthfully, you didn’t want him to leave. Seeing him this close all you wanted was to jump into his embrace and to never ever let go. But as drunk as you were, you were still confused, hurting even. He was so eager to say yes when you asked for a breakup. It just did not make any sense to you as to why he kept reappearing in your life, as if he never wanted to leave in the first place. 

“Kook, aren’t we done?” You repeated. 

“I don’t know.” He sighed. “Look, let me just help you inside.”

And so you let him grabbed you by your shoulder, helping you inside your apartment. He guided you to your couch and fetched a glass of water. You took a few sip of the water and leaned back against the sofa, closing your eyes due to the dizziness. 

“You good?”

You were not. How dare he, asking that question, knowing he was the main reason you were far from being okay in the first place. 

“No.” The alcohol in your system was making you honest. 

Jungkook looked hesitant, but he took a seat next to you. “Want me to stay?”

You couldn’t voice a respond, instead your thoughts wander at the video games that he left, still sitting prettily under the television, now seemingly forgotten yet again. You refused to say a thing. Somehow you hoped it would be his another excuse to keep contacting you. 

“I’ll help you change and then I’ll leave. Okay?”

You barely nodded. He grabbed you by your wrist and helped you to your room. Throughout your relationship you never really got drunk. That was why it when he helped you out of your clothes and gently changed it to a new one, even went for a cotton pad and a makeup remover (after looking for it for a solid five minutes) and helped cleaning your makeup, it made you fell in love with him all over again. 

He watched as you rested your head against your pillow, eyes barely opened. He looked around the room, finding something to do, anything. Anything just to keep him staying longer. 

“Thank you.” You said in an almost whisper. 

“Can I stay?” 

Your eyes widened just a bit but you couldn’t find yourself to refuse his offer. You nodded and hugged your plushie close. 

“I’ll help you change the bedsheets tomorrow.” He said as he joined you in bed next to you. 

He was hesitant at first, but ended up putting his arms over your waist. Both of you fell asleep with him resting his head on yours. The alcohol was definitely playing its part cause if you were sober, you knew you would just spend the rest of the night wide awake, heart bursting out from your chest. 

The morning came with a headache served next to it. The first thing you notice was a light snore, and the next quick seconds you noticed a tattooed arm draped around your body. Looking up all you saw was his long eyelash and his slightly ajar mouth that you wanted so badly to kiss. You did let Jungkook stay the night after all. 

Feeling your body shifting, the man spoke with his eyes still closed shut. “You awake?”

“Yeah.” You replied. “I need to go brush my teeth…” 

Instead Jungkook held you tighter. “Trust me, I’m insecure about my morning breath as well but give me a few more minutes.”

You didn’t say anything back, too afraid he could feel your heart beating rapidly, in which he most probably could. 

“Can I stay?” 

“What do you mean? You’re already here.” 

“No, I mean stay with you.” He finally opened his eyes, vision immediately towards you. “In our relationship…”

Your eyes widened.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m a stubborn person and I worry you a lot…” He sighed. “I’ll try my best to change, and for that I need you with me.” His arm moved to grab your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. 

A tear unknowingly escaped your eye and you giggled. The whole seven months of dating him, you had never seen this side of him. Not even at the day he confessed his feelings for you. You never knew how he could be so… sweet. Even sweeter than what you were used to. 

“Hey, don’t cry! I’m sorry…” He swiped your tears with his thumb quickly. 

You responded by hugging him, burying your face on his chest. 

“Uh, so does this mean…?” The boy asked skeptically. 

“I miss you.” You said with voice muffled by the material of his t-shirt. 

A small chuckle left him and his body relaxed, hugging you back. “I miss you too, you have no idea.”

You smiled, pulling away slightly to look at him. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna forget about your games again.”

He smirked. “I knew I left them when I first took my playstation.”

“Then why didn’t you take them?!” 

“I was dragging this out as long as I possibly can.” He sheepishly smiled, cheeks turning pink. “Why do you think I was even at that karaoke bar that day?!”

“I knew that was fishy!” You laughed. “Aww, you really did miss me, huh?”

“Yup.” He squeezed you in a big hug and peppered your face with smooches. 

“Jungkook!” You giggled. 

He suddenly moved to being on your top and caged you in between his arms. An evil smirk visible on his lips. “Ready to see how much I miss you?”

Safe to say he made you stay on the bed just a few hours more. 

Thank you for reading! 🎮

[avifaunaa]

i tasted ash and knew [ it was you ] [ r.v. ] [ pt.2. ]

Authors Note: Okay -- wow. The feedback was unexpectedly amazing! Thank you guys so very much for the reblogs, tags, likes, and comments. I do not know how many parts I have set for this -- it could end after P.3 or it could go on longer depending on how I go about it. I hope you enjoy this! As usual, please check the content warnings and keep yourselves safe.

More Trivia:

Women could be pharmacists in the fifties! However it was a newer job field. Other new job opportunities for women at the time included: engineering and real-estate.

TV dinners were the first of their kind created and released into the world in 1953 as a quick meal that could be heated up in an oven and reduced the dishes one had to do, and fit onto a "TV tray". Added free fact: The first actual type of dinner of this kind was a Thanksgiving style meal and it was a success!

Milk was ordered through, humorously, a "Milkman" that would come door to door like the newspaper and deliver fresh bottles of milk usually daily and, depending on the company / location, took the empty ones.

Phone lines did use to connect the way they did through an operator and had multiple people trying to connect sometimes. What a tedious job!

Reader grumbling about religious scripture being sent to her home is a reference to Jim Jones — who would start the People’s Temple one year later [ 1955 ] and end up committing one of the most notorious religious massacres in history while murdering a United States official. It was a terrible tragedy and it opened a gateway to other cults who preyed on people just like Jim Jones did.

PART ONE | PART TWO [ you are here ] | PART THREE

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Fem!Reader

Summary: Death has caught up with you but she has not come to retrieve your soul as the natural balance demands and has for the near seventy years you've evaded your fate. Rio appears to be seeking some form of stability and control through you, but you are going to make it decidedly very difficult.

Content Warnings: Dark -- use caution and keep yourselves safe, flashbacks that contain period-typical views on gender norms and sexuality, discussions of death and past abuse, Rio making R her housewife, kidnapping, misuse of magic [ Rio ], manipulation, obsessive behavior, really stupid murder attempts [ reader giving lmao ], Stockholm Syndrome beginning to take a tiny bit of effect, READER CRASHING OUT, non-con, face sitting, fingering, ruined orgasms [ all Rio!receiving ], magic strap [ r!receiving ], breeding and possible impregnation [ r!receiving ]

Word Count: TBA

2024

Rio was doing it again.

You did not have proof of it but you could just tell she was.

The stuffed duck at the foot of your bed was taunting you and you wanted to strangle the hell out of it if you weren't on strike right now, willing the fake witch to take her physical form and become visible to you.

After having been chained to her for a period of time you had come to know when she was close. It was the one part of the magic she worked that you had never revealed to her and she hadn't assumed to ask if you could sense her presence like she could yours depending on proximity.

The beady, blank eyes of your companion was the only way you knew she remembered your interests -- or ones you had at one point.

It was an old, much loved thing. Won at a fair back when you had first come to grow closer with her after the death of your husband. She insisted on getting you out of the house and event was only for a week and she bribed you with the promise of a Ferris wheel ride that you'd always dreamed of riding.

It was one of the items she had waiting for you upon setting you up in this bedroom and told you to. "stay put" while she went and did her Deathly duties which you assumed included brooding and prowling ally ways when she was bored.

The bedroom was designed to your tastes and it made your tongue curl into your throat. She had been watching you long enough to get to know you all over again -- how the years had reshaped you so she could adjust to them accordingly.

She had even taken the new cookbooks you'd purchased from your coffee table, price sticker partially picked and all, and placed them in a very noticable way on the stuffed bookshelf in the corner.

Your door creaked open. Your head moved from the stare-down with the duck to the direction but found only Rio's idea for a gift sitting in the doorway with sharp eyes.

She got you a fucking cat.

A large, fluffy thing with a long feathery tail and tufted ears. Dark brown with sharper stripes than most knives you used to cut your ingredients and so standoffish you wonder if she found him in a dumpster somewhere and took him screeching, spitting, and hissing.

Well, tough luck dude. She did that to you too.

She had deposited him onto your lap not even fifteen minutes after fucking you into a stupor and you threatening to kill her with a smug smile. "His name is Billy. I figured you'd need something to take care of while I'm out working."

Billy had hissed, affronted, at Rio and scrambled off of your lap to somehow squeeze under the sofa across from the one she had lead you upstairs to recover on.

"You got a cat," you said, eyes focusing briefly on the spot where the tabby had disappeared before returning to Rio's features.

"We got a cat," she corrected, flopping down onto the couch next to you. "I can't have you getting bored and destructive when I'm gone at work, can I?"

Rage coiled inside of you tighter than a bedspring. "I wouldn't be bored," you started with an attempt to keep your tone steady, "if you hadn't trapped me in a cage."

"Hardly a cage, angel," Rio rebutted, legs stretching and feet crossing across one another on the coffee table. "I gave you the entire house and backyard to work with -- pool and yard included. That's three floors and a basement. An upgrade since the last time we did this, no?"

Her eyes stared holes into the side of your head and you refused to meet her gaze. You knew what you'd find, anyway. You'd find that prodding and incessant glint that she always had when she spoke to you in that fucking tone.

Your rage could only be filtered into one thing at a time and you decided that fighting a battle you couldn't win right now would only succeed in humiliating you further. So you decided to focus your melting attitude onto something you could absolutely control.

"Get your feet," you replied, teeth gritting, "off the fucking table."

That grin became feral in the corner of your eyes but she did as you bid and uncrossed her feet and spread her legs lazily across the floor instead. "Yes, ma'am."

"We do not have things to care for a cat."

She tilted her head at you. "Don't we?"

You blinked and opened your mouth to argue with her, but in an instant you were quickly set quiet. A large cat tree with multiple tiers sat in the floor to ceiling windows of the entry way not far off, cat toys and beds seemed to appear in the house later, too.

Not to mention the random cat food you found in the cabinet when you went to fix something later that night to get away from her.

But now Rio had bid you adieu with a peck to your cheek and a shit-eating grin.

You nearly smacked her and had your fingers flexing as if debating the outcome and if the repercussions would be worth it. Rio laughed and puffed away in an air of smoke before you could so much as lift your hand.

You and Billy now had an alliance of sorts. He had allowed you to put a collar with a cute bowtie and a bell on it so you could hear him prattling about -- only after you fed him a numerous amount of treats.

He also despised Rio and swatted at her if she came near if he was cuddled up to you. It was fun watching Rio ride out the consequences to her actions and she often threatened to make a new hood from his coat or use his teeth in a potion, or went the most mature route and hissed back at him.

But still -- you appreciated his company even if he often times only graced you with it fifty percent of the time.

"What do you want?" you finally asked the feline, who had taken your silence as an invitation to skulk into the room and rub himself across the furniture.

Letting him do whatever it is cats do, you return your attention to the duck and curl your fingers into the bedspread beneath you as the memories start to take over.

1954

Rio had been your rock for the last six months in which she took you in. For the first two you were in a numbed state of shock that barely had you moving about out of bed if Rio hadn't encouraged it.

Perhaps she was right in how she had confronted you so boldly that night you appeared on her doorstep. There was no grief in your heart for your husband as you planned his funeral with the help of your mother and father, sister in tow.

No grief for what "could have been" should he have not been in the accident that took his life when you bleakly watched from a distance as funeral goers left and four men began to lower the cheap casket into the grave.

There was not a drop of regret in you as you approached and dropped a green rose from Rio's gardens into the grave instead of dirt as your past and marriage was buried all in one.

You sold the house like Rio suggested. It was empty without his complaining and too clean when there was no bloody noses to clean up. No beer to restock or work clothes for the next day to be pressed and set out early for him.

Instead you handled well-kept skirts and fine women's wear without being asked.

Rio had found you one day after returning home from her work -- a pharmacy technician, according to her.

"I handle medications that doctors prescribe for people," she told you when asked. "Make sure they get the right dose and that the paperwork is handled. Call doctor's offices if needed and consult with the patient."

You had given her a look that she had memorized for the rest of her life. One of shock, awe, and absolute wonder. "You're able to do that? Isn't that a man's job?"

Rio smiled at you, leaning into the doorway. "This world is starting to become less theirs and more ours, angel. Society cannot run on the basis of the male gender alone and many areas of the workforce are recognizing that."

You had accepted her answer as truth.

She had three white medical jackets in which her name was stitched onto them provided by the drug store in town for her that you made sure to wash by themselves and iron before she went to work each morning.

She would often watch you do laundry -- hers or yours, after you moved in -- even if you were simply ironing in front of the television in the living room while she sipped on a bear in her suspenders and untucked white button-up, eyes focused on you rather than what the current state of the country was.

You had also changed the state of her eating habits in the time you'd been there, as well. You were horrified with what you found in her refrigerator and pantry.

Which was nothing pretty much.

The first night you had stayed over at her home you had also tried to cook. Mostly to have an excuse not to return to that dark, empty house just some stretches away, but also to thank Rio for creating a plan to ensure your comfort would remain.

Only to find she had little in terms of food. She had five TV Dinners stacked haphazardly and you cringed backward. Those were perhaps only good for Saturdays when one could sit in front of the television and enjoy their shows. The thought of Rio eating one every night left you nauseous.

You spotted an empty milk glass and snatched it out to set on the porch to be grabbed and replaced in the morning with fresh milk.

You stomped to the phone dangling on the wall and waited to be connected to the operator on the other line.

"Hello, number please?" the bored drawl asked.

You gave the older woman the number Rio provided and the answering clearing of a throat filled your ears. You heard a few flicks. "Thank you, please wait while we connect you."

"Sure." You held the phone to your ear and waited until the ringing started again.

"Westview Pharmacy."

"Rio," you greeted, wrapping a finger around the curly cord. Your heart paced in your chest at the sound of her voice.

"Hello, angel," she responded back, sounding pleasantly surprised. "What can I do for you on this fine day?"

"You have a sad excuse for a kitchen," you told her plainly, "and had you not taken the car I surely would have myself to go to the supermarket."

"I left some food for you to heat up, angel," she told you, confusion filtering through the line.

You huffed. "That is not -- I wish to cook, Rio. I may be a terrible baker but I am quite good at cooking otherwise and your lackluster pantry is ensuring I cannot do so."

There was a brief silence on the other end and for a moment you worried you'd overstepped, but then Rio let out a breathy chuckle. "Okay, okay. I apologize for any offense my kitchen and I caused."

You flushed. "I should hope so," you grumbled back, "I simply cannot understand how you lived this long. Did you not cook for your husband ever?"

"We weren't homebodies before he was drafted, no," Rio told you. You heard a rattle and assumed she was filling a prescription as she spoke with you. "He had a heart for eating out in diners and picnicking at the park. Every day was a new surprise."

"I see." You bit your lip and tapped the tiled floor with your flats. You regret bringing it up at all. "Well -- I only called to ask if you could run by the store on your way home and grab some essentials. Just enough for me to cook with until I can take the car."

"Of course I can," the brunette agreed instantly without thought. "And on that topic just start making a list of things you think we need so that way the next time we do go out we can grab it."

"I can do that."

"Good girl," the woman said. "Now, thank you for calling and asking me for something you needed. I do have to get back to work though. I will see you tonight?"

"Of course," you agreed, heart fluttering in your chest at the image of her walking into the doorway with that soft grin, "Sorry for keeping you."

"Never apologize, angel." With that, the line disconnected and left a low buzzing tone to tell you the line was dead. You hung up the phone and smiled wistfully to yourself.

It had been the first of many nights wherein you cooked for her and did her laundry and cleaned her house. She never missed a minute of telling you that she was grateful, or pointing out how well the dynamic seemed to be working out damn the gossip you feared would crop up.

Things changed drastically six months in as autumn began taking over Westview in a chokehold with no release.

The leaves were a falling and leaving the ground covered in the dark orange and yellow hues that you loved so and a chill began to sweep and take over the summer heat.

You eyed the calendar up on the wall in the kitchen and noted that Rio seemed to be gone more often in October, November, and December.

You had wanted to ask why but your engrained sense of minding your business and leaving it be kept your tongue stabled to the roof of your mouth for the most part.

"You're burning holes into the wall, sweetheart," Rio called from the kitchen table. She was sitting neatly in the chair reading the morning paper, coffee in front of her as she waited patiently for breakfast.

"I'm sorry," you murmured, returning to the stove and slipping the skillet before the bacon could blacken the bacon completely. The two strips fell onto the plate next to the eggs and you carefully set the skillet back down.

Your plate was empty on the counter next to the stove. Rio had few rules but one of them was that you made yourself a meal first unless you had time to share one together, and then make hers while you ate.

It was odd and very unusual for what was normally expected from most "housewives" in this case, but she was insistent and you were hardly one to deny Rio after she's taken you in and practically cared for you in place of you having to work.

You didn’t protest to her few rules — you obeyed them willingly and dutifully. In turn she ensured you had her company and you were comfortable.

Rio was at work one afternoon before a fair you had agreed to attend together and your mother had come to take you to lunch at a hot new diner.

She was updating you on your sister and her children, and the new car the family had obtained. Though eventually she asked when you’d find yourself a way out of Rio’s home— an opportunity to do something new and get out of the town where it all occurred.

You had simply looked at her questioningly, and asked, “Why would I ever want to leave? Miss Vidal has become my best friend and a dear comfort to me. She knows what I go through.”

Your mother’s lips pursed and her eyes crinkled around the edges in a way that was all too familiar. Like she knew something you didn’t. “Sweetheart, that’s why I wanted to sit you down really. See your father and I have been communicating with the sheriff. You remember Richard Howards right? You were in the same class in grade school.”

A town as small as Westview hardly awarded privacy and the idea of being strangers to others. So you simply said, “Of course.”

Your mother nodded and fiddled with her pearl necklace as she spoke, “After the funeral we went down to settle the business of your husband’s work details. We wanted it done through the sheriff’s office just in case they tried to cause problems for you.”

“Why would they do that?” you wondered as you sipped your coffee and looked out the window toward the drug store Rio was contained in.

Your mother frowned deeply. “Have you not been looking through your mail? I suppose most of it must be trash — a lot of it is advertisements and magazine samples these days — but Eastview Grain Milling wanted to deny wrongdoing. They were going to try and drag his widow — you — through the mud in the process.”

Your eyes flashed back to her, eyebrows shot up high. “Under what grounds? I’ve no money and he certainly didn’t have much after his paychecks. He died in their factory.”

Your mother nodded slowly. “Precisely the issue, isn’t it?”

“Is it taken care of?” you asked hesitantly.

“We handled it. Mostly your father — he’s, well, you know how he is.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Your mother eyed you. “When did you become so uninterested in what happens to you, darling? You used to call your father if you got religious scripture —“

“Shouldn’t it be wrong to send that to someone’s home instead of finding other creative ways to advertise? Who wants to join an indescribable society without merit and has no name?”

“My point,” she interrupted before you could get riled up, “is that you haven’t been . . . You. Not for a while.”

“Well, my husband died.”

Your mother gasped your name out, slamming her cup on the table in shock. You stared back at her with a weak shrug. “It’s true. I’m trying to . . . I don’t know, Mother. Rekindle my desire to live?”

“Then go to the doctor!” she cried, and you paused to note the look of desperation in her gaze, “Come home to your father and I while you recover — you know we’d take care of you. But please, sweetheart, something isn’t right about this woman.”

“You don’t even know her,” you snapped. Then you breathed out, startled at your own tone. You gathered yourself, your thoughts, and said, “She’s my only friend. My neighbors aren’t kindly women, Mother.”

“Have you asked her anything of value?” she demands. “How she came to be widowed? What year she got married? How they met?”

“Why are you so suspicious of her? Do you think she’s a commie? I assure you, Mother,” you bit out, “after the death of her husband she’s never been more drawn to this countries’ ideals.”

“No.” Exasperated, the woman who looked so much like yourself leaned back into the shiny leather booths and rubbed her temple. “Mister Howards did a check on Miss Vidal’s records.”

“Mother, you didn’t.”

“She was never married,” she blurted once again, cutting you off from whatever it is you began to say.

You sat in frozen silence, shock more than anything coating you like a wet blanket. “W-what?”

“Rio Vidal has a completely blank canvas, sweetheart,” your mother told you, eyes softening when she took in your expression, “and I’m afraid that means that no records indicate she was ever married, much less to a man in the service.”

2024

You flipped the page of the current cookbook and steadied it on the stand, dropping a few chives into the soup you were prepping.

You almost destroyed the kitchen in a fury when you saw perfectly tailored apron that you always eyed in the store hanging on the hook near the back door.

You settled for dumping out Rio’s beers instead and getting to work. She allotted you as much time in the kitchen as you requested — but the knives you used were somehow spelled to never turn against her no matter how hard you tried. They would be come heavy in your hands and eventually disappear when you grew defeated.

You had an entirely different plan for her instead of stabbing her to death. Less messy and a lot more manageable in terms of sneaking it into dinner.

You didn’t know if you could kill Death — but you sure as shit would try. She’s kept you cooped up for no less than three weeks so far and any and all attempts were met with mockery and depending on her mood, you facedown and fucked into oblivion.

You hated it.

Fuck.

You emptied your brain for now to keep your attention focused on making this dinner as heavily flavored as possible. You tipped in a little wine for extra flavor, even, and took a giant gulp from the bottle yourself.

You set the table and poured wine for both of you. Your hands shook despite yourself and your body was stiff. You folded napkins just as perfectly as your mother had taught you and set the silverware in order.

You served each bowl a helping of the soup.

At the last second before you knew she would be walking through the door, you opened the box of rat poison and dumped all of the contents in and stirred carefully and hoped there was one thing that could defeat Death.

Your desperation — it was making you sloppy. Perhaps if you had waited it out longer and thought about it you would have decided that fucking rat poison wouldn’t work on her.

But it didn’t cross you — not when you could feel the subtle shift of the invisible chain around your throat that dug in anytime you inched too close to the property line. Not when you tried to make a new design for the rooms and ended up in bed for hours for thinking you could try to enjoy this life again.

Never. Again.

She came in through the garage door with a flourish. For whatever reason you couldn’t grasp, she wore suits when she left and came home as though she were going to a normal nine to five job instead of reaping souls for her jars of whatever the fuck she did with them.

She strides through the house, calling your name and finding you waiting at the table with a fake smile plastered to your face and your chin resting on your palm as you greeted her.

“What a sight,” she drew out as she took her jacket off and slung it over her chair before rounding the table, “and what a beautiful dinner, too,” she added, finger lifting your chin. You let her guide you into a soft kiss, playing your role until you could unleash yourself entirely.

“Mm,” you said, then spread a hand out. “I made something new. It may not be up to my normal standards, considering.”

Rio eyed you curiously as she undid her sleeve cuffs and sat down across from you. Steam was still rising from the bowl and she stretched her arms out to allow her sleeves to ride up.

“I am sure that whatever you’ve made will be as delicious as the things you’ve made ten times before.” She went for the glass of wine first, so you followed in suit.

For once you started to feel like the lioness stalking her prey rather than the prey itself. You knew for sure that Rio could sense your observant gaze — how you kept attention to her over the rim of your wine glass and as you twirled and sipped at your soup.

It sparked curiosity and perhaps even a little suspicion from her end of the enchantment she had on you. Good. It was your turn to play a game with rules she couldn’t possibly follow.

“What did you do today?” she asked, setting the glass down and going to grab the spoon laid pointedly out instead. Dipped into soup, lifted to a mouth.

You smiled as she sipped it, and said casually, “Oh I didn’t get up to much. The house is quiet even with Billy around to keep company. Too big. I pulled some weeds from the garden and harvested some vegetables.”

“Did you now.” Dark swirls of magic in her eyes — an illusion to keep you from reading her. You hated that she used it so often.

“Mm.” You ran your finger around and around the rim of your wine glass. “I think a dog would be nice too. More company and would be enough to keep me busy.”

“A dog,” Rio echoed as she ingested a second sip of soup. “I thought you hated dogs.”

“Until I learned they hated you. Now I think one would be rather nice.”

Eyes locked across the table, and a small smile formed. “My angel wants a dog. As if it would protect you from me.”

Silence filled the room as you prepared for a standoff. Something about her demeanor had grown darker and more pronounced than when she stepped through the door — and if Rio knew you a hundred ways you knew her at least ninety-nine.

She knew.

She finished the entire bowl and let the spoon fall with a clang into it, leaning back into her chair to finish her wine. “Angel, what a delicious meal. I was worried I would never get to taste your cooking again. It’s one of the ways I can understand how you’re feeling without invading you with my. . . Abilities. Your cooking is your tell.”

You held your glass loosely in hand, allowing your features to come across as lazy and uninterested despite feeling as though a bloody battle were about to ensue. You lay your chin on the top of the back of your hand holding the glass.

“Oh?” you say, pretending curious reactions to keep her talking. She would be gone by now if the poison had worked, so you could only hope she couldn’t have tasted it. “What did this meal tell you about me tonight, then?”

Rio takes one of her index fingers and runs it along the inside of the bowl until it comes back with remains. She sticks it onto her tongue and leans forward as if to tell you a secret.

“It means, angel, that tonight you gambled with Death and you were feeling bold and tried something new and out of your usual style. So fucking bold that you thought a mortal poison — a weak one at that — would destroy me.” Something deadly and calm crossed her face, but the smile was something you’ve only seen a few times on her, “I am no rat, angel. All you’ve done tonight is play a little game I indulged in.”

Blood filled your ears. You could hear your heartbeat so fucking loud and you were drowning in the thickness of it.

Then pain pulled you out of it as quickly as it forced you in. You jumped, turning and realizing you’d broken your glass. Wine mixed with blood as shards of glass struck deep into your skin.

The pain didn’t do much to douse the fire that was your rage, your upset, your years of distress.

It lit them all up like gasoline on a volatile fire. You slammed your bloody fist onto the table and shoved it into Rio, who grunted in surprise as her hands flew up to catch it before it rammed into her abdomen.

“I am not your plaything for you to amuse yourself with when you’re bored and can’t find Agatha to annoy,” you spat, shoving the chair with your foot and causing the table to inch deeper into her palms. “I will find a way to destroy you — collar or not.”

Something you said was wrong, or perhaps the way you said it. One moment she was shocked and even bemused at your explosion and next she shoved the table back into your direction. You had to leap out of the way with the speed in which she had kicked it.

Glass and silverware went flying as the table slammed into the entryway and wall, shattering into broken pieces. A piece from one of the bowls snagged your cheek but the pain was minuscule and you grabbed the empty pot from the sink and threw it at her.

“You’re fucking pathetic, sweetheart.” Rio whipped her hand out and caught the pot with a swirl of dark green. She twisted her fingers and you watched in despair as the object was crumbled like a ball of paper and tossed out the window behind you.

You ducked for cover and cursed viciously as she crunched through broken plate ware and kicked aside table-legs for good measure in case you got any ideas.

She knelt down before you and wrapped her hand around the back of your neck tenderly, caressing the spot where her sigil hummed the loudest when she was near.

"You are my only focus now," she told you calmly, then grinned as though sharing a joke, "As long as we don't count the soul-reaping I do. But that's not really something I can simply give up, I'm afraid. I will admit I was impressed by your sad attempt at freeing yourself from me that I rewarded you with . . . enclosed freedom. I decided to decrease the size of your enclosure, really, is all I did. You never left me."

You bared your teeth at her in a meek attempt at having some sort of shield from her mocking. Blood dribbled into your mouth, between your teeth, and soaked into your tongue.

"I will never be complicit to this again," you spat at her. You hoped the droplets wouldn't wash out of her pants. She ignored the staining as though it were a common occurrence. "You can't make me happy, Rio. All of this -- from the day we met -- has been built on a lie that has crumbled around you. You aren't lovable."

The pressure suddenly eased as Rio seemed to process what you said to her. You had hoped to hit a weak spot and get her angry enough to back off, but her next response was the exact opposite.

"If I cannot make you love me," she whispered, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your ear, then your jaw, "then I will give you a part of me that you have absolutely no choice but to love. Much better than a dog."

Dread slapped you across the face as Rio pulled back and snapped her fingers.

You were out before you could process her statement entirely.

You awoke in the bedroom under the cool sheets. You had a distinct throbbing in your head that reminded you of drinking too much or pulling an all-nighter during the nineties when you went to college for the first time.

You sat up slowly to prevent the increase of pain and crossed your arms when the sheets fell. You were naked -- entirely fucking naked -- and there was no evidence of any indication of Rio being around while you were out.

You trembled when you went over the events of the night. The alarm clock said it was five in the morning -- dinner had been at six. you slept for eleven hours straight . . . or were kept in a controlled state of unconsciousness by Rio until she could decide what to do with you.

As if summoned by your loud thinking, the door opened and in came Death herself. She looked rather stern as if you had started a stupid, petty fight and were at fault for it.

You wanted to wring her neck.

She took your silence in, the hostile expression, and swaggered on over to the bed like it was an invitation rather than a warning. She was wearing a silk robe and on closer inspection you noted her wet hair was in a bun.

"Did you get the tantrum out of you?" she asked casually, leaning over to turn on the bedside table lamp.

You curled your lip at her like a tethered animal that's been cornered and whipped.

"Because, you see," she continued, undoing the belt of her robe and letting it slide off her shoulders to reveal nothing but her prone form underneath, "I've decided that despite your outburst to give you a gift."

"I do not want," you breathed, finding leverage and support in the sheets keeping you covered, rage now leaking into your every word, "any gift you think to offer me. I don't want it. Fuck off."

Rio sat down next to you with a pout as she revealed a green rose in perfect beauty to you. "From my own personal gardens. It grew and died for you, my love."

The phantom sting from your thumb where one of her roses had cut you when you first saw one of those damned things in years made you fist the mattress underneath the comforter and sheets covering you.

"I am tired of things dying for me."

And suddenly a palm was on your forehead, shoving it down onto the soft, feather-stuffed pillows as Rio flung a leg over your waist and leaned over you. "Well, isn't that just too bad?" she murmured. "I don't get your love, and you don't get to stop those that lose their lives in your place. A pity all around."

You tried to ignore her, dragging your eyes upward to the ceiling instead as tears threatened to rise. You were so fucking tired -- of her, of living like this, of fighting.

"You're going to make me feel good in return for that stunt you pulled during dinner," Rio told you in a matter-of-fact tone, not minding you not keeping focus on her as she ripped the protection off your body and allowed the cold to sweep over your skin. "And after, I'm going to give you something I've only ever given to one other person."

You did not follow the line of discussion, the branching topic she wiggled in front of you like meat on a string. You told her you did not want it because her gifts always came with unspoken implications.

She moved suddenly and quickly, her body moving upward until she was hovering over your upturned face and she reached a hand down to run fingers through your hair. "Remember to breath, angel," she purred and then lowered herself onto you. Then she tugged when she got no initial reaction, “You’re gonna touch me, sweetheart. Go on. Don’t make it worse for yourself.”

Even as your tongue began to lick upward on instinct, you debated with yourself on biting her. Hard.

She’d probably only be mildly irritated at most and take it as a challenge rather than an attempt to get her off of you.

Your hands shakily reached up instead and with one hand you dug fingers mercilessly into the meat of her hip while a second hand scrunched between you two so you could thrust two fingers upward at the same time as your tongue entered her.

Rio released a moan that was breathy and sweet in essence as her thighs took form around either side of your head. You felt the headboard move and figured she was grabbing onto it with her other hand.

“Fuck — you still remember what I need, don’t you, angel? Good girls always remember even if they don’t want to,” she whispered in unsteady gasps as you found a rhythm. She kept herself from moving at first, instead using built up energy to dig nails into your scalp as your fingers thrusted upward while your tongue created tight friction.

Everything about her made you ache — down to the familiar smell of her and the way she twitched when you thrust slowly in the circular motion that she liked.

She was going back and forth from offering praise to you to being unable to form coherent words for some seconds when you let your teeth graze her clit every so often. Never enough for her to come.

“You’re being a tease,” she told you obviously, grip tightening with warning. However the grip faltered ever so slightly when you found the spongy tissue inside of her and added pressure. She fell into a low gasp and a knock against the headboard made you guess she had dropped her head on it.

“Fuck — right there. Yes, angel, keep going.”

You obeyed for a brief period in order to draw her closer to the edge. She was fiercely grinding her pussy down against your face now as she kept herself balanced.

Her thighs were beginning to twitch around your head and she was getting slicker by the moment. She was entirely vulnerable above you but you now knew not to make the mistake and think she didn’t have some sort of defense ready if you did something really stupid.

Just when you knew she would tip over is when you pull away, allowing your fingers to brush her g-spot one last time and sending her careening over that sharp edge. She let out a choked moan, surprised, as you abruptly removed all stimulation minus the forceful grinding she was giving you.

She panted above you but she didn’t sound satisfied like she usually does when she has an orgasm. She sounded wrung out, like reaching something with no payout.

“You have some goddamn balls,” Rio snarled, slipping away from your face and snatching it in her palm despite the wetness covering it. “You ruin my orgasm and think it’ll go any good for you?”

You stare her down with unwavering contempt. “You still came, didn’t you?”

“Oh, I’m loving this new part of you. The vile rage that seeps from your pores every second you’re around me,” she sneers as she wipes a trail of her slick from around your chin and shoves the appendage in your mouth.

You bite her finger but she does not flinch, does not blink. She only grins at you. “Oh yes, you wild little thing of mine. I am going to enjoy what I am going to do next. It will dampen that fire in your belly — or perhaps it will enrage you further. I cannot wait to see.”

You were grabbed so roughly you hardly at time to fight back. Arms and legs were rearranged and your face was shoved facedown into the pillows this time as fingers drifted gingerly down your spine.

“So pretty,” your captor mused, as if considering a piece of art in a museum. They trailed down even further until they brushed against the backs of your legs and angled them up so your knees and ass rose into the air. “Yes, angel, I’m going to want you to stay like this. Be my muse.”

“I will destroy your entire being,” you vowed as the magical directive took effect and your muscles relaxed without your consent. The weight of the bed lifted as Rio removed herself and murmured something under her breath.

“While you work on that, I think I’ll work on something else more productive,” she mused as she rejoined you a few moments later with her pelvis resting against the very bottom of your ass.

“You say a lot of words but speak such bullshit,” you snarled back, unable to move your hips an inch despite your attempts.

Rio laughed. “Fuck, I love you so much. Which is going to make this all the more fun.” And then you felt it sliding between the crevice where your cunt was.

“Absolutely not,” you jerked your upper body forward in desperation with no prevail, you were unable to get away. To make it worse she placed what she believed to be soothing hand on your now clammy back. “Rio — Rio, stop.”

She ignored you and tested you for wetness, and you were embarrassed at what she found when she sought it out. She leaned her body over your upturned hips and whispered, “So wet and yet you claim you want me to stop?”

“That’s how consent works, Rio,” you panted, jerking your shoulder but gaining no traction as she moved just out of reach in time. “I say stop and you stop.”

“I’m afraid that’s not in our contract, my love,” she sighed as she fingered the area around your neck and somehow managed to pull tight. Your airflow was restricted and you gasped out for air. “I own you entirely and have for a very long time. I decided you were mine the second I was called to take you away. I’m gladly taking others instead — and you’re granted a lifelong advantage on top of that. It’s time we add to it — don’t you think? Keep that destructive, wandering, little brain of yours busy will do wonders so I don’t have to dumb you down with my magic.”

She released you and your head fell back down as you gasped and inhaled for breath, fingers flexing into the sheets as dizziness swirled around you.

The tears started then. Rio crooned as she kissed gently down your back and entered you with an ease of a lover who actually cared would.

“Oh, angel, there is no need for those,” she murmured as she sucked bruises where each kiss was left. “Tears are a waste of your energy when considering why you’re crying.”

“Fuck you,” you sniffled, the emotions overwhelming you too much and your brain filled with an overload of pleasure chemicals to say much else.

“I’m so trying,” she promises followed by a very deep thrust. “Do you know what I’m doing, love? Why I chose to wear the cock?”

You didn’t answer her, too wrapped up in your own feelings to play her game and amuse her as she fucked you like her life depended on it.

“It’s because,” she continues like she was discussing the weather with you, “I’m going to breed you. I’ve put some thought into it — you’d be impressed how much time I spent thinking instead of acting on innate desires.”

Your body shuddered when the ridges of her specially designed cock rubbed your walls, followed by one of her arms reaching around so she could cup your breasts. “You never liked being bored, did you?” she grunted as she found a better angle and upped her speed.

You let out a sob-filled moan and suddenly you could move your hips again — and the first thing you found yourself doing was thrusting them back in time to meet her.

“Good girl,” she whispered, kisses lining your jaw, down your neck as she squeezed your breast and kept you in a constant state of physical overstimulation and unable to clearly think. “You’re doing so fucking good despite how fucking difficult you’ve been lately. That’s okay — we’re going to fix that aren’t we?”

Suddenly you were drawn upwards until you sat on her thighs, with her chest pressed against your back as she rolled her hips as deep as they would go and held you up with the arm holding your tits.

“I’m going to make sure you stay, angel. I’ve lost — I’ve lost too much already.” Through the fucked out haze you thought you detected despair and need within the tone she used — but she didn’t allow you long to process it as her other hand reached down and started rubbing your clit with harsh beats that met her thrusts.

“I’m going to — I’m going to give us a better life, okay?” she whispered just as the build up continued to grow with no possible escape in sight.

You gave in — at least for this — and closed your eyes and leaned your head back against her shoulder as she kept her pace violent and unyielding, seeming to have a goal to achieve.

It didn’t take much longer — not for you or Rio. Both of you were thrown into orgasms that had you rocking forward back down into the bed, your groan and gasps eroding away at any belief she would ever let you go.

A tingle that you came to associate with her use of magic started rippling across your skin like electricity until Rio stopped moving inside of you, growing briefly still.

You were shaking and trembling, biting your tongue so hard that blood filled your mouth as you contained your devastated cries and curled your legs into you.

Rio brushed some hair away from your neck and rubbed at your back in an effort to comfort you. Perhaps she thought you were overwhelmed in the way she was — you weren’t entirely sure ever what Rio thought most days.

“It’s going to be okay,” she tried to soothe, her touch like burning oil as you tried to flinch away from her. “Angel? I promise. It’s going to be okay. We’re going to be a family. I am Death. Nothing will take us away.”

But who was Death really when she was able to create life? The very thing Rio had once claimed was against her rules.

Rio and Reader will return in Part Three.

Taglist [ holy shit I remembered ]: @girlsgotissues ( it won’t let me tag u im so sorry )

PART THREE

[semperama]

Several Sentence Sunday

@playinginthunderstorms tagged me in several share-a-snippet day things in the past few weeks, and so have other people probably, and I never had anything to share, but TODAY I HAVE WRITTEN WORDS!! MANY WORDS!! I might even actually finish the Will Fic either tonight or tomorrow!!! Yay!!!! Here's a little bit:

He gets on the highway going north. Oregon might be nice, the gray and the gloom, the constant drizzle. He’s seen pictures of the coast with its jagged rocks and choppy surf and thinks that would suit him, now, more than sun and palm trees. Or maybe he’ll keep going all the way to Canada. He’d probably need to get recertified to be a firefighter up there, but that might be nice, to earn it again. To put in the work and prove to himself he can still do something right. He makes it twenty miles before he swerves across two lanes of traffic to take the next exit and turn around, his heart pounding, his hands sweaty on the steering wheel. He just—he can’t do it. The last words Eddie said to him were tainted with anger, and Buck couldn’t even look him in the eye. That can’t be the way this ends. It’ll fucking kill him, if that’s his last memory of their time together. He’ll go back and sleep off this awful, sucking despair, and in the morning he’ll go back to Eddie’s and apologize, help him pack up his life, help him sell his house. He’ll hug him goodbye, face tucked into his neck so he can imprint the way he smells into his brain forever. And then he’ll watch him drive away. What was he thinking, trying to change this fundamental truth? Buck can’t be the one to leave. He’s meant to be the one left behind.

Tagging @wildehacked, @sonofatoasterwaffle, @wimbledon2008, @sibylsleaves

[schrijverr]

I Didn’t Mean to Say I Do, but I Do. I Do. 44

Chapter 44 out of 50

Secret marriage of convenience buddie slow burn AU, where Buck and Eddie have been married for years so Buck could adopt Chris and no one at the 118 knows.

In this chapter, Eddie doesn’t believe in signs, he is just working on saving people hit by the tsunami. However, a natural disaster forcing you back towards your family is as close to a sign as you can get.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie

Warnings: injury, minor character death mention

~~~

Chapter 44: Looking for a Sign

A tsunami. Eddie honestly isn’t sure why he didn’t expect that when he came into work today with the craziness that is LA, but then again, no one expects a natural disaster a year after the last one. If he has to guess, the only person that expected this is his mom, who expects LA to be the most dangerous place on earth every day of the week.

Eddie is so glad they managed to mollify her with a promise of a few weeks stay in El Paso by Chris over the break, because he doesn’t think he would have survived this last period if she’d been berating him every second.

He’s only just finding his footing again, becoming more confident. He’s not out, far from it, but he’s gotten comfortable thinking of himself as gay.

Work has helped – as has Bosko of course, but work is different – because it’s the same. Neither he nor Buck mentioned their troubles at home, well, Eddie’s troubles, so the others don’t ask questions or send him worried looks. They just treat him like Eddie, like he’s still the same. He needs that.

Right now, though, work is not like usual. A natural disaster is always an all hands on deck situation and this is no different.

It’s unreal to look over the carnage and Eddie is starting to be real glad they live on the other side of town. Chris was a little bummed out in the car on Friday when he brought him home, because they were going to stay in this weekend. Then Eddie felt slightly bad, almost traded his shift to be free today too, but now he’s only relieved that the two of them are far away from here.

They’re in the boats and all they’re passing are dead bodies to tag, which is always unpleasant work. However, the living ones they’re going to encounter are bound to be worse. Disasters like these always leave gruesome wounds.

Indeed, the first call they answer is pretty bad with soon to be official step-father and son stuck together by a pole through the both of them. They get the son out, but the husband to be is a harder call.

Tensions are high as Bobby dives into the water while the rest of them work to keep Chuck alive as a second surge hits the boat and water starts to come in. Underwater CPR is not an experience Eddie would like to relive.

However, they get him alive into transport, which is more than Eddie thought they’d get when they first came upon the scene. Hen and Chim go with him, so it’s out of his hands, because he follows Bobby to the pier to serve as back up.

The back up in question, is necessary at a Ferris wheel with a bunch of people stuck on it without enough transport and hands to get them away, before it comes down.

“Hey, we could use a hand up here,” a very familiar voice suddenly calls down.

Eddie’s head snaps up and he exclaims: “Bosko?”

Indeed, it is Bosko, who looks surprised for a second. She’s completely soaked and not in natural disaster gear, but she grins down at Eddie. “Diaz, hey! You’re late.”

“Oh fuck off,” he calls back, scanning for injuries. She looks okay and she’s not completely devastated or whatever. However, she is definitely putting on a professional front and Eddie can’t spot any more firefighter blue anywhere.

“You know her?” Bobby asks.

“Yeah, that’s Bosko. She works at the 136, she was my partner while I was there,” Eddie says, already getting ready to climb out of the boat and onto the Ferris wheel. “We work well together, should I go help her?” he asks, though he’s not really asking for permission.

“Alright,” Bobby gives it anyway, “grab an extra harness, rope, pulleys, figure eight plates. I’ll coordinate evac and transport some down here.”

“Sounds like a plan, Cap,” Eddie grins, before doing what he was already going to do and climbing up to where Bosko is.

When he gets there, the man in the cart with Bosko seems to be okay, albeit terrified out of his mind, and the Ferris wheel is shaking. Trying to lighten the air a little, he comments: “That’s not part of the ride,” asking for more information at the same time.

“No, the spokes are coming off the hub. This thing’s been trashed,” Bosko says, focusing on the patient and not looking at Eddie. Her face is scratched up.

“What about you?” he asks. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she answers curtly, before nodding at the man. “And neither is he.”

“I’m not going anywhere, not until the water is gone,” the man insists.

“Sir, if you don’t come with us, this whole thing will be gone,” Bosko says rather harshly.

Eddie has never seen her mad like that and the weird reality that he’s going to have to be the calm one between them settles in. He also turns to the man and says: “Don’t worry, buddy. I’m gonna get you down safely. I’m just gonna put this harness around you, okay?”

“Okay, okay,” the man nods, still terrified.

“Alright,” Eddie nods, going to help the man while questioning Bosko. “You guys were on the pier when it hit? Where is everyone?”

“Robin’s out sick today and Daisy was man behind. The others… we got separated to all spin cycle. I haven’t seen any of them. Station’s probably hit too,” she replies, mouth pursed as if angry, though Eddie can see it’s just her brave face.

“We’ll run into them at some point,” Eddie assures her. “Cap will let you join our rescue team, we can search for them while we help others.”

The line on her face turns into a small smile and she thanks him, before the two of them lower the terrified man down. With him safely down, they turn to the next cart. Bosko now manages to joke more, saying: “You didn’t want to go climbing with me tomorrow, let’s see how you do now, huh.”

“I didn’t turn you down because I can’t climb. I was half thinking to surprise Chris then, since he was kind of down yesterday, but that clearly isn’t going to happen,” he says, nodding at the carnage around them. “Besides, you’re friends with way too many of your exes, it’s weird.”

“It’s lesbian culture,” she corrects.

“Still weird,” Eddie complains, before showing her that he can climb just fine.

Their next patient is more what you expect when you hear natural disaster. The man’s a possible spinal and if they don’t get a hail Mary, he has a small chance or recovery, if not survival. It isn’t looking great for Max.

However, just because it’s not looking great, doesn’t mean they’re going to give up on him. So, they all work together to get a headboard and neck brace up there, so they can stabilize his neck, while they keep the two occupants distracted by asking what they’d been doing at the pier. Your divorce papers getting interrupted by a tsunami is certainly a story to tell.

It seems the guy was looking for a sign, a sign to try and save their marriage. Buck believes in signs like this. Eddie wonders if he’d see being on this call as a sign, then wonders if he should see it as a sign too.

He shakes off the thought, he doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t believe in signs and he’s not going to start now. It can work out between him and Buck, they can still be friends, maybe even stay married. This doesn’t need to be the end, Eddie just has to figure out how to make it right between them. With slight amusement he makes a mental note not to take Buck to the pier when he finally figures it out.

Still, despite not believing in signs, he is relieved when the chopper comes and Max moves his fingers.

It’s just because he’s glad the guy has a better chance to live, he tells himself, trying to ignore the bit of devastation he feels in his chest when Max signs the divorce papers anyway. He called them a beautiful disaster.

Eddie can’t help but apply it to himself. His years with Buck have been the best of his life by far, but, as they said when explaining why they didn’t divorce, things just kept happening. Maybe they are a disaster too?

He likes to think he’s wrong about that, but the thought haunts him as they watch the chopper take Max away.

They lower the woman down, then he and Bosko start to get ready for their climb down. Before they start, they hear Bobby call out: “Incoming! Debris!”

Both their heads snap out towards the water, indeed seeing a slew of debris coming their way, carried by the receding tide. Eddie looks at Bosko and quirks a brow: “Okay, so maybe you climb better, but how’s your diving?”

“What? You suddenly an artistic diver?” Bosko retorts with amusement, as she also stops getting ready to climb down.

“Nah,” he laughs, before jumping.

Bosko is right behind him, the two of them getting pulled onto the ship by Bobby before the debris hits. Behind them, the Ferris wheel that they were just on collapses and Eddie tries to take that as a sign that whatever happened on there doesn’t matter.

When they get back, the receded water means that they can now wade through the water on foot, which is good news, since the trucks are still stuck on the other side of town, unable to get through to them, and boats are in short supply.

“Hen and Chimney are readying some turnout backpacks until we’re mobile again,” Bobby explains to the both of them, seamlessly incorporating Bosko into their team like Eddie predicted. Then he stops and turns to her. “Bosko, your crew from your house are all alive and accounted for, except for Captain Cooper. He’s still MIA. I’m sorry.”

Eddie knows how much Ronnie means to her and he can see it in her eyes that the relief immediately gets overshadowed by grief. MIA in a situation like this is never good. Still, Bosko tries to swallow down the pain, masking with professionalism. “Well, if it’s all the same to you, Captain, I’m gonna stick around and look for him.”

However, Bobby is annoyingly perceptive sometimes, so he doesn’t agree to that immediately, instead asking: “Why are you holding yourself like that?”

“It’s nothing, bruised rib,” Bosko says, playing it off, but Eddie knows her better than that. He’s seen her get punched in the face and react the exact same way.

“Let me take a look at that,” he says, stepping closer.

“I said it’s nothing,” Bosko insists with a foul look send his way.

He sticks his chin out challengingly. She called him out on his bullshit, he’s allowed, if not required, to return the favor. “Then there’s no harm in letting me take a look at it. The sooner you let me, the sooner you can go look for Ronnie. Unless it’s more than a bruised rib?”

“You’re an asshole,” she hisses.

“So, I’m right and it is more than a bruised rib.”

“I liked you better when your head was still so stuck in your own ass that didn’t even know you were a dick, you know that, Diaz?”

“Hey, no need to get aggressive,” Bobby steps between the perceived start of their fight.

“It’s alright, Cap,” Eddie assures him, as Bobby sends him a weird look. It’s not necessarily the kind of friendship the 118 has with each other and he knows it. He just sends a smile back, before turning to Bosko and says: “I had to be honest with you, now it’s your turn.”

She looks away for a second with her jaw squared stubbornly. For a moment, Eddie thinks she isn’t going to answer, then she grits out: “Fine, it’s broken. But I’m fine. I can go on.”

“You sure?” Eddie pulls a disbelieving face. “Must be hurting like a bitch.”

“Yeah, well, breathing isn't super fun,” Bosko says annoyed. “But I’m fine. You know I can take a punch.” “Well, it’s not up to him,” Bobby interrupts them again. “It’s up to me and I’m calling it. You’re out the field. USAR Command is setting up the VA hospital on Sawtelle.” He turns to Eddie. “I want you to stick with her just in case her desire to track down her Captain causes her to lose her way. I’m going to-”

“This is bullshit,” Bosko cuts him off. “You’re not my Captain. My Captain is out there somewhere and I’m not abandoning him to this disaster.”

Eddie winces at that. He knows Bobby isn’t too strict when it comes to decorum, but if she goes on like that, he’s going to have to discipline her. He’s been through that once, would not recommend it in the slightest.

However, before he can say something to soften her words for Bobby, they hear screaming coming from down the street. It’s people calling out for help.

Their little crew is the only ones in the vicinity, so Bobby lets out the big breath he’d just taken and holds up a finger to Bosko. “You’re coming with us on this, only because I don’t trust you enough to let you go by yourself and I might need Eddie’s extra set of hands. You’re going to stand there, help with the light stuff maybe, then you’re going directly to the VA hospital. Am I clear?”

He is most definitely not clear and Bosko would totally argue if there weren’t people screaming for help, but for now she just grits: “Crystal, sir.”

“Good,” Bobby nods after one intense look in her eyes, then he turns on his heel and marches to the people calling out, Bosko and Eddie right behind him.

While they walk behind him, Eddie hisses: “What the hell was that? Do you want to get suspended for insubordination?”

“Of course not, but he can’t stop me,” Bosko frowns back. “You know Ronnie is my friend, you wouldn’t let your friends be alone out here, would you?”

Eddie makes a complicated face, because he knows she’s right, but he also knows Bobby is right. It isn’t that easy. “You’re hurt,” he ends up saying. “Ronnie wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself to look for him.”

“Good thing he’s not here to say that then, so I guess we won’t know for sure, and I say he’d want me to look for him,” Bosko retorts. “What if it were Buck out there?”

“That’s a low blow,” Eddie says, not able to deny it, but still not liking it, sending a glance over to Bobby to make sure he hasn’t heard.

“But it’s true,” Bosko says. “Where is he today? He okay?”

“He’s home with Chris. Lazy day in probably and far away from all this,” Eddie says.

“Did you call them to tell them you’re okay?” Bosko asks and that’s a good point. He hasn’t spoken to Buck yet, not really, but a natural disaster is a good reason to break the habit. It could even be a first step towards coming home. Maybe this is his sign.

“I’ll call when I’m bringing you to the VA hospital.”

“Yeah, like I’m going to let you take me there,” Bosko mutters darkly.

Before Eddie can reply to that, they’ve made their way to a group of people. They’re all standing next to a fire engine or helping people down from it. Upon closer inspection, Eddie realizes it’s the fire engine of the 136. These people must have sheltered on it while the water raged around them.

Once they’re close enough, Bobby calls out: “LAFD, we’re here to help. What’s the problem? Is anyone hurt or stuck?”

“Plenty of people are hurt, but no one serious,” a woman says. “We need you to help us find this man. He saved us all. Pulled us up onto this truck when we drifted by, but he got swept away. He could be hurt.”

“Eddie here can check all of you over,” Bobby tells her gently. “What’s your name?”

“Marissa,” she answers.

“Well, Marissa, we can’t make any promises about finding your rescuer, but if you give us a description, we’ll make sure to keep an eye out for him,” Bobby says

“He’s tall, very tall, and white,” Marissa says. “Some of the debris must have hit him in the face, because he has a bruise on his eye. He’s blond.”

“No, you’re saying it all wrong,” another woman says. “He’s a redhead.”

“No, he’s not,” Marissa insists. “He pulled me out early, I had a good look at him.”

“Well, then you’re blind,” a man is now interjecting himself into the conversation as well. “He is definitely Hispanic.”

Marissa pulls a face. “He’s so not Hispanic.”

“Yes, he is,” the man insists.

The other woman is now picking his side as well, saying: “Yeah, you don’t have to be dark skinned to be Hispanic. You should check your stereotypes.” She turns to Bobby and says: “He’s Hispanic, his kid called him papi. He’s a tall, light skinned, redhead.”

“His hair is more a dirty blond, brownish color,” someone else says.

“No, his hair clashed with his shirt, which was red, so he’s a redhead,” the other woman says as if it is fact.

The three firefighters watch them squabbling about the rescuer’s appearance for a few seconds with confused blinks. It’s truly fascinating how normal people can act even in the face of horrifying events. They see it every day, people who are stabbed and bleeding out, but talking about the weather or complaining that the neck brace is itchy while they might be paralyzed.

Bobby, however, doesn’t have time for it, silencing the crowd as he raises his voice: “Can anyone here give us one description? Or a name? You mentioned a kid, do you still have the kid?”

“I don’t know,” the woman who first mentioned the kid says. “He fell off the truck. It’s why he dove off it again. Didn’t hesitate for a second. It was when the tide receded.” She calls out. “Did anyone see his kid?”

“Yeah, we got him here,” a voice from the back of the crowd calls back. “He managed to grab onto a windowsill a street down.”

“Bring him here,” Bobby calls back.

Eddie is focusing on wrapping the man’s hand, since he still has a job to do. They can’t look for every person, but it’s good to have descriptions of people who are out here so they can get an overview of the total victim count. Maybe give some family out there some closure.

However, he looks up when he hears a sharp intake from Bobby. That’s never a good sound and it seems even worse when he sees Bobby. He’s become white and looks sickened at what is coming towards them through the parting crowd.

He looks to what Bobby might be seeing that is horrifying him this much. It’s a short woman carrying a kid, looking to be between seven or nine. Probably eight. The kid is wearing a yellow striped shirt and brown pants, on his head is a mop full of curls and a strap to hold his glasses in place…

Horror overtakes him too as the kid starts to look more and more familiar. Thoughtlessly he abandons the man’s wound as he gets up from his squat, ignoring the “Hey!” the man lets out.

He feels like he can’t breathe as the woman softly says: “He’s looking for his papi,” before she turns the kid towards them, indeed revealing a face Eddie would usually love to see, but not in these circumstances. Never in these circumstances.

“Christopher?”

Indeed it’s Chris, who blinks more water out of his eyes, before his eyes focus on Eddie. The moment he recognizes him, his face crumbles and he cries out: “Daddy!”

People all but jump out of his way as he rushes towards the woman, realization dawning on their faces of what that must mean for the relationship between him and their rescuer. Eddie’s mind isn’t even there yet, too focused on Chris.

Eddie snatches Chris out of the woman’s arms, hugging him close to his chest as he chokes: “Oh my god, Chris.”

“Daddy,” Chris cries, clutching Eddie as tightly as he can, sobbing into his shoulder much like he’d done in the hospital, now already about four months ago.

He runs his fingers all over Chris’s body, feeling for injuries, relieved when he doesn’t find any broken ribs or other broken bones. He forces Chris’s face away from his shoulder, cupping his cheek as he feels his skull and checks his pupils. “What were you doing out here, mijo?”

“We were going to the pier to celebrate my good grade. I was sad because you weren’t going to be here and papi wanted to cheer me up,” Chris sniffles. “Then the water was gone.”

Suddenly his brain comes back online from where it had dropped off this plane of existence in the face of worrying about Chris. About his son. The description Marissa gave them of their rescuer comes back to him…

‘He’s tall, very tall, and white. Some of the debris must have hit him in the face, because he has a bruise on his eye. He’s blond.’

Buck.

Oh god, Buck.

Eddie maneuvers Chris onto his hip with practiced ease, numb hands fumbling for his phone as he unlocks it and goes to his gallery. Without Buck there, he takes even less photos than he normally would, so his recent pictures all still have Buck in them.

He clicks one blindly and turns the screen back to the other woman – he still hasn’t heard her name and he doesn’t care much either – as he desperately asks: “Is this- Is this him? Is this the man that pulled you out?”

“Y- Yeah, yeah, that’s him,” she stammers, slightly overwhelmed by his intensity.

No.

Just no.

A minute ago, Buck was far from this and at home. He was safe. Now he’s somewhere out here in this hellhole, probably alone, maybe even injured and definitely not back to full strength yet, no matter how far he’s come with his PT.

Buck was out here to cheer Chris up, because Eddie hasn’t been home. If he’d only gone home, then they would be there now. Safe. Now, he has a scared Chris in his arms and Buck is missing. He is missing. And Eddie might never get to see him again.

It’s suddenly a lot harder to breathe and his whole world falls apart around him. He is supposed to find a way to come home. He’s supposed to come home to Buck, he can’t be out here. He can’t be injured or worse. He hoped this disaster was a sign to come home, not a sign that he’s losing it all before he can even try to fix it.

Eddie has to find him. He has to find him right now. Bosko’s hypothetical from earlier is reality and Eddie knows now better than before that she was right. He will do anything to make sure Buck is okay. That he is found.

A hand on his shoulder startles him and he spins around to the source. It’s Bobby, giving him a concerned and sympathetic look, his own heartbreak and fear mirrored on the Captain’s face.

“It’s Buck,” he finally manages. “Buck is out there.”

“And we’ll find him,” Bobby assures him. “But you’re too close to this now, Eddie. We both know that. You’re compromised. Take Bosko to the VA hospital and help out there. You can’t be out on the field anymore either.”

~~

A/N:

TSUNAMI ARC! TSUNAMI ARC! I am so fucking thrilled to be here, I’ve been wanting to write an AU of that arc for so long now, so I’m gonna go hog wild! (Also place your bets now people, is Eddie gonna listen to Bobby)

[anakinstwinklebunny]

Hey cutie pattotie!! It's me Bat anon coming here again!! I'm just here to give you the new weekly reminder to take care of yourself and drink lots of water!! Don't forget to take breaks and eat as well!! Life can be stressful and a lot of work but remember you are loved and cared for!!

So, what I am going to ask for is very simple. Could we get incorrect quotes with Sam Monroe with reader and Vinnie? Something funny and lighthearted, it doesn't have to be long or anything!

Love ya - 🦇

Author's note: sorry 🦇 nonnie you had to wait so long! Hope it was worth the wait and you actually like it :)

{Sam babysitting Vinnie alone for the first time}

You over the phone: Did you feed him?

Sam: Yes.

You: What did you give him?

Sam: Uh… Cheez-Its and part of a banana.

You: SAM?! What the hell?

Sam: What? He’s still alive.

{At the grocery store}

You: Vinnie, do we need anything else?

Vinnie: Gummies!!

You: No, baby, we still have some at home.

Sam, under his breath: I don’t.

You: Sam, you are NOT getting the Scooby-Doo gummies again--

Sam: THEN WHY THE FUCK DID I COME??

{Sam stubbed his toe}

Sam: Fuck!

Vinnie: Fuk!!

You:

Sam:

Vinnie: Fuk?

You: SAM.

Sam: Oh, so it’s MY fault now??

{You walk into the living room to see Sam and Vinnie sitting on the couch, both looking extremely guilty}

You: …What did you two do?

Sam: Offended. Why do you assume it was us??

Vinnie: Holds up a permanent marker, covered in blue scribbles.

Sam: …Okay, yeah, it was us.

{You come home to find Sam asleep on the couch with Vinnie asleep on top of him.}

You: softly Aww, that’s so sweet.

Sam: half-awake, mumbling Yeah, it was sweet until he drooled in my mouth.

{You and Sam watching Vinnie try to put his shoes on the wrong feet}

You: Should we help him?

Sam: Nah, let the kid struggle. Builds character.

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[hivemuthur]

What was that? - Ch. 13.

viktorxfemale!OFC mature

friends to lovers, co-workers, sexual tension up to the wazoo, pinning and banter that got me frustrated when I was writing it, attempt at humour, some angst and a slow burn with a happy ending and a classic Viktor for once

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.11. | Ch.12. | Ch.14. | Ch.15.

word count: 6,9K

tag: #what was that

author’s note: @rennethen as beta reader. This the all-is-lost moment chapter, so tw would be angst, but I promise from now on it will only get better :')

Cross-posted on AO3

—

They kept missing each other for a week. Each of them was too stubborn, too proud, too scared to reach out. Renly had nearly turned nocturnal, convincing herself that she needed something concrete—something ready—before she faced Viktor again. Her guilt gnawed at her, pushing her forward and holding her back in equal measure.

Tonight, though, her newest iteration of the cure would finally be ready. She couldn’t put it off any longer. Steeling herself, she arrived at the lab earlier than usual, intent on finally confronting Viktor.

Only to be met by Jayce.

“Gods, Ren, I haven’t seen you in a week! Are you alright?” he exclaimed, his voice warm and filled with relief as he wrapped her in one of his massive, crushing hugs.

The embrace lingered a beat too long, and it wasn’t until Jayce realised she hadn’t answered that he loosened his grip, noticing her muffled protests.

“Ah, thanks. I might’ve actually needed that,” she huffed, her voice breathy as she smoothed her slightly wrinkled shirt. She gave him a sheepish smile. “I’ve been working nights. Sorry about that.” Definitely just turned out like this, definitely not avoiding Viktor.

Jayce stepped back, his brows knitting together as he scanned her dishevelled appearance. “Are you avoiding Vik?”

Ah, Jayce was smarter than her, of course.

“Not really,” she replied quickly, though her tone betrayed her unease. “It just… turned out like this, honestly. Is he here?” Part of her hoped he was. That she could get all of this off her chest, give him the new medicine, kiss his forehead, and say she was sorry.

“No, he went home early,” Jayce said with a sigh, his expression softening but still clouded with concern. “Ren, I think he feels like shit. You should talk to him.”

“Well, I was planning to,” she said, crossing her arms defensively, “but he’s not here, is he?” Dear Jayce, if he’d only known. Renly knew there was no bad intention underneath it and Jayce probably went through hell that week.

Jayce raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, save that look for later. I’ll leave the lecture for another time. Are you going to head over to see him?”

Renly hesitated, glancing at the stack of notes she’d brought with her. “Yes, definitely. Later.” Her gaze shifted back to him, catching the worry etched across his face. “Are you alright? Everything okay with Mel?”

“Yes, yes,” Jayce replied quickly, though his hand instinctively went to the back of his neck—a telltale sign he was holding something back.

“It’s not about her,” he added after a moment. “I just… got weird news from Caitlyn.”

“Weird meaning…?” Renly prompted, her brow furrowing as her concern deepened.

Jayce hesitated, his lips pressing into a tight line before he asked, “Have you heard anything from the Undercity recently?”

Renly thought for a moment, her mind flipping through recent events. “Uh, now that you mention it, Ekko hasn’t reached out since the last dispatch. Why?”

Jayce’s expression darkened. “Apparently, tensions are growing tighter down there. Caitlyn said they’re planning a diversion to flush out whoever’s been smuggling Shimmer through the gates.”

Renly’s stomach twisted. “Flush them out how, exactly?”

“They want to literally smoke them out. With the Grey.”

Her heart sank. “Oh, Gods.”

Jayce nodded grimly. “It’s reckless and dangerous, but they’re desperate. Caitlyn’s trying to keep the peace, but it’s hard to control the situation from above.”

Renly’s voice rose slightly. “Jayce, did you tell Viktor?”

“Yeah,” he admitted with a heavy sigh. “And he’s worried. He thinks the council will use this as an excuse to come after Hextech next.”

Renly’s eyes widened. “What are you going to do?”

Jayce’s jaw set with determination. “I’m on my way to talk to Mel about it. She might be able to sway the council or at least buy us some time.”

Renly exhaled sharply, her mind racing. “Be careful, Jayce. This could escalate fast.”

“I know.” He gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “You should talk to Viktor, Ren. He needs you.”

Renly swallowed hard, nodding. “I will.”

Her resolve solidified as she turned back to her work. With shaky hands, she carefully packed the vial of the cure she’d designed specifically for Viktor, enough to last him the next two weeks. She gathered her notes, stacking them neatly into a pile, ensuring they were ready to present to him. Her heart was pounding as she slung her bag over her shoulder and practically bolted out of the lab.

She had to stop herself from outright running to his apartment, though the attempt was futile. Her hurried steps turned into skipping over every other step, her bag clinking faintly with the bottles inside each time she slowed down.

By the time she reached his door, her chest was heaving, her breath short, and her heart felt lodged in her throat. She raised a trembling hand and knocked, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway.

A pause. Silence.

Then, faint footsteps approached, and the door cracked open.

“Renly?” Viktor’s voice was low, almost relieved. He let out a long exhale, as though he’d been holding his breath, as though her knocking on his door was a possibility he hadn’t dared to entertain. His hand rocked slightly on his cane, the hesitation in his posture betraying his uncertainty. For a moment, he seemed torn between pulling her into an embrace or keeping his distance. Finally, he settled on a small beckoning gesture with a tug of his chin.

“Hey, you.” Her voice felt so small, lodged somewhere in her throat. She stepped inside, only to find herself standing awkwardly in the hallway, unsure of what to do with herself.

This same hallway, she realised, was where Viktor would always sweep her into his arms, showering her with kisses whenever they came back to his place together. The absence of that now felt unbearable, a hollow ache settling in her chest.

She glanced at him properly, taking him in. He looked tired—no, beyond tired. Troubled. The crease between his eyebrows was deep and pronounced, etched into his pale features like it had been carved there. The flat itself mirrored his state: slightly messier than she remembered, with cups and scattered notes abandoned on various surfaces. It was a quiet confession that he’d been working endlessly, even here at home.

Renly swallowed hard, forcing herself to look past it all.

For a long, drawn-out moment, neither of them spoke. They just stood there in the dim hallway, their gazes falling to the floor. The silence stretched until it was almost unbearable.

Then, at last, she heard the faint sound of him shifting. And before she could process it, she felt his arms circle around her, pulling her close.

She exhaled shakily, her face tucking into the crook of his neck. He leaned against her fully, his weight pressing into her, his cane now hovering slightly above the floor. His fingers tangled in her hair as though to anchor himself, and she felt his chest expand as he took a long breath, inhaling her scent—a mix of flowers and disinfectant.

In that fragile moment, it felt like he was holding on for dear life.

“You came,” Viktor’s voice was soft, laced with disbelief and relief, as though her presence alone might heal him. He didn’t want to let go. The week had been unbearable. The silence at work was deafening, the emptiness of his flat crushing. Even his coffee tasted too sweet without her there to mock it.

“I... I’ve got something for you,” Renly whispered, shaking her bag gently so the bottles clinked together.

Viktor leaned back, but his arms remained loosely around her, as if afraid she might vanish. His brow furrowed slightly, his expression both tentative and curious. He glanced down at the bag she held out and then peered inside: bottles carefully labelled, a fresh notebook, sterile containers with syringes and needles, bandages, disinfectants, and other small items. He felt his chest tighten—not from his condition, but from the realisation that she hadn’t given up on him.

“Renly, what—” He stopped, unsure how to frame the whirlwind of questions swirling in his mind. What is this? What do you want me to do with it? Why are you doing this after our last fight?

“I’ve worked it out.” Her voice was steady but quiet, as though she feared his reaction. “You’re not going to like it, but this batch should work without a fault. For your breathing,” she added, almost as an afterthought, though it was far from trivial. She bit her lip, her gaze flitting to his face, trying to gauge his response.

Viktor finally let go of her, though reluctantly, and reached into the bag. He pulled out one of the bottles, turning it over in his hands. Each was meticulously labelled with dates, concentrations, and dosages. He glanced at the notebook and saw neat tables with dates and times, spaces for notes, and a carefully outlined regimen.

“Renly,” he began, his voice softer now, almost disbelieving, “did you work around the clock for this?”

“It only took a week,” she replied with a huff, trying to sound casual, but the faint bags under her eyes betrayed her.

Viktor raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by her attempt at nonchalance. “You didn’t sleep, did you?”

“I… might have to show you how to do the injection,” she admitted, deflecting slightly. “We could start today?”

“If I ask what went wrong, will I get a lecture?” he asked, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips despite the weight of the moment.

Renly’s face softened, and a knowing smile broke through. “I come prepared.” She reached into her bag again and produced a folder, thick with notes and diagrams documenting every second of the process. She handed it to him with the air of someone ready to argue every point.

Viktor sighed, setting the bag aside as he moved toward the kettle. “Tea first,” he murmured, as though they weren’t standing on the edge of something monumental.

Renly followed him into the kitchen, her fingers fidgeting nervously as she sat down at the small table. “So…” she began, her voice quieter now, “it would seem that I’ve… well, I’ve fucked up.”

Viktor turned to look at her, his expression unreadable, but he said nothing, letting her continue.

“I didn’t take the state of your immune system into account,” she explained, choosing her words carefully. “It was too strong, which is why…” She paused, exhaling slowly before continuing with clinical precision. “Your batch is crafted based on the samples I collected from you over time. Each one has a different concentration, designed to… coax your immune system into functioning properly, rather than attacking the islet cells.”

Viktor’s brow furrowed slightly, his mind working through her explanation. “What does this mean long term?” His tone was measured, though his chest tightened at the prospect of what she was about to say.

Renly met his gaze, her professionalism steadying her nerves. “It means you’d be dependent on it… indefinitely. But there’s a chance it could minimise your symptoms almost entirely.”

“My symptoms?” Viktor asked, his voice dipping slightly, as if he already knew the answer but needed to hear her say it.

“Your breathing affliction,” she clarified, her voice softer now.

For a long moment, Viktor said nothing. He looked down at the bottle still in his hand, running his thumb over the label. The meticulous care she’d poured into this, the endless hours she’d sacrificed—it all spoke volumes.

“Why?” he finally asked, his voice almost a whisper. “Why are you doing this for me?”

Renly’s lips parted, but no words came immediately. She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table. “Because you deserve better than this.”

Viktor’s gaze lifted to hers, his chest tightening for a different reason now. Longing warred with hesitation in his eyes, but he didn’t dare speak the thought that had lodged itself in his throat: I missed you.

Instead, he walked over to her, leaned in, and kissed her. The angle wasn’t ideal for his spine at the moment, but the sensation of Renly’s lips on his eclipsed any discomfort. At first, she froze, caught off guard, but then she softened into him, slowly rising to stand level with him.

Viktor pulled her flush against him, his hands travelling down to cup her ass as her palms fisted into his shirt. He pushed her gently until she steadied herself against the nearest countertop, breathing into her mouth, “I hated this entire week until now.”

“Viktor, I—” she began, her voice trembling, but she barely managed the words before Viktor captured her lips again in another kiss.

His touch was laced with guilt and remorse, wielded like unspoken words he couldn’t yet form. Every press of his lips, every movement of his hands, was a silent apology—a plea for forgiveness he couldn’t articulate.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting lightly against hers, he whispered his confession. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“I’m sorry I made you feel like… you couldn’t,” Renly replied, her voice soft yet steady. Her eyes searched his face, looking for even a flicker of insincerity, but there was none. His raw vulnerability mirrored her own.

Her gaze shifted briefly to the bag resting on the table, then back to him. “Should we?” she asked quietly, her meaning clear.

Viktor hesitated, reluctant to let the moment shatter. He exhaled slowly, his eyes closing as he nodded.

Renly carried the tea and her bag with her as they moved to the bedroom. She stole glances at the space—messier than she remembered. Viktor had been working, not just in the lab but clearly here too. Sketches of the Hexcore, rune patterns, and scribbled calculations were scattered across the desk and even the nightstand. A faint smell of ink and parchment lingered in the air, mixing with something distinctly him.

She placed the tea on the bedside table, setting her bag down gently on the bed. Viktor eased himself onto the mattress, his posture slightly slouched, his cane set to the side. He looked tired—more so than usual—and she didn’t miss the weight of the week etched across his features.

Renly rummaged through her bag, pulling out the bottle and syringe, the familiarity of the routine grounding her nerves. Her eyes flicked up to him. “May I?” she asked softly, her hands hovering near his belt buckle.

Viktor looked at her for a long moment, his amber eyes holding hers. Then he gave a slow, wordless nod, leaning back slightly to give her access.

Her fingers worked carefully, unbuckling his belt and sliding his trousers down just enough to expose his upper thigh. The act, once clinical, now felt different. Intimate. She couldn’t ignore the quiet vulnerability in the air.

Renly reached for the disinfectant, but before applying it, she leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his thigh. It was tender, unhurried—a gesture she hadn’t planned but couldn’t stop herself from doing. Viktor watched her silently, his expression unreadable, though something in his gaze softened.

She disinfected the skin with slow, deliberate movements, her touch losing the sterility it once held. When she placed the needle in, Viktor didn’t flinch; he simply observed her, his gaze unwavering, as if her presence was more potent than the act itself.

Once the injection was done, Renly set the syringe aside and carefully massaged the area, her fingertips working lightly over his skin. Viktor’s head tipped back at her touch, his body leaning into the sensation. The tension in his posture seemed to melt away.

Renly finished and wiped her hands before sitting beside him. She reached out, tugging a few stray strands of his hair behind his ear. “How are you feeling?” she asked, her voice soft and laced with concern.

Viktor chuckled softly, his lips curling into a faint smile. “Exposed,” he murmured, his voice low and raspy. “But not like a test subject.”

Renly smiled back. “Would you like to be touched some more? Not like a test subject?”

Viktor’s smirk was faint but teasing, and she laughed, quickly correcting herself. “Not like that, you—” But the words faltered as her thoughts betrayed her, the unspoken desire lingering in the air. She swallowed and shifted the conversation. “Is there any pain I can help you with?”

“My back aches,” he admitted after a moment, his fingers tracing gentle patterns along her hand.

Renly nodded, standing from the bed with quiet determination. She disappeared into the bathroom and returned moments later with a small bottle of oil and a warm, clean washcloth. Without a word, she set them down on the bedside table and began to undress him.

Viktor stayed still, watching her with a quiet curiosity as she moved with purpose. His woollen jumper was first to go, tugged gently over his head. The linen shirt followed, her fingers brushing against his collarbone as she unfastened the buttons and slipped it off his shoulders. She folded the discarded clothes neatly and placed them on a nearby chair.

“Do you want me to take the brace off?” she asked softly, her voice carrying no judgment, only care.

Viktor hesitated for the briefest moment before nodding. “Yes, please.”

Renly knelt beside him, her fingers carefully working at the leather straps and metal bolts embedded into his back. She undid each one slowly, her touch reverent, her breaths quiet. The closeness brought their faces near, and she lingered at times, her focus entirely on the intricate task. Viktor didn’t look at her, but he felt her presence acutely—the warmth of her skin, the gentle pull of her fingers.

When the brace was finally removed, Renly placed it carefully at the side of the bed. “I’ll clean it later,” she murmured, almost to herself. For now, Viktor was her only priority.

“Lie on your stomach,” she instructed gently.

He obeyed, shifting with measured movements until he was stretched out on the bed. Renly sat beside him, brushing her fingers lightly against the nape of his neck to sweep his hair aside. Viktor shivered at her touch, a quiet exhale escaping his lips.

She pressed the warm washcloth along the line of his spine, letting the heat relax his tense muscles. Slowly, she worked her way down, the cloth tracing the contours of his ribs and the edges of his shoulders. When she reached the bolts embedded in his back, she paused.

“I’m going to clean around these,” she said softly, taking a small bandage and soaking it in disinfectant.

Viktor only hummed in acknowledgment. When she pressed it against one of the bolts, he winced slightly, the sharpness of the sting making him flinch.

“Sorry,” Renly murmured, her hand instinctively resting on his shoulder blade, a silent apology in her touch.

“How do you do this on your own?” she asked after a moment, her voice heavy with quiet concern.

Viktor shrugged under her hand; his response unbothered yet resigned. “I just do.” He always had. Once, he’d let someone else do it for him—a long time ago. There was even a time he allowed Jayce to try, but Jayce’s hands had been too clumsy, too heavy. Now, he managed the basic maintenance himself, convincing himself it was enough—until now.

Renly’s hands moved with careful purpose, her fingers pressing gently into the base of Viktor’s skull. She started with soft pinches, holding the tension in her grip until the tight muscle beneath her fingers gave way, melting slowly like ice under sunlight. He let out a quiet hum, his breathing deep and steady as if she were unearthing a hidden well of relief.

“Let me know if it’s too much,” she murmured, her voice soft but steady, her focus entirely on him.

“It’s perfect,” Viktor replied, his voice muffled by the pillow beneath him.

Her hands moved lower, finding the stress coiled in his shoulders. She worked it slowly, methodically, using her thumbs to knead the tension loose. Gently, she pulled his shoulders upward, coaxing his chest to open as he released a soft, involuntary cough. The sound was small, almost embarrassed, but Renly smiled to herself, glad to see even the subtlest signs of release.

“You carry too much here,” she said gently, her thumbs pushing into the thick knots of muscle. “No wonder you’re so stiff.”

He huffed a breath, the closest he’d come to a laugh. “The weight of genius,” he muttered, his tone dry but laced with affection.

She pressed her thumbs deeper into the dense muscle, her touch firm but never harsh, and the tension slowly began to unravel. Viktor’s breathing grew softer, more rhythmic. As her hands travelled downward, she began to work along the length of his spine. With practiced care, she rolled the fascia beneath her fingers, gliding up and down the delicate column. She paused when she reached the lumbar region, where the tension was the most stubborn, her fingers pausing to gently probe and soothe.

“Here,” she murmured, taking note of the density. “This is the worst spot.”

Viktor only hummed in response, too relaxed to offer anything more.

Renly shifted her approach, gliding the heels of her palms along the muscles flanking his spine. She moved deliberately, tracing the length of his erector spinae, rolling and stretching the stubborn tension as she worked. The sigh that escaped Viktor was deep and unguarded, a sound of pure relief.

“There we go,” she whispered, her palms continuing their gentle, rhythmic motion. “Better?”

He nodded against the pillow, his voice almost a whisper. “Much better.” It felt... odd. To be touched for a clinical reason, but with love. Viktor found himself wondering if he could settle for his life to be this. If he could accept the momentary relief of her hands on him, the fleeting reprieve from pain. Could he make peace with his leg always being numb, his spine forever twisted? Would the ability to breathe freely be enough to outweigh everything else?

But the answer didn’t come.

Renly poured a small amount of scented oil into her hands, rubbing them together to warm it before smoothing her palms across the plane of his back. The aroma—something light and floral—wafted into the air as her hands moved over him, steady and deliberate. Her touch was soft yet firm, grounding him as much as it soothed him.

She began to hum quietly, the melody unrecognisable but comforting. Viktor let out a soft chuckle, the sound breaking the quiet intimacy of the room.

“What?” Renly asked, her hands pausing briefly before continuing their work.

“Nothing,” Viktor murmured, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. “You hum like an old woman knitting by the fire.”

Renly gasped in mock offence, a grin tugging at the corners of her lips. “I’ll have you know this is a very sophisticated tune.”

“Oh, I can tell,” he replied, his tone teasing but warm. “It’s utterly riveting.”

She pressed her thumbs a little deeper into a particularly tight spot on his back, eliciting a small grunt from him. “Careful,” she warned lightly, “or I might lose my delicate touch.”

Viktor smirked against the pillow, his eyes falling closed as her hands continued their gentle ministrations. “I’ll take my chances.”

Renly shifted her hands under his arm to help him roll onto his side. Viktor grunted softly, his body resisting the change in position, but he let her guide him. Once he was settled, she nestled in front of him, her face close to his.

“Hi,” she said, her voice light but tinged with awkwardness, a small smile playing on her lips.

Viktor raised an eyebrow at her, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk. “Hi yourself,” he replied, his tone soft as his arm wrapped around her, pulling her closer against his chest.

Her hands rested on him instinctively, palms pressed flat against his skin. She began rubbing gentle circles over his chest, her touch soothing. His fingers drifted into her hair, combing through it absentmindedly, his motions slow and tender.

“Have you heard about Zaun?” Viktor asked, his voice breaking the comfortable silence.

Renly’s hands stilled briefly. “Yes,” she murmured, her tone cautious.

Silence stretched between them for a beat, heavy and tentative. She finally broke it, her voice trembling slightly with conviction. “I’ve been thinking... about going in. About helping Ekko.”

Viktor’s fingers stilled in her hair, his body tensing against hers. He shifted slightly, his gaze darkening. “You can’t,” he said simply, the words sharp and final.

“Viktor,” she whispered, leaning back just enough to meet his eyes. “I have something—something that could counter the Grey. If they actually drop it in Zaun, I have to do something. I can’t just stand by.”

His jaw tightened, and his grip on her waist firmed. “I can’t let you,” he said, his voice low but resolute. His mind churned bitterly, painting a narrative he didn’t dare to voice. How could he support her in something like this? Sending her into danger, knowing he couldn’t protect her—knowing what Zaun might become under the chem-barons’ desperation?

She stared at him, her eyes searching his face for a sign of understanding, of compromise, but he offered none. It was just another grain on the delicate scale of his mind. It teetered in the middle, tilting from one side to the other with each emotion that clouded his heart. Could he settle for this, for her safety at the cost of everything else? And yet, surely he couldn’t. If she went, he would have to be stronger, better. If she went, surely he would have to be more than half a man.

He pulled her closer, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “Will you stay?” His words carried layers of unspoken meaning: Will you stay here? Will you stay on the Top Side? Will you stand by me when I make an impossible choice?

Renly didn’t answer with words. She only nodded, her forehead brushing against his chest as she nuzzled into him, her warmth settling against his. Viktor exhaled slowly, his grip on her loosening just enough to rest his palm against the curve of her back.

The silence returned, heavier now, laden with the weight of unspoken fears and half-formed promises. The room seemed to hold its breath with them, the soft rustle of fabric and the faint hum of the city beyond the only sounds.

Eventually, their breathing began to even out, though it still carried an unsteady rhythm, a cadence of unease. Their brows remained furrowed, as if their worries had followed them into this fragile peace. Viktor’s hand brushed against her hair one last time before stilling, and Renly’s fingers idly traced the edge of the bed sheet where it bunched against his ribs.

Sleep came for them slowly, creeping in at the edges of their thoughts, until exhaustion finally overpowered everything left unsaid. They drifted off together, their bodies entwined but their minds restless, painted with doubts they couldn’t voice.

The morning found them clutching each other, and Renly felt as though the crease in her forehead hadn’t relaxed for even a minute during her sleep.

Renly poured them both coffee, the steam rising in the quiet room, mingling with the soft sounds of the morning. They sat close, the warmth between them shared not only through the mugs but in the tender way their fingers brushed against each other, lingering for just a moment too long before pulling away. Words seemed unnecessary as they both sipped in silence, the weight of the night still pressed onto their bodies, a quiet understanding passing between them without needing to be said aloud. Viktor reached for her hand across the table, his thumb brushing over her knuckles, a silent gesture of comfort and connection. But neither of them could completely shake the tension, the uncertainty nagging them like a splinter.

When the time came to part, they stood together, neither rushing to break the moment. Viktor’s hand found the small of her back as they exchanged one final, lingering kiss on the doorstep. “See you later at work,” he murmured, his voice thick with more than just the words. She nodded, her lips pressing into a tight smile. “Later,” she replied softly, her own heart heavy with the same unspoken thoughts. As she stepped away, the door clicking shut behind her, they both walked off in opposite directions, the promise of ‘later’ hanging in the air. But they knew, deep down, they would work through their struggles separately—for now, anyway. The heaviness in their chests weighed them down, both carrying the quiet burden of what was yet to come.

***

After a short routine back in her apartment, Renly made her way to the lab, her mind still clouded with uncertainty. She hoped she might find something—anything—that would help her make sense of it all. Inside, she found Jayce hunched over, deeply focused on the Hexcore runes scattered before him. His brows were furrowed, and a fine sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead.

"Any news?" she asked, her voice laced with quiet concern.

Jayce let out a sharp sigh, pushing a few strands of hair out of his eyes. "The council is steering clear. For now."

"But?" Renly pressed, already sensing the tension in his words.

"The Grey plan is still on the table," Jayce continued, his eyes darkening. "And... now we have Heimerdinger against us."

"What do you mean, against us?" Renly asked, stepping closer to him.

Jayce gestured toward the Hexcore. "He... thinks we should destroy it. He doesn’t believe it’s safe. I really don’t understand—if this could save Viktor, save other people—how he can’t see that."

Renly folded her arms, feeling the weight of her own thoughts pressing down on her chest. "What if he’s right?" she asked quietly.

Jayce scoffed, but there was an edge to his voice. "What do you mean? You can’t seriously be suggesting that Heimerdinger is right. It could change everything. It could save Viktor!"

"Jayce," she interrupted softly, "please listen. He’s seen so much more than we have. He has what? Over two centuries on us? More? Did you ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe, when he says he’s already seen this... he means it?"

Jayce’s expression faltered, but he quickly recovered. "I... How is Viktor?" he asked, his voice quieter now.

Renly hesitated, her gaze drifting to the floor. "He accepted the cure," she said, her words heavy. "But... his mind is still stirring. I can tell."

Jayce frowned. "Well, what if Heimerdinger is wrong? What if it’s the only way?"

"What if he’s right?" Renly snapped, her frustration bubbling up. "What if he dies? What if it changes him? Is that a price you’re willing to pay just to prove a point?"

"Renly," Jayce said, his voice rising with urgency, "I’m not trying to prove anything. I’m trying to save my friend."

Renly took a step back, her breath shallow. "He can live, Jayce," she said quietly. "Comfortably. A long life. Loved and accepted. Isn’t that enough?"

Jayce stared at her, struggling to reconcile the weight of her words. "How can you know he’ll be comfortable? How can you know it will change him?"

"How can you know it won’t?" Renly’s voice cracked with raw emotion. "Jayce, I’m not asking you to throw away your work. I’m asking you to measure the risk. This isn’t just a procedure you can redo if it goes wrong. If you go through with it, you live with the consequences. And I’m not sure if I—" her voice got lost in her throat, the bitter feeling on her tongue burning her mouth.

"What are you saying, Renly?" Jayce interrupted, his expression softening in concern.

Renly’s chest tightened, her words stumbling over each other as the reality of what she was facing hit her like a wave. She struggled to keep her composure, but the dam broke. "I don’t know, Jayce..." Her voice quivered, and before she knew it, she was breaking down, her body wracked with sobs. "I can’t... I can’t just stand by, and watch Viktor destroy himself, not now, not ever." Her breath hitched as the panic overtook her, her chest tight and her vision blurring with tears.

She felt like screaming, but the scream died somewhere inside her.

Jayce was instantly beside her, his hands hovering around her as he tried to comfort her. "Renly, hey, hey, it’s okay," he said, his voice calm but insistent. "Tell me what to do. What do you need from me?"

Renly managed to lift her trembling hands toward him, clutching onto his shirt as she tried to steady herself. "Okay... okay, I have to..." She gasped, forcing herself to breathe through the tears. "Breathe, Renly. You have to breathe."

"Okay, okay," Jayce said, his voice soft but steady. "Breathe, Renly. I’m here. You’re not alone in this." He stayed with her, letting her take the time she needed to regain control, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of her emotions.

As her breathing slowed, Renly wiped her eyes, her face flushed with the intensity of her breakdown. "I can’t just let him do this, Jayce. I can’t stand by and watch him think that he’s doing this for me. I’ve never told him that he doesn’t need to. He’s perfect the way he is, and I’ve never told him that. And now... I think he believes he has to change for me."

“Renly, he is in pain,” Jayce said softly, holding her in his arms, her body folded against his chest. Even though his argument was intact, he wasn’t sure he believed it himself. He missed something, something important in all of this.

"So what!" she snapped, her voice raw and childish in its frustration. "There are ways, Jayce, to ease the pain." Her voice grew weak as she held onto Jayce’s hands, almost crushing his large palms in her grasp. "Have you ever told him? That you love him, that he’s perfect the way he is?"

Jayce hesitated, his throat tightening. "I... I don’t know," he admitted, guilt creeping in.

"I would give him my own leg if it changed anything," Renly whispered, tears brimming again. "But it won’t. As long as he believes there’s something wrong with him, it won’t change a thing. And he will die searching, and I..." Her voice faltered, choking on the enormity of her guilt. I will forever be guilty of this. I will forever be alone in the world without him.

"Ren," Jayce started, his voice softening, trying to soothe her, but before he could continue—

“What is this?” Viktor’s voice sliced through the tension in the room. He stood in the doorway to the lab, his expression tight and unreadable.

"Viktor," Renly gasped, her hands still clutching onto Jayce’s.

“What is this?” He repeated, his tone turning sharper, more demanding.

“Vik, we’re just talking,” Jayce said quickly, his words laced with a hint of nervousness.

"Really?" Viktor’s voice grew colder, sharper still. "Or are you debating what my life should or shouldn’t be, without me being present?" He took a step into the room, his gaze flickering between Jayce and Renly, a storm brewing behind his eyes.

Renly's heart pounded in her chest, and she felt the weight of everything hanging in the balance, unsure how to bridge the gap between her words and the truth they all needed to face. “Viktor, please—”

“I am not a child. Nor do I need to be guided and guarded. Nor do I need other people to tell me what to do with my life,” he said quietly, his eyes glinting in the dark. Anger tore him apart. Anger at her, at Jayce, at himself. Surely, if Renly was allowed to make her own decisions, he should be granted the same right.

“Vik,” Jayce started but was quickly cut off.

“I will ask politely for the both of you to leave,” Viktor’s voice was cold and final, the words biting as they left his mouth.

“Viktor, you can’t be serious,” Jayce pushed back, disbelief edging his voice.

Renly only looked at him, her eyes welling with tears again, her heart sinking with every second that passed. She couldn’t say the words she wanted to. She couldn’t explain why it hurt so much, why it felt like the world was collapsing in on them.

Viktor turned toward her as she stood to leave. “I will see you later.”

She nodded, her lips trembling, but she couldn’t bring herself to say anything more. She simply turned away, the sound of Jayce’s scoff echoing in the space between them, followed by the loud thump of the door closing behind them.

Viktor stood still for a moment, his chest tight, and then a long, shaky sigh escaped his lungs. His eyes burned uncontrollably as the weight of his thoughts was pushing him down into the floor. He had measured everything, except for this. Except for Jayce’s anger toward him, except for Renly’s unspoken plea for him to listen. He had to. He had to try before it’s too late. Before Heimerdinger got his hands on the Hexcore and destroyed it. Before the Council turned it into a weapon. Before both he and his work went to dust.

A cruel joke. Finally, he was alone—with his own thoughts. The two things he had desired most, polar opposites of each other. Yet here they were, colliding in the same breath. He had to try, though.

Viktor walked to the centre of the lab; his steps measured but purposeful. He circled the Hexcore, observing it as if searching for any lingering hesitation within himself. There was none. It was so faint, so weak, and he was so ready. All the time he’d spent on this, all the sacrifices, the sleepless nights—it was all finally coming to an end.

Himself, born anew, was within arm’s length.

He sat down, his hand trembling slightly as he ran his fingers along its surface. The energy it emitted tugged at him, magnetic and undeniable. Tentative, almost reverent, his touch felt like brushing against something on the edge of existence—a fleeting spectre of both promise and peril.

Viktor’s hand trembled as it hovered above the Hexcore, a moth courting the flame. The air around it shimmered, thick and pulsating, as though it were alive and watching him in return. For a fleeting moment, his rational mind begged him to stop, to turn away, but the promise of what lay within drowned out reason like a tidal wave. He closed his eyes, steeling himself, and reached into the shifting glow.

The moment his fingers made contact; reality fractured.

It wasn’t pain, not at first. It was an unravelling, as though the fabric of his being was torn apart strand by strand. Threads of thought and self—unravelled in every direction, carried away by currents of something ancient and unrelenting. He saw visions—no, not visions, but glimpses of a thousand possibilities. Each one glimmered like a jewel, just out of reach. He could be whole. He could be more than he was. He could rewrite his limits, ascend beyond the constraints of flesh and frailty.

But every shimmering possibility came with a price. In the periphery of his fractured consciousness, he saw shadows, dark tendrils coiling around the edges of the light. They whispered to him in languages he didn’t know but somehow understood, showing him the cost. His humanity. His mind. His soul. The weight of it all crushed him, bearing down on him like the pressure of the ocean’s deepest trench.

Then the pain struck—blinding, searing, like molten metal coursing through his veins. It was excruciating, a fire that consumed not just his body but his very essence. His mind cracked under the strain, splintering into pieces as the Hexcore took its toll. Somewhere in the chaos, he realised the truth: he couldn’t pay the price. He wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t willing enough.

With a desperate, guttural cry, Viktor wrenched himself free, breaking the connection. He collapsed to the floor in a heap, his body shaking violently as he gasped for air. His vision swam with purples and blacks, the remnants of whatever the Hexcore had done to him. His limbs felt leaden, his chest tight, but as his eyes adjusted, he saw it—a glowing, fluorescent purple vein snaking its way through his leg, vivid and alive.

Terror seized him.

He stared at the vein, his mind racing with the implications of what he had just done. The Hexcore had marked him, changed him in some way he couldn’t yet understand. He curled up on the cold lab floor, trembling, his arms clutching his knees as he tried to slow his ragged breathing.

The price had been too high. And yet, he had paid part of it.

Fear coiled tightly around his chest, sinking its teeth into his heart. For the first time in his life, Viktor wasn’t sure if he had the strength to face what came next.

[sixshotsinatumbllr]

Angels Don't Dance Chapter Seven: We Just Don't Do Goat Miracles Anymore, is up!

Read from the first chapter here.

Content Warning for the continual effects of drug use in this chapter. No one is harmed by the drug use (except perhaps Crowley's dignity and sense of sanity).

Summary: Crowley is assigned to attend a Bush Doof (underground EDM festival) in Australia. Aziraphale tags along for funsies. In this chapter, Crowley continues to suffer the consequences of his own actions (ie inviting the world's most hedonistic angel to an outdoor rave). A new threat emerges.

Excerpt:

Crowley stretches, glad to be back in their tent again, because out there was hard fucking work and no doubt about it; babysitting a stoned Angel is far harder than it sounds. He flips on the fans, and turns to get Aziraphale comfy in his armchair, miracle him up a cocoa, and puts a lock on the tent door so he doesn’t need to worry about the Angel going missing again, whilst Crowley gets some sleep.

But when he turns around, he finds that Aziraphale has collapsed onto Crowley’s bed. He has splayed himself across the whole thing, and is humming softly to himself.

‘Angel.’

‘Mmmm?’

‘What are you doing?’

‘Going to sleep now. M’awfully tired.’

‘You don’t sleep.’

‘Yes, that’s been quite an oversight over the years, hasn’t it. I’d quite like to try it now.’

‘In my bed.’

‘Yes. Well, I didn’t make one for myself. I don’t sleep.’

‘I can…miracle you one up?’

‘This one will do fine, I think,’ replies Aziraphale, who is rubbing his cheek on the silk pillowslip. ‘It’s awfully comfortable.’ He yawns.

‘But, I wanted to sleep,’ Crowley replies, and he cringes at the whine in his voice.

‘Oh. Oh right.’ Aziraphale sits up, shifts to the side a bit, and lays back down. There’s approximately a thirty centimetre strip on the side of the bed clear now.

‘There you go.’

‘Um.’

---

Big thanks as always to my partner @zaizai734 for beta work; and to my crew at @whickberstreetwriters for support and cheerleading, especially @sakascal, @rofell, @playdohangel, and @angie-words who betaed this chapter.

In the next chapter: Crowley and Aziraphale do what they can to evade their bosses and continue their weekend. Lord Dagon discovers festival fashion. Three illustrations planned for this chapter!

[egrets-not-regrets]

Garbage Breath (2)

Author’s Note: I couldn’t stay being so mean to Kalium.

“No more eating garbage.”

Tagged: @shadowfirecat , @kit-williams , @bleedingichorhearts , @barn-anon , @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@sleepyfan-blog , @bispecsual , @c-u-c-koo-4-40k , @ms--lobotomy

@gra93fruit-blog , @i-am-a-dragon34 , @felinisnoctis, @thevoidscreams, @yurihasurunbara

**********************************************

Kalium restlessly waited for Kiri’s heartbeat to slow. Luckily, it didn’t take long before Kiri eased into slumber, her breathing steady as she slept. The Iron Warrior immediately snuck into Kona’s room, finally relaxing upon seeing his bonded child sleeping peacefully with no signs of discomfort or illness in sight. He technically was banned by Kiri from snuggling his bonded to give her daughter time to recover from the bout of food poisoning. Not that it made a huge difference, the work and training he had at the base kept him away from home for a few days.

Kalium quietly sat down next to Kona’s bed. He pulled up the fallen blanket to cover her again so she could keep warm. Baseline children were so absurdly fragile after all. Kalium frowned, remembering Osteron’s loud scolding about his carelessness. He should’ve known better. What if he accidentally allowed his beloved little bonded to be corrupted by Nurgle? What if she died from this? He stroked his child’s head. Thank goodness it was just a bout of food poisoning which was thankfully treated quickly. He will be careful next time and not be so quick to indulge her curiosity.

“Kalium?” A small hand squeezed his finger.

He looked down and smiled slightly, “I am here.”

Kona’s smile grew wide and she took a breath, about to call his name in excitement. The Iron Warrior quickly put a finger to his lips and hushed her, “Your mother is sleeping.”

A whoosh of air blew out as she exhaled her oncoming shout. Instead Kona quietly whisper-shouted, “Kalium!” and stretched out her arms for a hug.

Kalium grinned and pulled her onto his chest. Hugs. Those he could never deny his bonded.

“I missed you, Kalium.” Kona mumbled, snuggling into his embrace.

His expression softened as he gently patted her back, “Same here, Little Bird.”

“I’m sorry, Little Bird.” he added remorsefully.

His little bonded looked up at him, squinting her eyes. She then patted his chest in an attempt to comfort him, saying, “I feel better now. Mama said eating garbage made me sick. So no more garbage.”

Kona was so quick to forgive, Kalium thought. He chuckled at her childish attempt to comfort him and agreed, “No more eating garbage.”

Content, Kona was quick to fall asleep again while listening to the beating of his hearts. Holding her, the Iron Warrior got up and rearranged the pillows and blankets, then laid down on her bed. He pulled a small blanket to cover his sleeping child before putting hand over her, securing Kona to himself again. Kalium watched his bonded sleep peacefully for a while then drifted to sleep.

[fastcardotmp3]

🩵snippet sunday🩵

I was tagged by @stevethehairington to do the wip titles game, but i'm only actively working on one thing right now, so you get a snippet instead! (and hey, if you wanna talk to/ ask me about it that is still always more than welcome mwah) here's a little something from a future part of (all my friends) <3

Check in?

Eddie Diaz texts like he’s writing an old school telegram, like he’s only allowed a certain number of characters before he has to start paying extra. Like he’s leaving handwritten notes in the margins of his daybook rather than trying to have a conversation. 

There’s a chance it comes from a military background thing, but Miles wrote letters when he was overseas that would have put Shakespeare to shame, so Buck thinks it’s more just an Eddie thing. Any time Buck has teased him for it he gets all flushed and indignant about that’s the point of texting! If we were going to talk in full sentences, why wouldn’t I just call you? 

So. Check in? like a request spoken aloud from a little card is what he gets today. 

Buck looks at the single message at the top of a collection of others he cares less to answer right now and snorts. 

Plane didn’t crash if that’s what you’re asking, he types back. Taking a break before dinner now. Mom is cooking🤢🤮

Buck rests his phone face down in the center of his chest after the messages send, stares up at his ceiling and furrows up his brow at the faded outline of where he once hung posters above his bed. He wonders if they’re going to need to repaint to get a proper offer on the house. He wonders who will live in this room next. He wonders if there will ever be another little boy trying to find the exact right path from roof to tree to ground to sneak out and sneak back in again in the middle of the night. He wonders if he should leave a how-to guide hidden somewhere in the room.

He wonders a lot of things. And then his phone buzzes. 

Call? 

It’s a little bit like having a conversation with Frankenstein’s monster. Buck likes to send him paragraphs of text sometimes, just to imagine the smoke coming out of his ears in the maximum five minutes it takes for Eddie to give up and just call him instead. 

Sometimes, Buck likes to do this too:

--- -.- / ... --- .-.. -.. .. . .-.

tagging with zero pressure and one billion love (for either tag game!): @judasofsuburbia @fragilecapric0rnn @figthefruitfaeth @snowangeldotmp3 @cheatghost @butchhorse @kkpwnall @lookforanewangle

[yourgoldendeer]

Jeez girl I regret looking up the arsenal fc tag cause I ended up on your bullshit again.

> "haaland told y'all to act humble and clearly y'all haven't won shit so you are worse than us, act humble"

First of all, you make the critical error of forgetting WHO haaland said that to. Mikel Arteta. Let's leave the opposition manager dynamic out for now and remember that Mikel, for 2 years, was basically pep's apprentice at City. Haaland somehow having the gall to insult a man who worked with him, with his team and with his manager for 2 years on live TV is a pretty heinous act in and of itself. Let's also look at the context of the match, where, after a dubious red card (if you want to argue it's not dubious kindly don't, szboszlai committed the same "offense" a week later with no foul, and after wolves v arsenal I don't think you wanna argue that PGMOL is an impartial body if you want to come off as having any common sense), arsenal had to revert back to Mourinho tactics and somehow a team that had previously never done anything of the sort, managed to hold up a low block that took city 5 full minutes of extra time to break through. The same city (only major injury at the time was rodri) who got all your shiny trophies.

Secondly, yes, this team has not won anything. Why is that? Inexperience. On both the players and the manager, and this is something everyone in the arsenal sphere knows. And yet, we've come close. Closer than any other team to Manchester City, despite not having the finances, officiating bias (as shown in above para, michael oliver, but he is merely one of many many examples), or experience. I know to gloryhunters like most city fans the point of coming second is lost, but ask anyone who actually cares about football: SAF and Wenger was the greatest rivalry in the prems, despite the former completely outshining the latter. And yet, not for a single season, untill the last match did man u or arsenal fans mock each other (aside from the typical banter one expects from what had basically developed into a derby).

> "still not winning the league"

Man City away, liverpool at home, both Brighton games, wolves away. Do I need to give more examples of arsenal getting bent over by the PGMOL untill that fact goes through your thick head? On top of that, injuries. The only other clubs with injuries as bad as ours are spurs and city, and everyone can see they're both shells of their usual selves. Add to the mix the fact that edu gaspar left in the middle of the season and the board refused to replace him even with the oncoming January window.

As for your wonderful advice, don't you worry ma'am we've done that already. For 10 years. For a whole decade we have endured abuse and laughter, to our club, players and 2 extremely talented ex-managers (not to mention the arteta out crowd who must suffer from severe delusions). And yet, here we are. We keep our heads up, despite losses, despite injuries, despite being the refs' guinea pigs for what can fly under mainstream media. However, perhaps it is time for city fans to apply this advice too? Yesterday your manager set up some of the worst tactical decisions of his career, such as benching khusanov and playing marmoush out of his preferred position, and after an 18 year old LB scored against his side, visibly tried his best not to break down in tears. Haaland, despite scoring a goal, seemingly forgot how to make runs (and it's not me saying this: it's thierry henry, and before you argue he's stupid cause he's an ex-arsenal player, do remember he also played under pep's barcelona). Eras end, and pep has without a doubt begun to lose his grip in the game. But I'm no City fan, and I respect the man, so I hope you lot won't turn on him when he stops putting in the numbers.

This is already a very long post, and I'm sure you will use it to fuel your "arsenal fans are sensitive" headcanon, but for those impartial readers who stumble upon this, let me clarify, arsenal are not against banter. Viera and Keane physically held themselves back from killing each other. SAF and Mourinho literally had fistfights with Wenger, but it comes down to respect. No matter how much SAF cussed out Wenger, he hugged him at his farewell. Mourinho still refuses to agree with the man and yet never raises his voice against him. Had haaland not thrown a ball at Gabriel, not tried to throw his weight around on an 18 year old, not pretended like arteta's some lowlife, we would not have had this reaction.

im going to explain this like someone would explain it to a little kid bc some arsenal fans are very dumb wont say another word for it bc they are also very uh sensitive...?

haaland told your players to stay humble because they act and celebrate as if they have won a treble or a ucl or a prem (yk all the trophies city has won) so he said it for you guys to chill out and know your place. Now, the team and the whole fanbase got super offended even though everyone knew what haaland meant and he is right. However, the fanbase and your team have proven his point countless times throughout the season....and you just don't get it. This match probably means to you exactly what it meant to city to complete the treble or 4 in a row. We are not on the same level. That is just a literal fact.

now are city having a bad season...100% that is also a fact. However, even though we are having a bad season does this mean haalands point is not true? no. it is true. the past 2-3 years your whole arguement has been "well how can we compete with them" we've been shit. and your still not winning the league HAHAHA. so my advice to you arsenal people is to look on the inside and just maybe come to the conclusion you guys think youre the shit when you are simply not...?

[jessi--ac]

Buck was a little lost, a little tipsy, searching for Hen and Karen that went outside The Abbey just 10 minutes before midnight to ring in the new year. They did told him to just wait inside, but he saw Lucy Donato making out with a girl and just had to search for them to talk about the sheer coincidence. He was regretting his choices because the commotion outside was making his head pulsate and his vision blur a little with the way he was looking left and right for his friends. And also the pesky mask he was wearing gave him the impression he was melting a little under it. Not a great time for him, overall, perhaps.

Just as he dodged a group of people screaming and hugging because apparently it was already midnight, he collided with a solid wall of muscles and almost fell on his ass if not for the hands that grabbed him by the hips, bringing him very close to a pair of nice pecs, that he couldn't help but put both his hands over. As his eyes travelled from the pecs, to the man's neck and to his masked face, the first thing he noted was the cleft on the stranger's chin. Being a little tipsy and a lot on his own head, he swayed a little, getting up close and personal with the stranger's jaw, brushing his lips against stubble, until his lips were on the side of the man's lips. He sniffed a little, a familiar smell entering his nostrils and going straight to his lower abdomen, giving him a little swoop, like butterflies going crazy inside of him. Before he could think better of it, he whispered "Happy new year, daddy" and gave the stranger a little peck on the lips, just as the hands on his hips pressed, making his groin brush against the other man's pelvis.

Just as fast as things progressed, they let each other go and Buck was already moving past the stranger when he felt a hand envelope his wrist and lips brush against his ear.

"Do you need help with something, Evan?"

[evercelle]

2024 art summary! it sure has been a year

[lizardkingeliot]

"Who makes me laugh the most? Uh, Jacob."