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enwoso · 24 days

Note

not sure what your plans or chronologically for the grumpy universe

but could you write something where tiny is a teenager and she’s going through a rebellious phase. out late, parties, that sort of vibe

TEENAGE TERRORS — alessia russo x teen!reader

buckle up she’s a long one! i didn’t really know how i was going to end this so the ending is a little iffy but ENJOY!

lil psa, not wanting to disappoint anyone but this is probably one of the only ones i’ll write with lovie as a teen just as its a little bit more difficult to get the dynamics right. i’m sorry, i still love you all🤍

grumpy masterlist

you were now sixteen, however you were still your mums little girl.

your mum had since retired from football and had moved into working still within the football scene: part time football pundit for the international matches but still giving back to the local clubs making sure that girls sports was supported in a way they should be.

since you were now able to look after yourself, your mum was rarely around during the week. always being out the house sometimes before you even woke up having to be somewhere for a meeting.

but it worked out well as you would be at school, and then after that she would pick you up from school and drive you to football training and sit and watch you flourish in a sport that had quite literally been your entire life.

you still lived in london, but you had moved slightly further from central london from the first home you lived in when you moved to london all those moons ago. still going to all of arsenal's home games at the emirates both men's and women's.

hoping one day that would be you, you on the field playing for your club.

your mum still very much good friends with her teammates she used to play with, most coming around on a weekend to visit when they had the time. but most importantly, ella was around at every chance she could.

you could have sworn at one point she had moved in for a little bit while her boyfriend had been away on a work trip, alessia sometimes wondering when ella was around if she had one child or two.

alessia had a lot of trust in you, she didn't think she had to worry about you being lead down the wrong path.

you were naturally quite clever, your grades in school were very good, your teachers would never really have a bad word to say about you, maybe the fact you were a little chatty in the wrong moments, and you had a good group of friends which alessia had met and there impression to her was good.

but you also had a strong head on your shoulders. you weren't the type to let others tell you what to do.

but with that you were a teenager and your mum should've maybe been a little more tentative in what you did with your spare time.

it was easy to slip things past your mum as for one she wasn't exactly the hardest to convince — something you more often than you would like to admit used to your full advantage.

which is why when you started coming home late, being out every weekend at someone else's house for party's your mum didn't exactly pick up on anything. your mum just thought you were having fun, she trusted you that you knew what was sensible and what wasn't.

but maybe the trust each time you were late home, or came home smelling of alcohol was being stretched further and further like a rubber band to the point where it could break at any point.

which is what lead to the weekend, you were off to another party.

"mum! i'm going out now, i'll see you later" you called out from the hallway as you touched up your hair in the large floor mirror that hung in the hallway.

your mum sat in the living room watching a series on the large tv that took up a large part of the wall, a small glass of white wine in her hand as a small way for the blonde to unwind after a busy week.

"wait, lovie. c'mere!" your mum called out quickly at the sound of the door keys being rattled around. you huffing slightly at you checked the time on your phone before poking your head into the living room.

your mum turning so that she could see you a sad look adorning on your mothers face, "you never said you were going out? i thought you were staying in, we were gonna do a movie night remember?"

you eyebrows knitted together with confusion, ok you may have forgotten to tell your mum your weekend plans but you couldn't just cancel your plans with your friends now, it was too late.

"i- uh. i did i told you in the car on the way back from training on wednesday!" you lied, you were now getting a little impatient as your mum hummed, she still not really remembering if you had or not a lot having happened since wednesday night.

"we can have our movie night another time, i really need to go now. i'll be back later mum" you spoke fast and your mum could sense the urgency that you had to leave.

"right, what time will you be back?" your mum asked, as you thought for a moment not wanting to say to early but also not too late that your mum would complain.

"about eleven maybe" you shrugged, the maybe coming out a little quieter, more of a whisper.

"ok lovie, but no drinking please you have an important match tomorrow, have fun but be-"

"-sensible i know mum! bye i love you" were the last words spoken to your mum as you dashed out the room and the front door before alessia even had a chance to blink.

you managed to make it to the party just on time, it happened to only be a few blocks from your house but you as always you underestimate the time it's going to take for you to get ready.

you got to the party, there being a lot more people than you expected. it taking you a little while longer to locate your friends over the booming noise of the music and the amoung of people inside the house.

but luckily you were able to find your friends, your four friends englufing you in a tight squeeze as they fiilled you in with what you had missed since arriving late.

you loved your friends, you would do anything for them and they had been there since pretty much the beginning and the five of you were pretty much inseparble.

there was emilia who was definetly the most outspoken out the four of you, you not too far second in that race, she would say anything and everything on her mind. but like every teenage girl she had two sides to her lovely and like butter wouldnt melt on the outside but deep inside her she was a total bitch.

there was olivia, she was emilia's ride or die, the two of them knowing each other since preschool and one thing about olivia is she would do anything for emilia even if meant she or others would get hurt in the process.

then there was isabella or bella as everyone called her, she was the newest addition to the friend group havign just transfered schools, but she was too nice for her own good meaning she was a little naive to her surroundings and some peoples meaning.

and finally your best friend poppy, the girl you trusted with your entire life - quite literally. the two of you had been joined to the hip since your first day at school, clicking instantly. you considered the girl as a sister. alessia always thinking you and poppy reminded her a lot of her and ella when they were younger.

once you had caught up with your friends the night went on you were just enjoying socialising, you always up for meeting new people although it was a little hard in a dimly lit room and blaring music over the top.

"what you drinking tonight then russo?" emilia asked you with a dopey smile, a red solo cup in her hand as she slouched next to you on the couch. you were most definitely the only one there that was still sober.

"just sprite" you shrugged, holding you cup up as emilia let out a little laugh.

"why you being boring russo, just have a drink let your hair down" emilia giggled as she began to sway slightly from side to side with the music but she definitely wasn't in time with the beat like she thought she was.

you shook your head, "i can't, i have a match in the morning and i promised my mum-"

"oh why are you so bothered about all that stupid football jazz. your never gonna make it pro, you would have already! just face it your never gonna be the big name your mum was!" emilia slurred so casually, the words just rolling off her tongue like she was just repeating words she had rehearsed for days.

emilia was off squealing at some boy as she dragged him to dance with her all before you could even process what she'd said. your body just slumping into its self.

"you okay?" a voice said over the beat of the loud music which felt even louder now, your ears ringing. you looked up, your eyes slightly watered as you nodded. it was just poppy.

"yep” you popped your lip looking at the floor before turning to look at your best friend, “can you get me a drink?" you looked up hopeful, as poppy looked at you with knitted eyebrows, confusion filled her face. you didn’t drink.

"what? another sprite?" she asked as you quickly shook your head, "no, something else, vodka? anything. just make it strong?"

"are you sure your okay?" poppy asked again, it was unusual for you to drink never mind ask for a strong drink. your best friend beginning to be slightly worried about the sudden change in your behaviour as you sighed frustratedly.

"yes! just get me the fucking drink poppy!" you snapped as poppy quickly left her red solo cup next to you, mumbling she would be a few minutes.

and to your luck, she was back a few minutes later a red solo cup in her hand, handing it to you. a clear liquid in the cup as you peered into the cup.

"it's straight vod-"

you didn't bother listening to what poppy had to say, instead chugging the vodka. the feeling of the burning down your throat, the same feeling hitting your stomach as when emilia said those words to you.

but right now you wanted to forget that, forget everything, you wanted your mind to be clear, just like the colour of the liquid your just downed.

you felt your head begin to get lighter with each drink you had, before you were starting to not even be able to walk straight never mind put a sentence together.

the night just flushing into a blur, as for the first time you felt free. like nothing mattered. nobody knew your name or used you for your last name. you were just y/n.

lovie🩷 -> hey alessia, it's poppy, y/n's in quite a state and she was about to start walking home by herself but i don't think that's a good idea so my mum is going to drop her home when she picks me up.

mumma🤍 -> hi poppy, is she okay? did something happen?

lovie🩷 -> she's conscious but i don't think she knows what's going on, she had quite a few drinks. i'm not sure what happened one minute she was smiling the next she had a face like thunder.

mumma🤍 -> not to worry poppy, i'll talk to her in the morning. thank you for looking out for her.

"lovie?" alessia looked in shock horror at the state you were in, slightly embarrassed as she looked up thanking poppy as well as flashing a thankful smile towards her mum who was behind the driving wheel and had so kindly brought you home.

“sorry she’s in such a state, i did try and get her to slow down after the first one but she just ignored me” poppy apologised with a wince as alessia nodded with a sigh, your stubborn side which you definitely didn’t get from the blonde.

“it’s okay, i’m not angry. just a little disappointed but thank you for looking out for y/n, your a good friend to her — even when sometimes she may not deserve it” alessia slightly laughed at the little bit knowing poppy had put up with you since your first day of school and knowing you can be difficult at time especially with the strong head on your shoulder.

alessia said her goodbyes to poppy again waving to her mum as she drove down the street, turning to you with a sigh as you leant against your mum and the doorframe.

“c’mon then lovie” alessia began to move you away from the doorway as you held a dopey smile on your face. rambling out some words that alessia was convinced were not english.

"hey, only my mum calls me that-" you slurred out quietly as your eyes began to shut. a big sigh coming from alessia as she called out to ella who was in the living room.

"woah- where has she been?" ella winced as she took in your form as you were slumped up against your mum, alessia shrugging.

"i need to get her to eat something, and a bottle of water" alessia told ella as she nodded in agreement helping alessia get you into the living room at least.

you were carried to the living room by both your mum and ella, the two placing you down as you sighed contently at the feeling of the soft lounge. your body drifting in and out of sleep as each minute passed.

“i’m just gonna make her a sandwich” alessia whispered as ella nodded, staying sat beside you. “yeah i’ll stay here”

a small giggle came from you out of nowhere as you head drooped to one side of the head rest on the couch, “you sound just like my auntie ella, she has a proper thick manchester accent”

ella just sat and listened as you continued your slurred ramble, a smile creeping in her face as you spoke about ella and your mum. clearly not being with it enough to know that’s currently who you’re in a room with.

“she’s pretty cool, she was an awesome footballer too. just like my mum” a sad lopsided smile crept on your face as tears slightly built in your eyes. an eyebrow rising at your words from the brunette sat beside you as she hummed.

“my mum was an amazing footballer, my dream is always to be even half the player she is-“ a sniffle came from you as if you were about to start crying, ella patting your shoulder.

“i’m sure you’ll carry on her legacy” ella smiled at you, but as you were squinting to see if you could recognise who your were talking to but you couldn’t really make out the facial features. it all just being blurs of colours.

a yelp came from you as you screwed your eyes shut, startling ella a little as she looked at you with panic in her eyes, “oh my god, my mum gonna be so annoyed at me” you covered your face with your hands.

at this point alessia was coming back into the room, a bottle of ice cold water and your favourite type of sandwich made in her hand. the blonde about to open her mouth to say something but ella waved at her not to say anything to allow you the chance to carry on your drunken confession.

“but, the drinks just looked too good and it helped i forgot about what she said” you mumbled as you carried on talking with your hands over your face. ella and alessia looking at each other with blank faces trying to figure out what you were saying.

“i felt free like i was floating on fluffy clouds- oh is this sandwich for me?” you spotted the food on the plate on the coffee table out the corner of you eye.

“yeah eat it lovie, and there’s some water there too” alessia pointed as you hummed tucking into the sandwich still not aware of your surroundings and the fact you were in your living room at home.

alessia tapping ella on the shoulder and letting the brunette know that she was gonna get your bed ready and get you some pjs out so you could change. ella just waved the blonde off letting her do her thing of what she needed to do.

after around an hour later and the two finally got you to bed, after a few little mishaps like you tripping up the stairs and you falling asleep with your toothbrush in your mouth as you brushed your teeth in the bathroom.

but finally the two had gotten you into bed and safely asleep, alessia’s head spinning. why had you gone out and got basically black out drunk, the night before an important match. there had to be a reason. this wasn’t like you.

"oh god" alessia let out a shaky breath as she lent over the kitchen counter her head in her hands. mum guilt washing over her.

"she'll be fine less, she's a teenager. this is what they do. we were once like that too-" ella tried to help comfort her best friend with a light hearted joke towards their past of them being teenagers. it not being too dissimilar.

"yeah but tooney, this isn't the first time this has happened." alessia sighed looking up at the brunette who was stood in the dimly lit kitchen.

"this is becoming every weekend and i thought maybe when she came back late smelling of alcohol the first time, it would be the last but it's happened nearly every single time since" alessia explained as tooney's face turned into a small frown, she didn't realise that wasn't the first time.

"i thought i could trust her, ella" alessia whispered, ella knew the blonde was being serious that's the only time alessia would call her best friend by her proper name. a worried look was etched across the blondes face.

"you can less, tiny is a smart kid" ella nodded pulling the blonde into a side hug as alessia whispered, "i hope your right."

the next morning had rolled around and you woke up with the biggest head ache and no recollection of the events that happened last night, the last thing you remember was your conversation with poppy.

anything else after that, you had no idea. hell you didn't even know how you got home or when-

not even realising you were home until your eyes scanned around the dimly lit room, noticing the framed photos you had from football. some with your teammates, your family, and some with some of the lionesses past and present you'd met.

a tight knot building in your stomach as you looked at it a little longer, the words lingering in your head of what your friend had said to you.

huffing you didn't want to look at the photos any longer, you pushed your covers off you and walking your way down the stairs. the bright light of the sun shining through the windows hurting your eyes as you made you way into the kitchen not even realising your mum was stood waiting for her coffee machine to finish.

"morning- why are you not ready? we have to leave in fifteen minutes?" your mum asked as you turned grabbed a glass from the shelf filling it with ice cold water.

you ignored the question your mum was sending your way instead reaching out for the cupboard in which you knew your mum kept the medicine — rummaging through the box until you found something that would help sootheyour seething headache.

"lovie? i'm asking you a question" you mum pushed but still was talking in a soft voice. you shrugged, "don't wanna go" you mumbled as you took the time to take the medicine before placing your glass in the sink.

your mum was taken back by your response, you never missed football. not matches. not training. hell you'd even beg your mum to let you play even if your leg was hanging off. football is everything to you — or so she thought.

"why?"

"not feeling too well-" you began but were cut off by your mum, "the one thing i asked you not to do was drink and you knew you had this match this morning which you know is important-"

alessia started her rant but you just sighed and walked out the room heading towards your room. your mum realising you weren't in the room any longer, following your tracks towards your room. "y/n, i'm not finished talking-"

"yeah well i am, just leave me be mum! i don't want to go to the stupid football match okay, i quit!" you snapped as you yelled from your bedroom door slamming it shut. alessia stopping in her track, your words hitting her right in the chest, as the slam of the door echoed in the hallway.

stupid football? that wasn't the lovie alessia knew.

the lovie, alessia knew was football crazy and since she could walk had a ball at her feet.

the lovie alessia knew would spend hours in the garden trying to perfect a skill even if it was pouring of rain.

the lovie alessia knew would have to be practically dragged of the pitch and away from the football after training otherwise you would spent all night there.

the lovie alessia knew, loved football and wanted to play for her club and country.

alessia didn't understand what had happened, yeah your behaviour at the minute hadn't exactly been perfect and the blonde would be lying if she said she wasn't loosing a little bit trust in you with each time you came home late.

your actions speaking louder that maybe what you were doing in your spare time wasn’t as innocent as you tried to perceive it as. your show last night was the real eye opener for alessia.

she slumped down on the stairs as she let out a breathe. she didn't know what to do or even say.

the blonde was brought out of her thoughts at the sound of knocks echoing through the hallway. alessia pushed her self up from her seat on the stairs making her way to the door and pulling it open.

"ay we ready! where's our superstar?" ella called out as she walked in not catching the gloomy look on her best friends face at the side of the door as leah walked in behind her just as excited as the two began to recite your chant.

the two were dressed head to two in the colours you wore, ella minus the arsenal jersey. but leah was decked to the nines in gunner merch.

ella and leah made it to nearly every one of your matches, ella of course didn't make it to as many as she lived in manchester but any matches you had close to there or any time ella was in london she made sure to be at your matches with alessia.

leah on the other hand would be lucky if she missed one match a season, she always made sure to be there. leah had a close connection with the academy it being one she spent the first years of her footballing years too.

"oh- what's happened?" ella smile dropping as she looked at the sad look on alessia's face, leahs head turning around as her smile too dropped. the vibe going completely flat.

"it's lovie, she's quit football-" alessia said quitely, so quiet it almost came out as a whisper, as she walked past the two going to sit on the couch in the living room, ella and leah following alessia like lost puppy's as they came to terms which what the blonde had just said.

"what do you mean she's quit?" leah asked sitting down and taking the arsenal scarf from around her neck, it being quite warm in the room. alessia just shrugged she didnt know what the cause of you sudden outburst was, but what she did know is that something had caused it or rather someone.

ella coming and sitting next to the alessia as a sigh came from her, "she can't just quit- tiny is the future of football.."

"well she came down, i asked why she wasn't ready and she said she wasn't feeling well and then i followed her cause she walked away while i was still talking and then bascially yelled in my face that football is stupid" alessia sighed putting her head in her hands, ella running a soothing hand up and down the blonde's back.

"stupid football, that does not sound like tiny at all" leah was in disbelief, the girl she was hearing about was not the tiny that they knew and loved.

"tell me about it"

"have you tried asking her about it" ella suggested, it seeming like a silly thing to ask as she thought that alessia would ahve probably done that first but it was always worth a suggestion.

a shake of the head came from alessia, "no thought i'd give her a chance to cool off first"

"good thinking less, but it's worth a try even though she may not say anything. try and see if you can get something out of her" leah gave a sad smile to alessia who nodded taking the much needed advice on board.

the three sat a little more trying to get to the bottom of why you were acting a little weird and why you suddenly after bascially dedicating your entire life to football wanted to quit.

"but you know tiny too, more than we do, thats she capable of changing her mind more times than the weather" ella jokes as both leah and alessia let out a small chuckle. she wasnt wrong, you were known to be very indecisive.

"well we'll be off, let us know what happens and if you need anything" leah slaps her hands off her knees standing up, ella nodding and agreeing with leahs words.

"i will, i'll keep you both updated" alessia gave a half smile as she held the front door open, for the two to leave as they left still dressed in their football attire. leaving a little less excited then when they arrived.

alessia waving the two goodbye as leah drove away, the blonde shutting her door as she lingered in the hallway glancing up the stairway. planning her next movements.

make you some lunch as you hadn't eaten yet and the blonde knew better than to try and talk to you empty handed.

"just me.." your mum whispered as she lightly knocked on your door, "i brought your favourite- cheese toastie" as she put the plate on your bedside table not a mutter of a word from you as your mum walked through your room.

you just lay still in your bed, blankets wrapped around you as you held your little esme the elephant. yes the same one you'd had since you were little, it all worn with there being a little tear in the ear.

your mum sighed as she sat at the end of your bed, "how you feeling now?" she cooed as you still remained in the same place staring at the wall, the only thing to be heard was your light breathing.

alessia felt as though she'd hit a brick wall. her brain trying to think of things that may get you to talk to her but ultimitately she knew it would be a long shot. you and your stubborness. something you defiently didn't get from the blonde.

"you can't ignore me forever, lovie" alessia joked lightly hoping it may help to lighten the tense atmosphere inside your room, you glancing over at your mum perched on the end of your bed.

"i can try" you mumbled if the room hadn't of been as silent as it was alessia would have most definetly missed what you said.

a hum coming from your mum, "you can try but then who knows that you don't like blueberries cause you don't like the way they feel in your mouth, or that when your anxious about something that you bite the inside of your lip, or that you like having ketchup with almost ever meal-" alessia trailed off as you perked one eyebrow up turning onto your back.

"i'm sure i'd find a way to survive" you mumbled as your mum nodded her head slowly, humming a little at your words.

"what's happened lovie? why do you all of a sudden want to quit football" your mum asked as you moved your head slightly to the side, you knew this was coming. you just didn't think you were ready to admit out loud why you wanted to stop playing.

"just do, 'm not gonna make it anywhere anyway.." you whispered your throat going slightly tight as the words left your lips. alessia felt her heart tighten a little at your confession.

"lovie, you don't seriously believe that do you?" alessia asked a little bit of seriousness in her tone of voice, a part of her thinking maybe these weren't your words, but rather someone elses.

"and what if i do-"

"has someone said something to you lovie?" your mum has this gut feeling in her stomach and her gut was rarely ever wrong, it was if it was her sixth sense. "like did something happen at the party you were at?" your mum continued to push for an answer as you lay still with you eyes facing away from your mum, worried that if you did look at her that the tears would start to fall.

you stayed silent for a moment, contemplating your next move. before slowly moving your eyes to make contact with your mums as you bit your lip. another few seconds passed before you nodded your head to your mum previous question.

"oh lovie" your mum pouted as she crumbled moving from her seat at the end of the bed to quickly engulf you in a much needed hug as the tears began to fall. your mum comforting you as you cried in her arms letting it all out as you began to relay the events of what happened at the party, what emilia said to you and then how you just began to drink to get rid of the pain.

alessia's heart breaking for you, being told such harsh words from someone you considered to be a very close friend. it wasn't fair and the world was a cruel place. your mum wishing she could wrap you up in bubble wrap and protect you from anything you came in front of.

"she doesn't deserve to have you as a friend and you don't need people like that in your life lovie. thats not what a true friend does-" your mum comforted you as a few stray sniffles came from you as you knew what your mum was telling you was right. emilia didn't deserve to call you her friend.

"and anyways she won't be saying that when your on the big stage, playing for your club and country!" your mum smiled softly as your furrowed your eyebrows. "you really think that'll happen-"

"of course! you could play rings around some players you come against" you stayed in your mums arms a little more as she continued to comfort you as she continued to build your confidence and ego back up that clearly had took some serious damage.

"you'll always be my favourite player, y/n russo." your mum smiled sweetly at you as she placed a kiss to your forehead. you knew the topic of your recent behaviour and how you spent your spare time would come up and alessia definitely knew she needed to have a chat with you about that but right now you needed love and comfort which is exactly what you got as you sunk into her warm and loving arms further.

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lxvvie · 5 months

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Freely Using Ghost, A Tale of Two Brats edition:

Being bored and wanting to love up on someone, Simon specifically. Cornering him, using his chain as leverage to pull his face closer, your big bear of a man expecting some fuck and suck, only for you to kiss the side of his mouth, tell him what a good boy he is, boop his nose, and leave. Well, what the fuck?

Simon wanting to kiss you, wanting to feel your lips against his, wanting to shove his tongue down your throat but you keep laughing. Or pecking his lips when he really wants to deepen it. Fuck, you even blew into his mouth once and giggled like a madman when he glared. But he sees the mischievous glint in your eyes. Sees the challenge in them. Fuck it.

Sexually Frustrated Simon being a grumpy grape because he should've been balls and/or tongue deep in your cunt yesterday but you keep. fuckin'. teasing. him. Simon trying his best to keep his composure but the voice messages you keep sending of you fucking yourself, moaning his name, and fuckin' telling him all the things you'd do to him are taking its toll. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!

Surprising Ghost with a blowjob but it's really so you can put the really cute cockring you purchased while he was away right where it belongs. And Simon wants to spontaneously combust. 😘

Playing with Simon's dick absentmindedly while watching TV. Looking up and Simon's dark eyes boring into yours. Because you're playing with his dick. His very hard, leaking dick. You put your finger in your mouth, tasting some of his precum. Your eyes never leave Simon's and deep breaths, mate. He's trying to keep calm even though he wants to facefuck you. You wink and go back to watching TV, a job well done, and if Simon could fuckin' disappear into the couch, he would. Bloody fuckin' tease.

Not wanting to fuck but wanting to suck. And leave hickeys. And so you do, on just about every expanse of Simon's body, especially his thighs. You touched and kissed and sucked on EVERY BLOODY PLACE EXCEPT HIS COCK. FUCK!

Simon finally snaps and you're on the receiving end of a series of sexually frustrated texts from Simon because fuck you. fuck you so fuckin much you drive him crazy fuck he can't stop thinking about you and your cunt and stoping fucking teasing him and just fucking FUCK him fUCK. You only text back, "lmao ❤️ ". Oh, fuck you.

Simon getting you back. By being the big spoon this time. So you can feel him press against your ass. Deliberately. "Don't you want to switch and be the little spoon, Si?" "Make me." Well, shit. He got you there. Payback's a 6'4", grumpy asshole, ain't it?

Simon finally being balls deep inside you, fucking out what seems like an eternity's worth of frustration in his body. Simon fucking you, hands intertwined with yours, lips pressed against his own, and he makes you cum multiple times over. Simon fucking you dumb—FINALLY—until you make him ruin his orgasm. shit—"Can't let you get off that easy, Si-bear! ❤️" Bloody fuckin' hell. You'll be the death of him. But all's fair in war and cunt and cock, luv.

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riddlerosehearts · 9 months

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thinking about how people who watch the emperor's new groove and somehow come out of it shipping pacha and kuzco, or thinking yzma only became evil when kuzco fired her and that she would've been a better ruler than him, are both so wrong in so many different ways and are also missing one of the things that i absolutely love about the movie. which is that, the way i see it, pacha and yzma are counterparts. as parental figures to kuzco.

like, just to get this out of the way first, yzma was a dismissive asshole to a peasant whose family was starving. and yeah, if kuzco had been in her place he definitely would've also done that, which... is why she would not be a better ruler than him. she'd just be the same because they're both horrible people in the exact same ways. her reaction to being fired is to plot murder, and as soon as his funeral is over she sets everyone to work on replacing paintings of kuzco with paintings of herself and covering the palace with imagery that makes it clear that it's all about her now. i'm not even sure why this is a discussion tbh.

and also, kuzco is literally a teenager. he's barely 18 years old. source: in the movie, yzma says at his funeral that kuzco was "taken from us so tragically on the very eve of his eighteenth birthday." she also claims in the movie to have "practically raised" him, to which kronk replies "yeah, you'd think he would've turned out better". and sure, she could be exaggerating, but what evidence do we have that she is? we learn absolutely nothing of his parents, who are never mentioned even once in the movie, or of anyone else who could've raised him, and she's his advisor who for some reason sees no problem with attending to royal duties in his place. most likely because she's his regent. also, i'm not exactly a fan of the sequel tv series "the emperor's new school" but it does have something that backs up my point: kuzco is revealed to be an orphan and just before his father went and got lost at sea, he asked yzma (who was also his advisor) to take care of kuzco if anything happened to him. so, yeah, the writers who worked on the series clearly thought that yzma genuinely did raise kuzco, and nothing in the movie contradicts this.

and i find the idea of her being his only parental figure for pretty much his whole childhood incredibly interesting because, and this also goes back into why she wouldn't be a better ruler than him--she mirrors him as a reflection of what would've become of him if he'd never met pacha. they're both incredibly arrogant, power-hungry, selfish, and cruel, with a tendency to blame their problems on everyone but themselves. yzma was even originally going to have her own reprise of kuzco's theme song "perfect world", which i really wish had been kept:

[ID: Lyrics that read:

I'Il be the sovereign queen of the nation And the chicest chick in creation I'm the cat with all the cream and ooh-la-la This deadly concentration Will put an end to my frustration Now this perfect world begins and ends with moi

What's my name? Yzma, Yzma, Yzma Yzma (what's my name?) Yzma, Yzma (What'd you say?) Yzma (Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!) Yzma. End ID]

(this song can be fully heard in "the sweatbox", the documentary about the making of the movie, and is also on youtube btw)

anyway, i'm sure yzma would not exactly have been the most nurturing or hands-on guardian, especially given that she and kuzco don't exactly treat each other like family. but it makes a lot of sense to think that her behavior influened kuzco's throughout the years. and for the entire movie, she remains determined to kill him. when he tries to reason with her and admits that he should've been nicer, she says the same thing to him that he originally said when he fired her. she never grows or changes and in the end, she hurts the one person who was willing to stand by her (and even then, kronk had never fully been on board with her plan) and he ends up trying to crush her with a chandelier. kuzco on the other hand is able to realize the error of his ways, come to regret who he was in the past, and start taking steps toward being a better person. his theme song gets a reprise where it's changed from a song about one person being the center of the world to a Power Of Friendship song. why? because, as i've already mentioned, he has pacha.

pacha, who similarly to both yzma and kuzco is in a position of authority as the leader of the village but unlike either of them is gentle and humble. who isn't afraid to stand up to kuzco and be honest with him even though he's the emperor, who agrees to take him back to the palace but has no obligation to be so helpful, kind, and caring toward him--and just about every reason not to be--and still chooses to be anyway. pacha who is 45 years old (also stated in the sweatbox documentary) and can see that kuzco is practically still a kid, not a single day over 18, who has time to grow and change. pacha, who already has a wife and two kids with another on the way, but practically treats kuzco like one of his own. who acknowledges that if kuzco dies all his problems will be gone and then still worries about him and goes out of his way to rescue him after he wanders into the jungle. who sees kuzco shivering at night and covers him with his poncho, who carries him when he's genuinely too weak to keep walking, who refuses to give up on him even after repeatedly being betrayed by him because he believes there's good in everyone.

also, while yzma ends up repeating kuzco's harsh words of dismissal as she tells him of her plans to kill him, kuzco had previously repeated pacha's words that "nobody's that heartless" after he saved pacha's life. and as the movie progresses kuzco and pacha's relationship becomes more and more equal and is constantly contrasted by moments of yzma being cruel and unappreciative of kronk's kindness. a good example of this is how kronk is constantly being forced to carry yzma everywhere on his back while yzma literally walks all over him and steps on his hands when she gets down, whereas when pacha briefly carries kuzco after the latter collapses he tells him he'll have to walk the rest of the way later and kuzco doesn't even protest.

idk if i'm even explaining well what i'm trying to say here. but basically, if yzma actually raised kuzco and contributed to his current behavior, then she and pacha both are figures who guided him and helped him grow. only yzma helped him become the tyrant that he was at the start of the movie, who was selfish and callous and saw everyone else as beneath him. whereas pacha helped him see the value in being selfless and considerate of others. and in the end, yzma is stuck as a cat and nobody is concerned about her. kronk has found a new job that makes him genuinely happy, while kuzco has decided to build a hut on the hill next to pacha's and effectively joined his family. in the sweatbox documentary it's even mentioned that chicha and the kids were at risk of being removed from the film, but it was decided that they needed to be there because having just pacha as a single guy who lived alone wasn't interesting enough--kuzco needed to go from having basically an empty world where he had nobody to being able to come together with pacha's whole family. and i just think that's incredibly satisfying and beautiful. it also leads up to one of the few things i really do enjoy about the emperor's new school, which is the fact that during the show kuzco moves in with pacha and chicha and pretty explicitly thinks of them as basically his parents while he's like a son to them.

idk. i feel like my mind went in a million different directions while i was writing all this. but i guess i just think that for all of the praise the emperor's new groove gets for its comedy and for how hilarious yzma and kronk in particular are as a duo, the movie also has a lot of genuine heart that gets overlooked. kuzco's character growth and his unique dynamic with pacha is, for me, really what elevates the movie from just a funny movie that i like to one of my favorite disney movies. and i wish more people appreciated that aspect of it and saw it as a found family story in the same way that treasure planet, brother bear, and lilo and stitch are all found family stories.

#disney #the emperor's new groove #help i wrote a whole essay about this movie #and i didn't even mention how much i love the way kuzco's home life is contrasted with pacha's #ugh. they have one of the most interesting and unique dynamics ever in a disney movie. i love them #love how kuzco gets away from yzma's toxic influence by way of accidentally being adopted #by the guy whose village he almost destroyed for a theme park #they're ENEMIES to FOUND FAMILY.... sobs #kuzco #pacha #yzma #kronk

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annwrites · 4 months

Text

forever

— pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader

— type: part of a series

— summary: you & billy go to a vegas casino. the next day, you have a scare & make a commitment.

— tw: gambling

— word count: 7,412

GIF by 62737462718star

The next day, you and Billy stay snuggled up in bed, watching TV—him, at first, changing the channel every few minutes as soon as you got interested in something just to drive you nuts—napping, eating, talking, and every once in awhile getting on each other’s nerves just for fun.

But, as you laid with your head on his chest and his fingers in your hair, you were completely content to fall back asleep listening to his steady breathing. The beat of his heart.

You wake in the middle of the night to Billy tossing and turning beside you, muttering unintelligibly. His brows are furrowed, body slick with sweat.

You cup his cheek in your hand, shooshing him, telling him to wake up.

And when his eyes do open, they're full of fear. He looks to you at his side and his face crumples. "Oh, baby doll," he says, burying his face between your breasts, wrapping his arms around you.

You twine your fingers in his hair, holding him to you. "It was just a nightmare. It's okay."

"I lost you," he whispers. "You...fuck, you stopped breathing. I-"

"Shh, it wasn't real. I'm right here. Shh."

You let him cry softly against your chest until you eventually coax him back to sleep by reassuring him over and over again that you're all better now. You're still here.

"I love you. Just try and go back to sleep. I'll be right here when you wake up, okay?"

He nods, pulling you closer. "I love you, too."

While still a tad under the weather, you feel far better the next day. And are honestly itching to get out of the motel room, even if it's just to go sit outside or ride shotgun while Billy drives around, letting you sight-see.

You're just coming out of the bathroom, dressed and ready to go, when Billy comes back into the room carrying breakfast with him.

He kicks the door closed with his boot—a brown paper bag held between his teeth, to-go cups in one arm, a couple more bags in the other.

He looks up to you with a raised brow as he begins setting everything down. He nods toward the bed. "Take all that off and get back into bed."

You come over to him. "I feel better today. I'm tired of being stuck in this room, Billy. It's been days now. Can we please go do something?"

You bat your lashes at him, pressing up against him and he groans as you slip a hand in his pocket. "Pretty please?"

Before he can tell you, yet again, to get back into bed, you swiftly remove your hand, his keys dangling from your fingers.

He sighs, holding out his hand. "Yeah, you're hilarious. C'mon, give 'em."

You back up a step, hiding them behind your back. "As soon as you promise to let me out of here."

He studies you for a moment. "Maybe in another day or-"

"No, today."

He crosses his arms, jaw flexing. "I said no. And that's final."

You step closer to him, reaching out for his hand, which he snatches away.

"No. Do...do you have any idea what you put me through? I thought..." He shakes his head. "Don't ever fucking do that again, alright?"

Your lip twitches. "I will do my utmost to never get sick again. I promise."

You press yourself against his chest then. "Now let me outside."

He sighs. "Only once you've had breakfast."

You snuggle closer. "Deal."

"If you so much as sneeze, I'm taking your ass back."

You roll your eyes. He'd been like this since before you stepped out the door. He'd even forced a thermometer under your tongue before letting you go out, which had read at a perfect 98.7°—a temperature that should've pleased him, but he'd instead frowned.

You'd tried making a joke about him just wanting to keep you all to himself for another day, but had known it was because he was terrified of you going back outside and getting sick again.

You turn in your seat to face him and run your fingers through his hair.

He fights against his lip twitching at the tender gesture. He sighs then. "Alright, where to? Unless you want me to pick?"

He looks at you then, a smirk now on his face. "We are in Sin City. Could always hit a sex shop, then head back and create our own entertainment for the day."

You lean over, kissing him deeply and when you pull away, he has a brow raised, thinking he's talked you into it.

"Nice try."

He leans back, rolling his eyes as he turns the car over.

"Billy, stop, we can't go in. This is ridiculous. They're never going to buy your fake; I'm sure they see them everyday."

Billy was currently pulling you alongside him...into Caesar's Palace. He'd gotten the idea to go gambling in his head, and not even offering to go to a sex shop to try on skimpy lingerie had managed to talk him out of it. You'd even threw in that he could finally cuff you to whatever he wanted and have his way with you if he just turned back around, but he'd not listened to a word.

You'd tried tugging unsuccessfully against his hand, unable to pull him back an inch in the other direction. He'd instead led you further inside. And, just when he'd thought—ignorantly—as he passed the hotel lobby, headed in the direction of the casino floor, he was about to get away with it, a large man dressed in a suit, who was probably twice the size of Billy, stepped in his way.

Billy didn't shrink away from his authoritative presence, but you might've hidden yourself just the least bit behind him as you glanced up shyly to the security guard.

"Somewhere you're headed?" He asks, voice a deep baritone tune.

Billy looks up at him with a bored expression, nodding behind him. "Got a few greenbacks that're just burnin' a hole in my pocket."

He goes to step past him, but the man side-steps, once again blocking him.

"ID card, pal."

Billy retrieves his wallet, handing him the requested piece of information.

He studies it with a raised brow, then looks at Billy. "Billy Squier? You really thought someone would buy that?" He tosses it back to him. "Go on, get out of here."

Billy shrugs, tucking his wallet back away. "Like I can help that we share the same name." He smirks, flashing him a dazzling smile. "The Stroke is a damn good song, though, ain't it?"

He glances to you, then back to the security guard.

The man chooses to ignore Billy then, honing in on you. "You got a fake for me, too? Let me guess: Stevie Nicks? No. Cindy Lauper."

You hold Billy's hand more tightly. "I-"

Billy interrupts you. "She left hers in the car." He lets go of your hand then. "Listen, man, what's it going to take? My money's good, ain't it?" He pulls out a wad of rolled up cash, counts out a few bills, then reaches forward, feigning shaking his hand, the bills disappearing in the other man's grip. "Just trying to show my girl a good time. What, you've never been young and in love before?"

"You ever been employed before, kid?" He shoves the money back against Billy's chest. "Go on, before I have to use force."

Billy gives him a glare before turning back around, wrapping his arm around your waist. "C'mon, baby, we'll go blow a grand at Circus Circus instead."

Somehow, you and Billy get lucky at the next casino. You show up just when the security guards are changing shifts and sneak right in. Your heart had been pounding, and you couldn't tell whether it was your palm or his that was sweaty, but you eventually come to wrap your arms around one of his as he weaves between slot machines and craps tables.

You glance around, lights twinkling in your wide eyes in the dim lighting, the room illuminated by colorful overhead chandeliers, and neon slot machines. There's even a section of the room that's modeled after a carousel.

You look up to Billy then, walking alongside him. "Can I play a slot machine?" You ask sweetly.

"Once I win at blackjack."

You frown. "Do you even know how?"

He stop, turning back to you. "Baby, I've got skills you've never seen."

You hook your finger on his black half-unbuttoned shirt. "That's likely."

He shakes his head. "Keep it up."

When he turns away, you smack his ass and he laughs.

You stand behind Billy, actually impressed. He'd not been lying about knowing how to play cards. While nearly every other person sitting at the table had eventually folded, or busted more times than they were comfortable with, and thus left with bruised egos, Billy's chips were just piling up.

You didn't like the way some people were eyeing his winnings, however.

You lean down close to his ear as he holds his cards close to his chest. "Billy, I think that's enough-"

"After this hand."

You sigh, frowning. "You said that twenty minutes ago."

He taps two fingers against the table and the dealer slides another card his way.

"Like I can help that I'm on a roll." He looks up at you, smirking. "Think you might be my little good-luck charm."

You shift on your feet. "You have way more than you came in with now. Can I please just go try a slot machine?"

He glances to the dealer and watches as he turns over a card and a smile breaks out across Billy's face as he throws his own cards down, slamming his fists against the table. "Woo! Winner winner, baby!"

He pulls more chips in his direction, which you grab in your fists, heading in another direction with them. You hear him curse from behind you, but quickly gathers the remaining ones on the table before following you to go cash in.

After finishing up with the casino’s teller, Billy securely pockets away a few hundred dollars, practically beaming from his winnings. He then hands you a five and nods toward the slot machines. “Go nuts.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Only five dollars?”

He leans down close to you. “You want more, guess you’ll have to blow me.”

Your expression then morphs into a scowl. “You’re so-”

“Y’know, my dice, when I play craps later?”

You turn your back to him, heading toward a slot machine. “That is so not what you meant.”

“Not my fault that my cock is all you can think about.”

After losing once, you’d been ready to burn the entire building down. But after a few times? You were seething. You yank on the arm one last time and it then demands more money.

“Oh, that is such bull. It took all my money!”

Billy glances to those few others who are seated at nearby machines and a muscle in his jaw feathers when he sees them looking your way as you continue to make a scene.

“I didn’t win once. This game is rigged. I want a different machine!”

He can’t believe you’re getting this upset over losing five dollars that hadn’t even been yours to begin with, anyway.

“Honey-”

“Don’t honey me, I want another five,” you state, holding out your hand.

He crosses his arms. “I think someone might have a bit of a gambling problem.”

The vein in the middle of your forehead makes an appearance—he’s never seen that trick before. “I wanted cherries. I kept getting fucking bananas and-”

He steps closer to you, needing to calm you before someone calls security. “Sweetheart, I will give you all the banana you want when we get back to the motel. But right now-”

“I said cherries! See, you’re not even listening to me.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. Good Lord, you’re acting like a little kid. And he typically relied on you to be the mature one. Seeing you so pissed was funny at first, but now you were getting a bit scary.

“Alright, fine, I will pop your cherry when-”

You lean your head back, groaning. “Too late for that now, isn’t it?” You look at him again.

He finally reaches up, squeezing your cheeks until your lips are puckered. “You want to get us kicked out?”

“No,” you mutter through fish lips.

He smirks. You look adorable like this. So tiny and angry and your face all squished in his strong grip. Like a pissed off kitten. “If I give you another five, will you promise—if you lose—to control your temper, and behave yourself, and not be a sore loser?”

“Yes.”

He releases you, giving you the promised amount of cash.

“Motherfu-”

He yanks you up from the stool by your upper arm before you can finish that expletive. “Alright, time to go. You’ve had enough.”

“Just give me another-”

“Nope, you’ve had enough.”

“But-”

“No buts. C’mon. You’d leave us high and dry if I let you have your way.”

“You are so not getting lucky tonight.”

“Already did. Sounds like you’re the one who didn’t.”

“Oh, you son of a-”

Once the two of you are back at the motel, you’d thankfully calmed down. Billy was almost afraid to leave not just his money, but the keys to the Camaro anywhere you could get to them, lest you return to the casino for a second round. Third, really.

But, once you were in a bubble bath and softly humming to yourself as you washed up, he figured that you seemed well-enough over it.

After bathing, you stand over your bag of toiletries with shaking hands and wide eyes, your heart hammering in your chest as you stare down at a tampon that’d been hidden at the bottom of the bag.

You were late. Very late, by your standards. Your period had always been like clockwork. If it was ever ‘late’, it was by no more than a day. Ever. And even that was rare. Far and few between.

But today made five. The two of you had used protection every time. But…what if there had been a hole in one of the condoms? Or some of his semen had somehow leaked out or… That night on top of the Camaro. But he’d finished on your stomach. Not inside of you. No. This wasn’t happening. You were not-

“You about done in there? I need to take a piss.”

You jolt, dropping the plastic tube on the floor, staring at the closed door, unable to form a single word on your tongue. Until you manage to choke out, “Just a sec.”

“Gettin’ all dolled up for me just to go to bed?”

Your eyes sting with unshed tears. God, you want him to just leave you be for a few more minutes so you can collect yourself. Because right now? You felt on the verge of a hysterical breakdown.

You stare at yourself in the mirror. Your face had gone pale, all blood drained from your lips, your eyes wide and terrified. And you were shaking like a leaf.

You begin taking deep breaths, trying to calm yourself. Oh God, you felt like you were about to pass out.

It was nothing.

You’d been under a lot of stress lately, that was all. Yes, that made perfect sense. From the moment you’d left Hawkins, you’d been on a non-stop rollercoaster of emotions. All the traveling, the fighting, worrying about money, worrying about each other, worrying about the future, you getting sick—it was a perfect recipe for a late period.

And it was only five days. Just because it was always on time before didn’t mean it couldn’t be late now. Sometimes bodies were weird. They didn’t always operate how they were supposed to. Obviously, or so many diseases and disabilities wouldn’t exist. And stress could wreak havoc on the healthiest of people. So, you had nothing to worry about. Right?

“Sweetheart?”

You quickly gather your things, your stomach now in knots, shoulders tense, jaw locked tight.

You swing open the door and stare up at Billy. “All yours,” you say stepping past him.

A moment later, you hear him relieving himself. You let out a breath of relief that he hadn’t noticed you were upset.

You’d barely touched your dinner. Billy had noticed, but you’d used the excuse that you ‘weren’t all that hungry’. He’d stared at you for a moment before stealing one of your shrimp, telling you that he’d eat them if you weren’t going to. He hadn’t noticed your palm pressed against your stomach.

Once the two of you were in bed, you’d turned your back to him, trying to fight back tears. If…if you were…what would happen to the two of you? You’d felt so sure that you’d found the one now. But this… A baby would ruin everything. He’d leave you. This much he wouldn’t stand for, you were sure of it.

You were both eighteen. Kids yourselves. What the hell did either of you know about being parents? You wouldn’t have any idea of how to be a proper mother, you’d not been given an example of one yourself. And Billy had his history with his father.

You hadn’t had that talk yet: what you wanted when it came to kids. You don’t even know what it is that he wants. You don’t know what you want, either.

Just as your terror begins to grow, you feel his hand sliding along your hip, erection pressed against your back. You feel sick at the sensation of it. That part of him had destroyed your entire life. And now you would be the one forced to deal with the consequences. The fallout.

You’d been right to be abstinent before. This was his fault. He’d not stopped until he’d buried himself inside your head. Had pushed and pulled, pushed and pulled until you didn’t know where else to run but into his arms.

No. You can’t think like that. He loves you. He’d made some mistakes, but you understood why. Had chosen to forgive him. You loved him, too. And what if you were just getting yourself all worked up over nothing? What if you weren’t indeed pregnant, and causing yourself further stressed just delayed your period further?

Billy presses his lips to your neck, reaching under his t-shirt, which you’re wearing, cupping your breast. “Want me to help you get undressed, honey?”

You bite your lip until you taste blood, fighting back tears. “I’m really tired. Maybe not tonight.” You say it so quietly that he barely hears you.

He presses a soft kiss to the back of your head. “Told you that you should’ve stayed in bed. But no one ever listens to Billy.”

You don’t respond. You just take his hand, wrapping his arm around your waist, praying to God he doesn’t notice that your own is shaking.

You toss and turn most of the night, at one point locking yourself in the bathroom to cry while Billy sleeps, clutching your stomach, praying to God that you’re not what you think you are. If you were, and he did leave you, what would you do? Where would you go? Everything would fall out from under your feet then. You’d have nothing. No one. He was your entire world. Everything. He was everything. Your everything. You’d come to lean so heavily on him. To rely on him at every turn.

If he left you behind… You want to die at the thought.

The next morning, you’re exhausted. And Billy quickly takes notice over breakfast. Which you barely touch.

He brushes his foot against yours, reaching for your hand, concerned with the lost-in-thought look on your face. Were you getting sick again?

“Baby?”

You look up at him. “Hm?”

“You alright, angel?” He reaches up, pressing his palm to your forehead. You don’t feel feverish…

You nod slightly, looking back down to your cereal, which is now just a bowl of mush, stirring it.

“I think you’re still just getting over that cold. I should’ve made you stay in yesterday. How about you go lie back down and get some rest. We’ll just hang out here for the rest of the day. Alright?”

You nod, getting up, stripping, lying back down. You quickly fall asleep.

When you wake, the TV is on, the volume low, and Billy is sitting up, one arm around you, holding you close to his leg. You stare at the closed curtains, wondering what time it is, but don’t want to ask, because you don’t want to talk. Don’t want him to notice that something more is wrong than you just ‘being under the weather’, even if you knew you felt completely back to normal now. You don’t want him to keep digging until you’re finally forced to cave and tell him what’s really going on.

So, you close your eyes instead, forcing yourself back into a dreamless slumber.

Billy had let you sleep through lunch, but he now stands at the foot of the bed, frowning, considering whether to wake you for dinner. He’d gotten you a cheeseburger—one of your favorites—so he’s sure you’ll eat it.

He tucks some hair behind your ear, then gently shakes you awake.

“Dinner’s here, beautiful. Time to get up. Once you’ve eaten, you can go back to bed.”

You moan against the pillow, wishing he’d just left you be. You didn’t want to eat, because the moment you opened your eyes, your stomach was twisting into knots again. But you fight the feeling of nausea down, telling yourself to, at the very least, act fine. Pretend like you feel as much.

You sit up, smiling slightly at him.

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “How’re you feeling?”

You wrap your arms around his neck, hiding your face from his view. “Better.”

He sighs. “Good. That’s good.”

He leads you over to the table and you force every bite down.

Billy makes another sexual advance that night, shortly after laying down. He slips his hands between your legs. “I can do all the work tonight, if you want?”

You’d simply pressed yourself into his chest. “Could you just hold me instead? Maybe…maybe tomorrow.”

He’d remained silent as he slid his strong arms around you, holding you close, whispering that he loved you and to get some more rest. That he was sure you’d feel better in the morning.

You do not, in fact, feel better in the morning. More rested than the day previous, yes, but your nerves are fried.

You’d raced to the bathroom to…expel your bowels from nerves at least twice in the night, and now your stomach was truly on empty. But just the thought of eating made you feel sick.

Currently, it’s morning and you’re lying in bed awake, even if you’d rather not be, listening to Billy quietly snore beside you. You sit up, staring down at him, trying to memorize every line and facet of his face. His body.

Before you loose him for good.

Tears sting your eyes at the thought of being alone again. Though, you won’t be totally alone, you suppose. If you are…that…will it look like you or him? Will it have his eyes? His beautiful head of hair? You don’t think you can bear it: having to look upon a perfect reflection—reminder—of him every day, knowing he’s never coming back.

How could you have let this happen? What if you got rid of it instead? Somehow, that thought makes you feel worse. A little bundle that’s equal parts you and him…gone. Just as a tear slips down your cheek, he begins to wake.

You quickly wipe it away, smiling as he opens his eyes, looking up at you, stretching.

He reaches a hand up to your cheek, cupping it. “Morning, sweetheart.”

“Hi.”

“You been up long?”

You shake your head. “I just woke up a couple minutes before you did.”

“Admiring your sleeping beauty then, huh?”

You smile at the sarcastic comment. “Most certainly.”

He slides his other hand up your thigh, stopping close to your heat. “You want to?”

You shift under his touch. How to tell him no yet again? You’d not been intimate in days, and you worry that continuing to reject him will only serve to hurt him, if not make him suspicious. But the thought of him buried inside of you right now… You simply can’t.

He notices your silence and his smile fades. “Guess not.” He removes his hand, getting up from bed, nervously running his hand through his hair. “I’m gonna go take a leak,” he says, padding over to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Your chin wobbles, knowing you did it anyway: hurt his feelings.

Billy lays on the horn, waiting for traffic to move. He glances to you then, who is busy staring out your open window. He knows something is wrong. But you won’t tell him what.

He reaches over, sliding his hand up your leg and his ego takes a hit when you recoil at his touch. He sighs, resting his hand back on the shifter. “Come the fuck on, man!” He shouts at the line of cars in front of him.

He then looks back to you. “What? Are you still sick?”

You clasp your hands. “No. I’m just…tired.”

He leans his head back, rolling his eyes. “Heard that a lot the last couple days. Don’t know how. It’s not like we’ve screwed much recently.”

In all honesty, he didn’t really care about that. He was fine with waiting on you. It was the fact you were keeping something from him that was starting to really get under his skin.

You begin to shake from anger then. “After everything, and that’s still all you think about. Not like I should be surprised. Since we met that’s all you’ve thought with is what’s in your pants.”

He jerks his head in your direction. The two of you hadn’t fought like this in a minute. “Excuse me?”

“You want to get laid? We’re in Vegas. Go pick up some hooker on the strip. You should have enough for it after the other night at the casino, I’m sure.”

He grips the wheel tighter. “The fuck is your problem? Huh? You got somethin’ you want to say to me?”

You look at him and his expression softens when he sees the tears gathering in your eyes. “I’m sorry,” you say, voice breaking, burying your head in your hands.

He unbuckles, reaching over, wrapping his arms around your trembling frame. “Shh. Baby, please tell me what the fuck is going on. Did…did I do something?”

How to say yes and no?

You look up at him then, tears streaming down your cheeks. “I’m late.”

His brows furrow. “Late? Late for wha-”

His face falls, all color draining from it and quickly, leaving him lightheaded. He remains calm, as calm as he can manage—for the moment. “How late?” He asks, deathly serious.

“F-five days.”

“And the latest you’ve ever been is?”

“A day. And rarely, at that.”

He stares at you for a moment, then swerves onto the shoulder, parking, and quickly getting out, slamming the door behind him. “Fuck! Motherfuck! Why does this shit keep happening to me? It’s going great one minute, then it all just turns to shit!”

You turn away from the window then, refusing to listen to anymore as you begin to sob, clutching your stomach. You reach forward, toward the dash, now hyperventilating, trying to catch your breath, your ears ringing.

A moment later, Billy gets back in the car, forcing his way back into traffic. “We’re not going to freak out until you’ve taken a piss test and we know for sure.”

Both of you stand in the family-planning aisle of a CVS, staring at their plethora of a selection of pregnancy tests. Billy reaches forward with a shaking hand, grabbing a two-pack in a pink box.

“Should…do you want this one?” He asks, looking at you.

You shrug, lower lip trembling.

He puts it back, grabbing a blue box next. “This one sounds like it should be fairly accurate. Ninety-eight percent.” He tosses it back onto the shelf. “Why the fuck are there so many? What’s the goddamn difference? I mean, Jesus, it’s like buying condoms. I mean, the things are supposed to be fuckin’ fool-proof, right? Why make shit that leaves you guessing in a situation like this? It’s ridiculous.”

You stay quiet, knowing he’s talking more to himself than he is you.

He picks the blue box back up, grabbing your hand in his other, leading you up front to the register.

Billy tosses the test onto the counter and the older woman behind it eyes up the two of you as she scans the box, telling Billy his total.

You just stare at the floor as he pulls out a bill, telling her to keep the change. Then, “You all have a public restroom?”

Billy waits outside the door as you go, silent tears slipping down your cheeks as you place the cap back on the test and set it on the sink, waiting.

It’s maybe two minutes later before his patience has worn through and he pounds on the door, making you jump. “What’s takin’ so long?”

You walk over, cracking the door open, staring up at him. “It takes fifteen minutes.”

His brows raise. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” He barges in, shutting the door behind him. “Why the hell don’t they put that on the goddamn box?”

“They did,” you reply quietly, showing it to him—right on the front. “See?”

He snatches it away from you, staring at it like it’s his own worst enemy, then tossing it in the trash.

He begins to pace back and forth in the small space, hands on his hips. You stand silently against the wall, watching him.

“I can’t believe this is fucking happening. This—coming out here—getting to California. It was supposed to be a new fucking start and now… I’m eighteen-goddamn-years-old. I can’t be a dad yet. I’m not ready. I mean, Jesus, I don’t know that I want kids ever. I can’t stand ‘em now. Annoying little shits. And they’re expensive as hell. Even if you think you’re ready, you’re fuckin’ not. We don’t even have a place to live. What? Am I gonna stick a crib in the fucking backseat of the Camaro? Fuck!”

When he looks at you, his heart drops.

You’re standing against the wall, shaking, tears streaming down your face, biting your lip, both hands clutched over your stomach, your face pale. “I’ll get rid of it,” you whisper.

Then you continue, “Oh God, what’s happening to me? I can’t…I can’t do this alone. What am I supposed to do? How…how am I going to live? What will happen to my baby?” You hang your head, truly sobbing then.

You thought he was going to leave you? Alone? To this?

He steps over, quickly wrapping his arms around you. “I’m sorry. Baby, I’m right here. Sweetheart, look at me.”

He takes your face in his hands. “Angel, I’m not going anywhere. If you are…it’s not like I didn’t play a part in it. You should know by now that I’m in this for the long haul. That you’re it for me. I know you deserve better than me. You always will. But I’ll try my best, alright? To be a good dad. I had a shitty fuckin’ example, but maybe I can learn from his mistakes. I’ll take care of you.”

He presses a palm to your stomach then. “Both of you. We’ll…we’ll get married. I’ll be better than he was. I have to be. You deserve that.”

You blink up at him, speechless. Had…had he just proposed? “You…want to get married?”

He smiles, kissing your forehead. “It’s the right thing to do. But I’m not getting’ down on one knee, if that’s what you’re expecting. Not in this nasty fuckin’ restroom, anyway.”

You glance to the test. “I think it’s been enough time now.”

You walk over to it and fill with relief—joy—when you see the minus sign. You double over the sink, laughing lightly. All that stress and for nothing. Nothing at all. “Oh, thank God!” You laugh some more, feeling like all is right with the world again. “I’m not pregnant. We don’t have to get married now! We can just-”

You stop talking when you turn around and see Billy isn’t nearly as elated as you are. Not even smiling. Nor is he looking at you. Instead, his hands are gripping the metal support beam behind him, eyes trained on the floor.

“I-”

He quickly brushes past you then, wrenching the door open. “Let’s go.”

Once the two of you have returned to the motel, he still hasn’t spoken another word to you. He’d gone in the bathroom, slamming the door behind him, even going so far as to lock as it while he showered.

You’d pressed your ear up against the door, listening, trying to ensure he was okay, but could hear nothing over the sound of water.

So, you’d sat on the edge of the bed, patiently waiting, thinking of how best to apologize for what you’d said. You’d just been so sure that he would be relieved as well. He’d said it himself: that he wasn’t ready for a baby yet. Then you wonder…had it been your comment about marriage that had upset him?

Was…was he ready for that? Were you? But when you think of it: wearing a ring he’s chosen for you, taking his last name, vowing to spend your life next to him—it doesn’t fill you with fear or doubt or unease. It fills you with love. Joy. A feeling of security.

When Billy emerges quite some time later, he tries to hide it, but you see it: his eyes are bloodshot.

Your heart breaks, now knowing what’d taken him so long.

He had been crying.

You pad over to him, wrapping your arms around his middle as he chooses a t-shirt for bed. He doesn’t do that, though—wear pajamas to lie down next to you. And now he suddenly feels the need to shield himself from you?

You press your cheek to his bare back. “Did you mean what you said about getting mar-”

“Just fuckin’ drop it, alright? You’re not knocked up, so now we don’t have to get hitched. Let’s just go to bed.”

“But-”

“Like you’d want to anyway.”

“I do.”

He freezes. Suddenly imagining you saying those words in a different context. He slowly turns back around to you. “What?”

You stand on tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck, running your fingers through his damp curls. “I want to if you do.”

He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. “Really?”

You smile, nodding. “I’m sorry for what I said. I wasn’t thinking. I was just relieved that I wasn’t pregnant. I…I’m already yours in every other way. Why not this one, too? Billy, no one else is ever going to love me the way you have—do. Just like you, I don’t want anyone else. You’re what I want. I can’t imagine having to start over with someone else after…after all of this. The thought of losing you…it was tearing me apart. Having to think of living a life without you in it…”

You trail off for a moment, swallowing the lump that’s forming in your throat. “I’ll marry you.”

His lip twitches and his eyes grow glassy. He then crushes you to his chest, holding you close, cradling the back of your head. “Okay.”

You and Billy are currently browsing through selections of gently-used clothing at a local thrift store, trying to pick out outfits to wear to the Little White Chapel. But every white dress you come across has something wrong with it: holes, tears, rips, yellowing, or it’s just a tad outdated or way too frilly.

Until you find a hanger buried behind numerous other items. As you look the dress over, you begin to smile.

You then wander over to Billy, who’s looking through men’s dress clothes and poke him in the back.

When he turns, a grin forms on his face. He grips the soft material, looking to you. A white babydoll dress, silver sparkles dancing against the overhead fluorescent lights. There’s even a matching veil.

“It kind of smells like mothballs,” you say.

He smirks. “Don’t worry, baby, you won’t be wearing it long.”

Once Billy had picked out a pair of dress slacks that he felt were a tad too tight—until you’d been unable to remove your eyes from his rear, and then he’d said they fit just perfect after all—as well as a white button-up shirt, he’d gone over to the lingerie and gotten lucky when he’d found you a garter.

The two of you then went up and you stood by his side, smiling up at him, as he paid for your purchases, then asked about changing in-store.

Once the two of you emerged from the changing rooms, even he was blushing. So, you’d taken his hand in yours, and headed back out to the car together.

“Can we stop at a pawn shop first?”

He glances to you. “For?”

You reach in the backseat, grabbing a shoulder bag, then pulling your dad’s Rolex out. “I want to trade this. For a ring. For you.”

He nods then, sniffling. “Course, baby.”

“What about that one?”

Billy shakes his head. “It’s fuckin’ hideous.”

You raise a brow. He was worse than a woman when it came to jewelry, apparently.

You squint, looking into the late-night pawn shop’s display case, then kneeling in front of it, practically pressing your face up against the glass. You smile, pointing, looking up to the middle-aged shop-keep behind it. “Can I see that one?”

He nods, unlocking the display from his side, grabbing the ring you’d indicated, handing it to you.

You grab Billy’s left hand, sliding it onto his ring finger. And it’s a perfect fit. A simple gold band.

You stare up at him.

He looks to the man. “Will the Rolex cover this?”

“More than.”

Billy looks back to you. “We’ll take it.”

Once the two of you are sitting in the parking lot of the small chapel, it’s only then that you notice Billy is shaking.

You reach toward him, but he quickly exits the car, making his way around to your side, opening your door.

He doesn’t look at you.

You then reach up, cupping his cheek, taking one of his hands in yours. “Are you okay? We…we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. If you want to wait, I’m okay with that. As long as we’re together- ”

He shakes his head, his hand trembling in yours. “What if…what if I fuck this up? I’ve already done it enough times already. I nearly lost you back in Oklahoma and then again in Texas. What if I turn out to be just like him and I hurt you, or-”

You brush your thumb over his lips, quieting him. “And I always came back. Or you came for me. Billy, neither of us is perfect. No one alive is. But…that’s the point, right? Of falling in love? Loving someone despite their flaws. Or…helping them through them. Not just giving up when things get hard. I know what—who—I want. We’ve both said it: that we belong together.” You press yourself against his chest and he wraps his arms around you, kissing the crown of your head. “So let’s go make it official. No one is ever going to love me like you do.”

He rests his cheek against your veil. “Okay.”

You pull back, looking up at him with hopeful eyes, full of love.

“Let’s go get married.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“And do you, Billy Hargrove, take this little lady to be your lawfully wedded bride? To have and hold tender and sweet, to love and cherish, in sickness and in health, for riches—God willin’—or poorer, for better or worse, ‘till death do ya part?”

Being married by an Elvis impersonator was most-certainly going to be a story to remember.

Billy tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, his thumb tracing your jaw line, his other hand holding your right one. “I do.”

He reaches into his pocket, and when he pulls out his hand, a silver ring is held between his thumb and index finger.

Your brows furrow. He’d told you back at the pawn shop that he had your ring already covered, but refused to elaborate on how, until you were standing before one another exchanging vows.

He swallows thickly. “It was my mom’s,” he states, glancing to you, before sliding it onto your finger.

Unshed tears threaten to spill forth on both your parts.

“And do you, lil’ mama—Y/N—take this young stud, to be your hubby? To have and hold tender and sweet, to love and cherish, in sickness and in health, for riches or poorer, for better or worse, ‘till death do ya part?”

Your lip trembles as you stare up, into Billy’s beautiful, warm eyes. “I do.”

You slide the gold band you’d purchased less than half-an-hour ago onto his finger once again.

“Then, by the power vested in me by the great state of Nevada and the Lord Almighty, I do so pronounce you husband and bride. Now, my good man, kiss your lady.”

Billy leans down, cupping the back of your head, and crushing his lips to yours.

A woman who also works at the chapel snaps a few pictures of the two of you kissing, holding one another, and beaming up at each other and at the cheap disposable camera she holds in her hands.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

After the two of you exited the chapel holding hands, laughing, even crying a little, you’d gotten back into the car and Billy had driven you to a bar, insisting on having some form of a reception, even if it was just the two of you. In reality, he deeply wanted to have his first dance with you.

You stand in the middle of the room—the place near-empty; it was a tad dingy and small—waiting for Billy to select a song from the jukebox over in the corner. You know he’s found whatever he’s looking for when a small smile comes across his lips.

He comes back over to you, taking one of your hands in his, leaning his forehead down against yours just as Bob Dylan begins to hum the beginning of Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door, resting his other hand against the small of your back, pulling you in close.

You close your eyes, reaching up, tangling the fingers of your other hand in his hair, swaying back and forth with him to the slow song.

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

You open your eyes, tears slipping down your flushed cheeks as you press your lips to his own. “I love you.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When the two of you return to the motel, Billy leaves the door to the room open, blaring the song Don’t Stop Believin’ by Journey from the car’s stereo outside, tugging you up on the bed with him and the two of you begin to jump up and down on the mattress, holding onto one another, smiling, laughing, happier than either of you ever thought you could be. Would ever be.

He crushes his lips to yours, holding your face in his hands. He pulls back. “Promise me that you’re mine for forever.”

You wrap your arms around his neck. “Forever.”

#fic: stranger things (billy hargrove x reader)#billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove x reader #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you

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jiminiecrickets · 1 year

Text

jeon jungkook ♡ series masterlist

wc. 2.2k

tags. smut | dom top!m!reader, handjobs, praise, shower sex

"you agreed. you pinky-promised. was what you wrote really that bad?"

he shifts on the couch, tucking his feet up to his chin and hiding his face behind it. his face is a very, very dark shade of red. "it's awful. horrible. you'll break up with me if you read it."

"then why'd you write it down in the first place?"

"i don't know!" he whines. "i was feeling brave!"

you set down the controller. on the large flat-screen tv, your characters circle the mario kart track behind the scoreboard. waluigi, jungkook's character, throws a tantrum in his race-car. "give me the paper."

"you'll hate me."

fourth place. fourth place. he can't believe himself. your name is highlighted at the top, neatly settled in first place. he'd been so comfortable, in the lead for the entirety of the match, and his big ego decided that an 'all or nothing' pity round would come out in his favour.

as quick as lighting, you snatch the crumpled ball of paper and unfold it, slapping jungkook's panicked hands away. your brows furrow deeper the longer you look at it.

"you're right. you were feeling brave."

jungkook slumps against your shoulder, his face pinched in embarrassment. "please don't think badly of me because of it, hyung..."

lowering the torn corner of paper, you ask softly, "would you like to do this with me, kookie? i'm interested."

his head shoots up. "what? are you serious?"

"no, i'm batman." he rolls his eyes with a huff and you grin, eyes crinkling as you pull him into your side. "yes, i'm being serious. thank you for telling me – i would never have expected something like this out of my cute little boyfriend."

if possible, his pout intensifies. he crosses his arms over his knees, staring determinedly ahead at the game. "'m not little."

you hush him, tilting his face towards you and pressing a long kiss to those pretty pink lips. he hums breathily, leaning into you with a hand on your chest. he whines quietly when you finally pull away for air, his chest heaving as he blinks at you with wide, dark eyes.

"seven days," he whispers, leaning in and throwing his leg over your lap, caging your thighs with his own. he rocks his hips slowly, savouring your low groan of pleasure. "seven days to fuck me whenever and wherever you want. that's your prize, baby – don't waste it."

eyeing his body hungrily, you grin like a beast unchained. you cradle his tiny waist, and playfully, you lift your hand against it, comparing sizes. "oh, darling, i'm not letting a single inch of you go unloved."

he nibbles on his lower lip as you tug his shirt out of the waistband of his ripped jeans. he's due for his gym session tomorrow – goes every two or three days, whatever he can fit into his schedule – and he'd made lunch for the two of you just a few hours ago. his skin is warm, his tummy soft, and it tenses with a gasp under your palms as they glide across his skin.

"mh... sorry, baby," he whispers, lashes fluttering as he blushes a dusty pink. "i should've done this on gym day..."

"hm? why?" you rock his ass against your lap with a soft exhale. you arch a brow at him. "do you think you're only attractive to me when you're hungry and dehydrated? idiot."

"hey," he whines, a protesting pout adorning his lips. he touches your hand on his stomach, fingers wrapping around yours. "'m not an idiot! just... i dunno... i wanna be handsome for you, hyung, y'know?"

you give him a look. "did i ask you out, or your abs?"

"well, me..."

"i asked you out after we finished three large pizzas at two in the morning. i think we ate about a kilo of cheese each."

he snorts. "yeah, yeah... i guess."

"uh-huh." you squeeze his hips and bring him down to kiss him, lips moving gently together. you part and bury your nose in his neck, lazily moving your hips against one another. he moans softly as you roll your palm against his bulge. "baby, you're always beautiful to me. on gym day or not – i would worship you for hours if you'd let me."

he giggles softly. "that's why i don't. you gotta be more productive than being buried between my thighs from dawn to dusk." he slips your belt free and tosses it – you barely felt him doing it, too busy engraving the sight of his sweet eyes and smile into the backs of your eyelids. "but, you know, a whole week to do whatever you want to me..."

you groan lowly at the suggestion, hastily pulling him out of his pants. you don't do it with half the grace that he does, but he seems to appreciate your enthusiasm, his cock already hard and twitching with anticipation. "mm, that does sound amazing. okay, ground rules: no touching yourself at any point. only i can get you off."

"fuck, o-okay, hyung. agreed."

you pump his cock slowly, capturing his lips hungrily. he drawls out a moan, his fingers drifting up your wrist. his other hand cradles the back of your head and he presses your foreheads together, his breath warm and quick against your cheek.

you flick your wrist and he whimpers softly, grip tightening around the base of your hand. his cock leaks as he bucks into your hand. you hush him, grazing your lips along his jawline. your hand quickens. "how does that feel, baby? good?"

"mm – mmhm," he whimpers. "it does, it does! feels really good..."

you spoil him too much. ever since you got together, he hasn't needed to touch himself – you're always right there, offering to do it for him. he's glad that you do – you can reach places so deep in him that he never knew existed, and you're always so gentle with him, making sure his pleasure is a priority.

he's dated a lot of people, but you're the first one who makes him feel so loved and important. it's almost embarrassing how much he loves you, how much he adores the way you pamper him.

he sniffles softly, burying his face in your shoulder. he grinds into your fist, cock dripping precome down your knuckles.

you hum softly, wrapping an arm around his waist. "you okay, darling? this too much?"

he shakes his head. "n-no... keep going. please. i love you."

it's sudden, and you stop moving for a half-second in surprise. "i love you, too, jungkookie. is everything alright?"

he nods, grabbing your hand and moving it up and down his swollen cock. it's cute and flushed red, twitching in your palm excitedly. "mhm. i just really love you – want you to know that."

who knew that love confessions mid-handjob could be so adorable? you smile into his hot skin and cradle him close as he gasps and jerks into your hand, spilling onto your shirt with a soft whimper.

for a long while, he remains completely lax in your arms, panting softly against your neck as he comes down from his high. when he opens his eyes tiredly, you smile down at him and kiss his cheek, tucking him back into his pants.

he whines quietly, reaching for your belt. "you didn't finish, baby... i can feel how hard you are."

you hum softly, tugging his hand away. "you need a shower, anyway. can i join you?"

his lower lip slips teasingly between his teeth. his eyes sparkle. "mm, of course. you're not getting away so easily, hyung-ah – i'm gonna eat you alive."

you smirk, letting him drag you to your feet and towards the bathroom. his eyes glint with mischief and he pulls you down by your collar to meet your lips with his, one of his hands tucked into the back pocket of your jeans. his thumb is hooked through a belt loop.

you groan into his mouth as he strokes your clothed bulge with a cheeky grin. "baby, don't test me. i'm the one with the week-long free pass to your ass."

he winks. "why d'you think i'm doing this? last one into the shower loses!"

he wins. with the steamy water hitting your back, you cage jungkook against the glass, your arms sturdy beside him. you keep him safe, protected, from the world. not once does he feel trapped – not once does he feel confined in your love. no matter how closely you press against him, no matter how deep you are inside of him – you are his, and he is yours.

there's a certain freedom in being engulfed by your arms. he never expected it. spreading his thighs, kissing his shoulder – you love him like no other has. you love him in all the ways that matter and all the ways that don't because you're overflowing with it, that love of yours. even when you're balls deep inside him – an exciting, dirty kind of love that he blushes about in the mornings – you're smiling into his neck, murmuring about how lovely he is and how he deserves you, deserves your cock, deserves your love and deserves all that is good and bright. it's your turn to lavish him with love confessions and he can barely keep track of them all, his coherent thoughts running down the drain with each solid thrust of your hips.

"hyung," he whimpers, gnawing on his lower lip. he squeezes his eyes shut, fingers scrabbling for purchase fruitlessly against the smooth glass. your cock glides against his prostate and he grabs your hip, pulling you into him with a warbled moan. "f-fuck..."

"what's that, baby?" you murmur against his skin, hot and slick. your thrusts make him unravel, strong and hard and consistent against that spot inside him that makes him see stars. it's mind-melting. "you wanna tell me something?"

he whimpers, eyes squeezing shut as your hips shift against his ass, angling differently. your cock just grazes his prostate and he clenches around you, a warbled cry of your name leaving his lips. he feels so tiny – his feet between yours, your cock buried so deep in him he can practically taste it. he arches his back, tight ass pressing back against your pelvis, and savours your growl and the way your hand grips the opposite side of his waist, gripping the slim shelf of his hip.

"gotta use your words, pretty thing," you husk. with every thrust, it takes longer to bottom out, and eventually your hips still entirely. he whines, high-pitched and wanton, and grinds against you – you keep him at bay with one hand pressed firm to the small of his back. "easy, pretty. can you do that f'me? can you talk to me, tell me what you want from me?"

you step forward, forcing jungkook to stand straighter, pressed closer to the glass. trapped in your arms, he has no room to move, no room to argue. he shivers, chest grazing glass, and can't help the unsteady shuffle of his feet. the hot, steamy water hits your back and glides down your neck, your chest, dripping onto his shoulders.

lifting a hand, you tuck it against his upper ribs, fingers pressed into the lean muscle of his chest. the flesh – pull and push, stroking and caressing. he lets out a whisper of a moan as your warm fingers flick over his nipple, hard and pebbled.

"want you," he whines quietly, voice cracking in the middle when your hand travels down his hot, slick stomach and glides over his throbbing cock. he grabs your hip, fingers digging into you until his knuckles turn white. "w-want you – want you close to me, closer, please, want you closer—"

he breaks off with a babble as you take his hands and pin them flat to the glass. the motion draws you ever nearer – closer, as he'd say, the sweet thing – and your cock reaches so deep inside him, pressing against his stomach. he's dizzy with it, veins buzzing and head detached from his shoulders.

eventually, he hears your chuckle, like a radio knob turned slowly louder. his heart rabbits in his chest as he cracks open his eyes, temple pressed against the cold clear glass. his breath fogs it, and water trails down his cheeks from his damp hair, stuck to his skin the way it always does when you tear him apart and put him back together. his cock is wet and sticky, the heat tingling in his lower spine with a pulsing desperation.

it's all over his tummy, he thinks distantly with a soft whimper. he'd be embarrassed if he could remember the word.

when you finally finish, jungkook's legs feel like jelly. he curls his fingers around yours, lacing them together as he pants against the foggy glass, his hair damp and the air thick with the smell of sex. you kiss him over his shoulder and he moans against your lips, soft and tired. he smiles and closes his eyes as you reach for the shampoo – he leans back against your chest as you smooth your hand down his stomach, gentle and warm. he can feel your pulse through your palms and your heart through his ribs.

"i love you," he whispers against your throat. he means it in every iteration it has ever been.

#top male reader #x male reader #male reader #dom male reader #bts x male reader #dom reader #top reader #bottom bts #bottom jungkook #jungkook x male reader #kpop x male reader #bts x reader #kpop x reader #bts smut #jungkook smut

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emepe · 13 days

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— Pairing: Eren x Reader, friends to lovers

— General info: series, 18+, modern AU, serial killer AU, smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

— Summary: Fate is a tricky thing. Certain situations can’t be avoided as much as certain people’s lives can’t be kept from intertwining. With a serial killer on the loose, and unexpected relationships blooming, how will the universe intervene?

— Chapter summary: The first 48 hours are crucial when a person goes missing. Eren can only pray it’s enough to reach you..

— Content warnings: emetophobia, mention of assault.

— Notes: Helloooo!!! Welcome to TV Friday number 12 <3 I thought about posting earlier but I thought best to keep up our little tradition ^^ Please read the notes at the end for extra notes about TV’s future. Don’t be shy to stop by my ask box <3 If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list, lmk. Happy reading!

Links: Read on AO3 | Chapter guide | Masterlist

Forty-eight hours

Hour One

A missed call shouldn't have been enough to raise an alarm, but his gut instantly told him something was wrong. And yet he tried his best to remain calm — stepped out onto the street and made his way to the bus stop where you should've been dropped off, glancing into convenience stores just in case, hopeful that the bus was just running a little late. But when the bus you would've taken showed up — allowing Eren some time to sigh in relief and shake his head at his own presumptions — and you were nowhere to be found among the few people to scatter onto the sidewalk, it only confirmed that previous gut feeling.

Hour Two

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

There's a stiffness to Eren's breathing that makes the process more painful than its intended effects — his lungs feel too big for his ribs, which seem to be pressing them against his heart, pushing his brain into hyperactivity to keep him from imploding.

Where does he even start? Where should he even go?

If there's a proper protocol to follow to find you, he's no idea of it and he's strangely aware that his anxiety might lead him in the wrong direction when there's so much he has to do — so many places he has to be — at once. It's infuriatingly difficult to not have a cool head when you really need it.

He didn't think to bring his car — perhaps it's for the best, considering his vision continues to blur and it's not a sign of good condition to hear your own frantic heartbeat pounding in your ears.

His eyes anxiously scan the faces of every person in his path. Paired with his dazed footing and the sick expression on his face revived every couple of minutes from the nausea stemming from some sort of sensed doom that he continuously swats away, there hasn't been a shortage of odd looks and aversions since he ventured into the dark streets in hopes to find you fine and well out of thin air.

It's been too long to dismiss as a casualty since his calls stopped going through, and yet he insists on redialing your number each time he's met with the automated message that only further fuels his dreadful symptoms, hopeful that your voice will reach his ears again, for that comforting sound to put an end to the infernal crescendo of his insides.

Just as he's about to redial once more, his phone starts buzzing first, and for a split second his body is at peace and his heart soothed in the spare moment that it takes for him to accept the call and bring the phone to his ear.

“Have you heard from her yet?”

The voice on the other end causes his stomach to plummet to his feet for what feels like the tenth time tonight.

It takes a moment for his brain to assimilate that it's not you on the other end and another for him to hate himself for not checking who was calling and stupidly spit a response to an Armin who has no fault in anything, especially for not being you.

Armin, as understanding as ever and assuming the more collected role for Eren's sake, dismisses the frustrated tone in his friend's voice, fully aware it's nothing personal.

“The security guard says she left a little over an hour ago and Mika called me a minute ago and said she hasn't been home. Are you sure she wasn't going to make any stops on the way?”

“No, Armin, she would've told me. She would've come here first or she would've at least texted me.” Eren's voice cracks. “Something is wrong.”

The weakness in Eren's voice is enough to fracture Armin's composure for a fraction of a second.

“Let's go to Levi.”

Hour Three

Being in the police station feels more reassuring than Eren would've imagined. At least this means he's doing something — and something right, at that — and the drive over spared him enough time to ease his nerves, even just a little, as he continued to repeat inwardly to himself that everything is going to be fine.

Time is everything and frankly, he can't help but feel a bit dumb for not thinking about getting some help from Levi in the first place. He'll find out what's going on — if there was an accident, if you got mugged and that's why no calls go through, or even if your bus broke down and that's why he hasn't seen you when he should have by now. Even if it turns out to be a misunderstanding, better to cause a scene than to sit on his hands. Though three hours without any sign to say otherwise can't be a misunderstanding.

Eren hunches over, resting his forehead on the edge of Levi's desk, not minding one bit as it digs a dent into his skin. His knee bounces every couple of minutes as he and Armin wait for Levi to get back to them.

“Eren Jaeger?”

He looks up to find a tall blond man instead of Levi.

“Yes?”

“I'm Captain Erwin Smith. Come this way please.”

Eren stands to follow the man's lead, only sparing a nervous glance to Armin, who replies with a comforting one from his seat, only morphing into a more accurate depiction of his worry once Eren turns his back to him.

“Where's Levi?”

Eren's eyes wander the barren space he's been led into. Nothing but a table and a pair of chairs set opposite of each other.

“He'll be here in a moment. I just want to ask you some more questions about the missing person's report you're filing.”

“Of course.”

Doing his best to hold in his exasperation at the ticking clock in his head, he dutifully replies to every question he's already answered for Levi when he first walked into the station — what made him come to the station, his relation to you, your description, what happened before he lost contact with you, amongst other basic things to paint a picture of the situation.

“Was there ever any trouble in your relationship?” Erwin asks.

Eren's brow furrows.

“What do you mean?”

“I'm asking if there was any indication that your girlfriend,” he makes a vague motion with his hands as he reads your name from the folder in his hands, “might’ve been upset with the relationship. Did you ever argue or have any trouble? Perhaps something in the past few days? Or ever?”

Eren hardens his jaw in an attempt to remain calm. He knew he'd have to spend a while at the station, answering questions more than once — as frustrating as the lengthy process could be, he expected that much.

Erwin's tone has remained neutral for the entirety of the questioning, and it's only natural to want to rule out any immediate suspects, but it doesn't make the implication of the captain's words any less offensive and borderline cruel.

“No,” Eren chokes out, horrified by the mere idea that either of you would walk away without warning. That isn't you.

“So no reason for her to break off contact with you.”

“She didn't break off contact,” Eren spits, growing heavily frustrated at the sudden turn of events. “We were supposed to meet, she was on her way already. I saw her just this morning and she called me first to tell me she was coming home.”

“Maybe she only said that to throw you off?”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Just tell me what you might think,” Erwin replies, voice stern. “You say it's only been three hours since you last heard from her but she's a mentally stable, healthy adult. Unless she has any conditions that could put herself or others in danger, chances are she's safe and sound somewhere and this is all a misunderstanding. Was there anything suspicious or weird about her?”

Eren's shake of his head grows more and more frustrated as Erwin does little to conceal his skepticism, which only shapes as a misunderstanding from Eren's increasingly impatient point of view.

“What's suspicious and weird is that she never made it to our date at all and it's been three hours and I haven't gotten a single word from her.”

Eren's expression is one of pleading, yet Erwin's remains neutral and made of marble.

“And it's not like that,” Eren murmurs. “I was going to ask her to live with me tonight. She called me after she left work to tell me she was on her way.” Eren can feel his heartbeat start to pick up as his ribcage begins to close in on his lungs once more as more anxious words continue to spill from his mouth in increasing pace and volume. “She told me she had news and that she loves me. Why would she tell me that if anything was wrong? Why would she say that if she wasn't going to make it to our date?” The crack in his voice comes at the same time as the stinging sensation behind his eyes and the uncomfortable tickle in his nose. “I was making dinner for us. I had this whole thing planned. I wanted to surprise her with all her favorite food and the pictures from the new apartment. I wasn't going to tell her about the pink bathtub because I want it to be a surprise when we move in. She…” He curls against the table, hands gripping his hair in frustration, pulling at the strands to make sure he still feels something because there are just too many sensations overwhelming him as he tries to get through to the man in front of him. “She really wants a pink bathtub.”

Eren doesn't lift his gaze, just remains quiet and unmoving until he catches a flicker of movement in front of him. It's only when he takes the tissue offered by Erwin that he becomes aware of the tears streaming down his face.

Levi nearly had a heart attack when he first caught eye of Eren's and Armin's familiar faces walking into the police station. The frantic green eyes and anxious expressions made it clear something awful had happened and hot flashes of searing dread burned inside his stomach. That is until nobody pronounced his niece's name. After that, the flame of pain withered to ashes of guilt, consuming him from the inside in such a manner that it was hard to face his niece's friends knowing he'd felt relief it wasn't his family who'd been affected tonight.

Levi's known Eren since he was a kid — a bit childish and whiny, but ultimately a decent man with a kind heart. It's been a pleasure watching him grow up and knowing he's remained a good friend to his niece.

Levi's only met you once. It was at Jean and Mikasa's engagement party earlier this year. If Jean and Mikasa were the happiest couple there, you and Eren were a close second. It was easy to know just how much he adored you, and how attached you were to him. Eren was rarely in a dark place, but next to you his smile was blinding.

After finding out Erwin conducted the interrogation to rule out a possible runaway case — and how he did it — he still hadn't ridden himself of enough guilt to apologize for making the situation more stressful, no matter what the rules say.

It's no secret some sudden disappearances hold more danger than others. An abducted child, an older person with dementia, a mentally and emotionally unstable person who's looking to cause harm to others or themselves — they demand a higher sense of urgency than logging the missing person into the system and following up when there's nothing more pressing on the police's plate.

The desperation consuming Eren's features when Levi finally walks into the interrogation room is enough to kick off his own instincts.

It's upon Levi's insistence that patrols are dispatched immediately.

Hour Five

When a loved one's safety is on the line, any efforts from authorities never seem to be enough and yet one remains oddly hopeful that the people with a proper protocol should know how to better handle situations that leave one frantic and lost.

Calls to the nearest hospitals, pings from cellphone towers, two patrols dispatched to the last known location and its surroundings, questions to potential witnesses who have nothing to report or are rather too invested to go back to whatever keeps their attention inside to provide some detailed tips, one patrol leaving because of a nearby break-in and the remaining one left with nothing more to go off of than one grainy clip of CCTV footage that shows your figure walking down the street, and a second clip from a convenience store's outside surveillance camera where you don't show up at all, but the lack of witnesses lead to nothing in between.

Keeping up the search when there's been nothing gained starts proving to be more difficult when obstacles continue to pile on. Aside from the growing boredom of those in police cars from the lack of fresh information to keep them motivated, the heavy clouds that hover over everyone's head threatens for the case to soon be abandoned for the night.

Hour Eight

Levi is hesitant to leave. But with no leads — no CCTV footage, no unknown numbers blinking on Eren's screen, no mother, an estranged father, no sign of a struggle at the last known location, and so much yet so little more — there isn't much he has to do than drive back with the pair of worried men to the station for more questioning in case of foul play, while constantly eyeing his notifications for any incoming messages on an assault victim found in an alley not too far away from where your phone was last still on.

Eren refuses to leave. Despite Levi's efforts to persuade him that going back to the station was necessary, knowing he was so close to where you'd last been was enough for Eren to stand his ground. Getting into Levi's car means going back miles worth of steps. It means straying from what feels so much like the right path already. And as ridiculous and futile as it is with no leads, it means losing his grip on something much more solid.

How easy it would be if a last known location means he can find you just by looking behind a tree or having someone point and say “yes, she's right there”.

So when Levi makes another plea for Eren to come back with him — he doesn't mention what for to not stir any more nerves — and Eren says no while steering himself down the block for what feels like his hundredth recon of the area — just in case you really were behind that tree in the small playground all along, playing a nasty prank on him — Levi chooses to go back to all the nearby twenty-four hour convenience stores one last time before the downpour begins.

Armin gives Levi a grateful nod before lightly jogging to catch up with Eren, who's already turning onto the next street.

“You can go,” Eren calls over his shoulder after catching a glimpse of his friend's blond hair beside him. “I'll keep looking by myself. Besides, it's gonna rain soon. You'll get wet.”

“What about you?” Armin looks down at his friend's bare arms. “You don't even have a jacket.”

Eren looks down at his sides, like he just noticed his lack of a coat. He could've sworn he had one on him when he walked out his apartment. You would've been upset with him otherwise, that small pout forming on your lips while your brows are weighed down with disappointment.

The instant of amusement he feels is quickly consumed by the ache of why he's out on the street with no jacket to begin with.

The food must be cold by now. He'll have to heat it all up once you're back home.

Light raindrops brush against his skin with a small gust of wind.

You're still not behind the tree.

It's nearly half past two in the morning. Any civilians with useful information have been asleep for hours, and any passers-by would've reported anything had they seen it, Armin thinks.

It's chilling to walk down streets so quiet and empty, with the only reminder that this isn't an alternate universe being the sparse cars that drive by. Surely the people inside might find it strange to see the pair walking up and down the streets, turning, looking, flashing their phones to make out shapes in the dark.

The tickle of rain on skin is no longer, but the temperature continues to drop.

Armin takes on one side of the street while Eren tackles the other. He receives a polite nod from the security guard of a small daycare center, who fails to conceal his look of pity. Levi interviewed him around an hour ago, so he has to know what's going on.

Armin averts his gaze, his cheeks burning at the thought of some stranger pitying him and his friend when everything is going to be just fine.

The rain starts up again. Eren isn't around anymore. With one quick scan of the street, Armin spots him rounding the corner to the next street — pace firm but anxious. He's quick to follow.

By the time Armin catches up, the raindrops have grown in size, a reliable sign that this time, it's for real.

“Eren,” Armin calls him carefully.

Eren continues walking, flashing a light behind a dumpster in a narrow alley between a family restaurant and a bookstore.

“Eren,” Armin calls him a bit more firmly to get his attention, but to no avail.

With brows knit more in desperation than concern, Armin quickens his pace and pulls Eren by the shoulder just before he rounds the corner to the next street.

“Eren!”

“What?”

The anger and volume in Eren's voice shrinks Armin in his place for a brief moment.

Embarrassed by his own reaction, Eren exhales an apology. But his face hardens once more when Armin suggests it's time to go home.

Armin steps back, surprised to have caught a swear word from his best friend among the words he spits back in a negative response.

But when Eren turns, ready to resume his search, Armin pulls at him again.

“Eren, stop!” he half-yells, quickly readjusting his volume before speaking again to not cause any disturbances to sleeping strangers.

“You don't want to pick a fight with me Armin, I'm warning you,” Eren's voice grows low, but still reaches Armin with the same anger and menace.

Eren harshly pulls away and continues to storm down the next street, leaving Armin to stumble behind.

The rain is heavy enough now to spot the pavement faster than it takes for each drop to dry.

“We need to go back, we aren't going to find her like this,” Armin calls after him. His hands do little to shield himself from the rain. Thankfully, Armin thought to bring a jacket along but it won't do much for either of them when it's bound to be sopping wet in just a few minutes.

Eren's shirt is already clinging to his skin in large patches down his back, and yet he continues walking with purpose down the street.

Armin's shivering now under his jacket as he looks around to gather his surroundings. This street isn't far from the office. It's poorly lit which, paired with the rain, is best explored in daylight. There's a single street lamp that's meant to illuminate the area at night, but it's been broken for months and either nobody has reported it, or laziness has kept it from being repaired.

“Come on,” Armin insists, lightly jogging now and losing his breath under the cold shower as he tries to keep up with Eren, who still refuses to listen. “We'll come back in the morning! You need to get some rest if you're going to keep looking! I'll come with you, okay? But we need to go!”

Armin suddenly crashes into Eren's chest as the latter abruptly turns around in a sudden fit of pure rage.

“I already told you I'm not fucking leaving!”

Armin stumbles back, teeth chattering, muscles drooping from his wet clothes and vision blurred by the heavy rain.

“You can leave if you want to! That's what the fucking police is doing! Just go already! But I'm staying because I care! I don't give a fuck about the rain, I'm going to find her!”

Eren's words pierce through Armin's chest, and the next moment he's tackling Eren to the ground. It's not so much to stop him from leaving this time, but out of indignation.

Eren falls on his ass with a wet thud, his palms painfully pounding onto the pavement as Armin falls on top of him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt in his hands.

“You think I don't care? Why do you think I'm here, you idiot?” Armin yells in Eren's face. Had the pouring rain not been a factor, he would've been red in the face. But had the rain not been there, Eren also would've easily seen the tears streaming down Armin's face, and that would've taken away from his blue glare.

“She's my best friend! I'm just as worried about her as you are! You can't decide you're the only one affected by this! That only makes you a jerk and you're not!”

Eren is tense all over as he holds Armin's surprisingly threatening glare. His chest heaves as a twinge of guilt surges inside of him at his friend's pointed remarks. The stiff breathing makes its return.

“But we have to go,” Armin's voice softens — it cracks and begs.

And Eren breaks down in sobs. His scraped palms come to his face, aggressively digging the heels against his eyes as if to force his tears back in while his shoulders tremble in cold, grief and guilt.

“You don't understand!” he cries, his shirt still crumpled under Armin's grip. “I fucked up, Armin. This is all my fault!”

Unsure of how to react to this abrupt change in attitude, Armin remains frozen save for his teeth, which continue to chatter under the deafening rain.

“I was supposed to pick her up. I'm never late,” Eren hiccups. “But I didn't come today and now I don't know where she is! It was me, Armin! I did this! This is my fault!”

“Eren,” Armin murmurs gently, eyebrows upturned in sympathy as he finally softens his hold on his friend.

“I can't find her and I don't know if she's hurt or scared or if…,” Eren's words drown in another wave of sore sobs, his lips refusing to let the thought of the worst to escape as a spoken word — to think that someone might have caused you harm and that's what's kept you tonight.

“I need her to be okay,” he whimpers finally, lips trembling as his body begins to react to the harsh cold surrounding him. “Where is she, Armin?”

It takes a while for Armin to gather his thoughts and catch up to the workings of Eren's mind from this hellish night.

He often leaves the office with you, stays behind some evenings when he notices you're close to wrapping up your work and can ride the elevator together. Sometimes even accepts Eren's offer for a ride when he's too tired to deal with the overwhelming setting of public transportation — tired enough to not mind third-wheeling for a short while. If the last place your phone was turned on was before you even had a chance to take a bus, surely he could've done something to prevent this mess too. Why didn't he think to stay behind today, too?

“It's not your fault,” Armin finally says, his voice just barely audible amidst the rain and thunder. He blinks up from the ground to his friend. “And we don't know what happened. We'll try the hospitals again later, we'll keep calling her in the meantime. We have Levi helping us, right?”

Eren blinks back at him, slowly gathering that Armin is trying to encourage him through reassurances, and finally nods in response as he does his best to ignore the tight lump in his throat.

“It's like three in the morning, Eren. I'm not asking you to stop. But we can't keep going like this.” He motions vaguely toward the incessant rain from above and the wet clothes sticking to their skin.

Armin stands, relieving Eren from his weight as he pushes back his hair with one hand and offers the other to his friend whose reluctance casts a shadow over his usually bright features.

Eren trains his gaze on the ground, leaving Armin's helping hand hanging for the while longer it takes for him to convince himself that Armin is right and this doesn't mean he's failing you.

Finally, Eren accepts his friend's hand, who hoists him up just as they both spot Levi's car pulling into the street from the farthest corner.

Armin motions for Eren to follow him toward the car, to which he responds with a weak nod. But just a couple of steps in, something crunches and gets caught under his shoe. Naturally, he looks down, forgetting the deluge falling over him at the moment to frown at the foreign object.

Armin glances over his shoulder, sensing his absence, and turns around fully when he realizes Eren is kneeling on the ground, cautiously picking something from the ground that ultimately dangles from his fingers once it's fully suspended in the air.

Armin retraces his steps, kneeling next to his friend to find his face pallid, and green eyes wide with fear as he stares at the broken chain between his fingers, from which hangs an angel cast in silver with a broken wing.

His features contort in horrified realization. It's almost ridiculous to turn to Eren for confirmation of what he already knows and can already begin to imagine. But when he does, the latter is already hunched over in the opposite direction, emptying his stomach onto the wet pavement while the nearing lights from Levi's car come to blind him.

Hour Fifteen

Mikasa, Jean, and Sasha step into the elevator wordlessly, the only sounds on the way to Eren's floor being the inevitable rustles from the plastic bags with food in Mikasa's hands.

Jean offered to take them, but Mikasa insisted she'd hold onto them. Maybe it's because of her cold hands, but it might also be because she needs something to help keep her grounded — literally; she feels as though she might float away otherwise. Because if anyone were to ask her, nothing has felt real since last night after Armin's call.

The elevator’s hum ceases as it comes to a gentle stop and the doors slide open.

The same somber silence continues to hover between the trio as they mechanically walk down the hall to Eren's door. Jean takes out his copy of the key from his jeans pocket and pushes the door wide open, gesturing for the girls to enter first before quietly closing the door behind them.

Spare keys aren't rare between them. It was chain reaction that stemmed from Eren's father's passing. Everyone wanted to make sure he was okay. The rest is history.

“In case of emergency.”

“Can you please water my plants while I'm gone?”

“Can you check something for me?”

“I'm really sick, just let yourself in.”

“Just keep it.”

Jean's copy has rarely been used. In fact, not many of them have made use of Eren's key once he started dating. Not that it's been a dramatic change, but now there's not much need to be wary of barging in on something they'll all laugh about later. And today, after Eren passed out on the street in the rain, it seems crucial to brush the dust off an old habit for their friend's sake.

The trio is careful not to make any excess noise — Eren might still be sleeping —, but the further they venture into the apartment, they realize their efforts are in vain.

They expected Eren to be lying on the sofa where Jean and Armin had so carefully helped him settle down, still fast asleep considering it's only been a few hours since. Although Eren's sudden nausea was a mere reaction to finding the necklace, Armin still spent a couple more hours watching over him as a precaution while he cleaned up the kitchen and dining area, and quietly left for his apartment to make another round of calls before work.

They're met with the view of their friend bustling around his work area in a corner of the living room, his brow furrowed and eyes laser focused as he refills the ink tanks on his printer. Stacks of missing person's posters cover his desk with a handful of faded ones having been scattered and crumpled on the floor as evidence of the ink shortage he's tending to. Your face occupies nearly the entirety of his immediate view, which is why a single glance is enough to distract him from his task that he doesn't notice his friends present in his apartment, nor when the ink begins to leak.

At the instinctive curse word that leaves him in a frustrated huff, Jean rushes over to help him.

“I'll handle this,” he assures Eren, who only blinks in surprise as he realizes he's not alone.

Mikasa and Sasha walk over to him unsure of whether a hug is appropriate as a greeting. In the end, they choose to speak the words instead.

Sasha leaves the conversation in exchange for helping Jean clean up the spilled ink. An irregular blob-shaped stain is left behind on the ash gray wood.

“Are you– How's your stomach?” Mikasa asks.

An uneasy grimace makes its way onto Eren's face.

“It's fine. It was just… Yeah.” He shrugs it off, unsure of how to properly explain the incident without triggering more discomfort.

Mikasa nods in understanding.

“Armin said you're going back to the police station later.”

Eren huffs at a humorless puff of air from his nose.

“Yeah. More questioning,” Eren replies, his head continuously shaking in disbelief, to which Mikasa frowns.

“What's wrong?”

It takes Eren a couple of tries to let the words out, his mouth opening and closing with hesitancy.

“They all left, Mika,” he softly murmurs, a hint of helplessness infecting his fragile voice, that births an ache in Mikasa's chest. “Nobody could say anything and they got bored. What kind of excuse is that?”

Mikasa drops her gaze to her shoes, submitting before the hurt and impotence Eren's words awake in her.

Then she shakes her head briefly, recalling a good thing.

“Levi's on the case… and there's evidence for foul play now, there's a lead,” she says, trying her hardest to appear more hopeful at each thing on her list. “He'll find her, Eren. This'll just be nothing but a bad memory soon.”

She smiles, but it comes out sad from the red that tints her waterline.

Eren doesn't have the energy to try to appear cheerful from her encouragement, and limits himself to a nod.

“Eren, how long have you been up?” Sasha asks with concern from his desk, where her eyes scan over his computer screen and the stacks of paper with your face printed front and center.

“A few hours?” Eren replies with a shrug, to which everyone else exchanges concerned glances.

Jean breaks the silence with a loud clap, refusing to make way for any awkwardness in the air.

“We brought you some food, buddy. Come on, let's eat.”

Sasha eagerly nods, her enthusiasm a bit too stiff it almost seems rehearsed, as she encourages him to follow them to the dining table.

Eren allows himself to be tugged along for a couple of steps before he tethers himself to his spot for a moment and then decidedly takes a step back under everyone's puzzled expressions.

“I'm not really hungry,” he murmurs, shaking his head.

“Are you sure?” Mikasa gently asks.

“We got your favorite soup,” Jean smiles, though Eren is too busy staring at a blank point to notice. “Minestrone.”

“Extra parmesan,” Sasha adds.

“It's fine.” Eren assures them with a forced smile. “You guys eat. I have a lot of things to do.”

“Well, you can't do them on an empty stomach. Let's eat and then we'll go through your to-do list together,” Jean insists.

“Yeah,” Mikasa agrees, shooting a grateful smile to her fiancé. “Jean can drive you to the station after breakfast and Sasha and I can handle the rest.”

Every offer is sensible and comforting, but Eren still refuses. He can't eat, not when you still haven't come home.

“No…” his voice trembles ever so slightly as his eyes wander around the room, as if looking for an excuse. He ultimately makes his way back to his desk, where the stacks of posters await him. “I'll just head out now. I'm gonna hand some of these out before going to the station.”

The rejected trio exchange another round of anxious, meaningful looks. Mikasa's the first to break away from the group to join Eren in gathering a stack of flyers and a roll of tape from the black metal organizer on his desk.

As her hands roam around the surface of the ash gray wood, the jewel on her finger catches the sunlight peeking through the curtains.

Eren's movements grow slow as his focus is stolen by the silver engagement ring.

Mikasa notices the pause in his movements from the corner of her eye, and looks up at him to assess his status. Eren tears his gaze from her ring — embarrassed —, but not fast enough for it to go unnoticed, nor does he remember to ease his hardened jaw afterwards. He moves in silence and sets a fast pace toward the door, leaving an anguished Mikasa to trail at his heel.

Hour Twenty

It takes a handful of hours for Eren to get back home from the station, with a significant reduction to the baggage he left with. The stream of questions would've been fairly simple had he not been charged with so many uneasy feelings as to why he was doing all of it in the first place. It certainly didn't help that he had to face the same people who had simply left this morning. But he has to do things right — even if it means swallowing his anger to contribute with any useful information.

Social media presence, daily routines, bus routes, habits, friends, family situation.

Saying you know someone like the back of your hand is an odd saying, he thinks. He's not that vain to spend lengthy periods of time observing himself. In his case, it suffices to say he simply knows you — all he's done is look at you.

He knows your hands quite well. The shape of your fingers, the curves of your knuckles and the warmth of your palms when they latch onto his heartbeat and manipulate it to your will. And now what's been left since last night is a painful cavity. It's all wrong. Your hand should be here, filling his void.

The apartment is empty, Jean and Sasha long gone. The plastic bags have been folded into neat triangles and the counter has been cleared. Upon opening the fridge, Eren finds stacks of containers that have been added to those Armin helped put away the previous night from the uncelebrated dinner.

He stares at his packed fridge for a long time, any energy to step away vanishing into thin air and leaving him stuck in place, looking straight ahead until he no longer recognizes the shape of anything inside, and he grows numb at the cold air that slowly envelops him.

A ring from his pocket is what finally pulls him out of his daze and he's quick to whip the device out and accept the incoming call with pure urgency and no thought.

“I'm only assuming you've been too excited to call me to tell me how it went last night,” Carla's playfully accusing tone comes through the speaker.

“Mom,” Eren pronounces in a voice so soft, yet empty as he only acknowledges it's her, but any word that bounces off his tongue is devoid of meaning until he can speak the name he wants to.

“So,” Carla's enthusiastic grin is evident through the phone. “Was she thrilled? What did she say?”

Eren's voice fails him.

In all the anxiety and chaos, with all the things he's had to do within the last twenty hours, he completely forgot to tell his mother what had happened and that moment is catching up to him now.

His lips roll inwards, a habit reserved for when he's feeling shy because of things you say or do, and now has come back because of his lack of words — or rather the will to expel them.

His hand comes up to his hair, his fingers brushing his hair back as he struggles to find his voice.

It's only when Eren takes a second too long to reply that a shift in mood can be sensed from Carla's end of the line.

“Eren,” she calls him carefully, which only makes the lump in his throat grow. “Honey, what's wrong?”

“Mom,” is all Eren can muster, voice cracking as he pushes the word out.

“Did you have a fight? Is everything okay?” Carla's concern amplifies through the speaker, as something rustles in the background, a sign that she's taken on a more alert position.

“You didn't break up, did you?”

Out of all the things that could've gone wrong last night, Eren wishes that had been it. At least he wouldn't be as helpless. At least he'd know where you are. At least it's something he could reverse.

“No.”

The word comes out choked, his throat instantly sore for the second time.

His monosyllabic replies must be getting to her, because Carla takes a deep breath before trying again.

“Eren, honey. You have to speak clearly, okay?” Carla's voice grows gentle, as it always has whenever Eren would have trouble speaking his mind. Granted, that's been lost as he got older, but Carla's sweet attention hasn't. “What happened?”

Her patient voice finally manages to coax the lodged words from Eren's throat.

“I don't know where she is. She's missing.”

Hour Twenty-four

Rain is bad for detective work. Eren heard about it in a documentary or a podcast, or maybe he read it somewhere — he can't remember. But it supposedly washes away any evidence, making easy cases tricky and difficult cases nearly impossible. Considering the silver angel necklace was found in the midst of the sky falling, it comes as no surprise when he comes home from a casual meet up with Levi at a nearby coffee shop with the news that no DNA or signs of a struggle were found on site after a thorough search in the light of day. The other half of the broken angel wing was found stuck on the edge of a sewer grate, though. Eren would feel any comfort at all if it meant it would lead to something. But at least the necklace can be fixed for when he finds you and this is all over.

The necklace is pretty much a dead end, but it'll remain under the police's hold just in case.

Eren has never gone so long without seeing your face. Now that the clock has found its way back to the hour you were supposed to walk through his door, it's unbearable to know that you won't. And still he looks over in its direction every few minutes, expecting you to burst in and throw yourself into his embrace, marking the end to a day-long fever dream.

That's probably it. A dream. No, a nightmare. It's nothing but a wicked play of his subconscious — to teach him a lesson on appreciating you more. Maybe to scare him into doing a better job of protecting you. Maybe he's gotten too lax, too careless. After all, the city hasn't been terrorized by any violent crimes in the last few months. But that's no excuse to dismiss the possibility of danger. Right… There was a killer last year. Two murders. No suspects. No arrests. And there was a burglary just last night. So what if…

No.

Eren pulls at his hair, agitated by where his mind is leading him. He pulls hard on the strands, like they're the reins of his thoughts that he needs to redirect onto a less horrifying path.

His phone dings as if on cue with a text message.

I'll be there soon, honey. Get some rest, I'll call you tomorrow. I love you.

A tap on the attached file opens up a copy of a plane ticket for the day after tomorrow under the name Carla Jaeger.

His heart feels a tad lighter.

It'll help to have his mother around for a few days. He types his gratitude into his phone and presses send.

He lets his face fall into his hands as he hunches over his desk.

Everything will be okay, he repeats to himself in his head like a mantra.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Everything will be okay.

Outside, rain starts to fall.

Hour Thirty

The rain has been on and off for hours.

By the time Eren reconnected with his surroundings, ready to go out and look for clues on his own around the area, the rain was nearly as heavy as it was at three in the morning.

He sits by the living room window, watching the downpour. His phone is charging on a wooden stool next to him, taking a break from another round of calls to nearby hospitals to ask for any patients bearing your name. Still no.

His stomach has been growling for a while, but any energy he possesses isn't the kind that'll get him off his chair and into the kitchen — it's the kind that's meant to be used to stare out the window and grow numb over any trivial needs.

It's fine, he thinks. It'll pass.

Hour Thirty-seven

All five of his friends come through the door a little past seven in the morning, with bags of fresh meals to share.

Eren sits down this time, allowing Mikasa to fix him a plate and Connie to pour him a glass of juice.

Nobody mentions the dark circles under his eyes, and Eren's gaze is too lost on a blank point to sense the meaningful glances exchanged all around him.

There's not much room for conversation. Any sense of normalcy is lost in the thick air. It seems equally wrong to create a lighthearted break for the length of a meal as it is to talk about the empty seat across from Eren when everyone is trying so hard to make sure he's at the very least feeding himself.

Eren merely pokes and stirs at his food with his fork the entire time. There's a fresh stack of flyers on his desk that demand more urgency in his eyes than sitting down to eat.

His demeanor is easy to read by everyone at the table, yet another round of concerned glances and subtle nods in his direction being tossed around with silent messages.

In the end, nobody says a thing and the groups is broken off in pairs to tackle the surrounding neighborhoods.

Hour Forty-five

Nobody has called. Not him or the station. As the only person outside of the police to be contacted for any updates, his phone should've rung at least once. But aside from yesterday's encounter with Levi and his visits to the station to see if his presence alone will bring something up, there's been a drought in leads. And despite his determination in making sure every person he passes knows anything, there's still nothing.

It's been hours since his stomach has demanded his attention. It's finally reached the point where it's so empty, it's gone numb. His body is running on nothing more than sheer will and water.

He should at least try to eat, test if he can hold any food down.

The fridge remains packed with food, even more now thanks to what's been gathered from his morning visits.

Ever so slowly, with overly cautious movements, he takes out a container, transports it to the counter and peels off the lid. It's from the dinner you were supposed to share two nights ago.

His lips tremble, eyebrows upturning for the split second it takes him to grasp back at his composure. An outsider would think he's glaring at his leftovers, disgusted at whatever is inside, completely misunderstanding the mental ordeal he's traversing as he takes several deep breaths.

He pulls out a stool from the breakfast bar, sits down and stares.

Hour Forty-eight

It's been two whole days since Eren has stepped foot in his own bedroom.

His feet drag him toward the bed without stopping to flip the light switch. Though the night is cloudy, signaling another shower for tonight, the moonlight still finds its way into the room just enough for his eyes to take in the most basic shapes of his furniture.

He comes to a stop at the foot of the bed, and his gaze zeroes in on the neatly folded white cotton fabric set on the corner. It's the shirt you slept in two nights ago, the one that's the wrong size because it's his and he likes his clothes to be just a bit baggy.

It's the shirt he gently tugged off your body to feel your skin pressed against his. The one that you take care in folding even if you're in a rush and even though he'll throw it in the wash anyway.

His fingers slowly reach out to collect the fabric.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

It still smells like you. Just barely — a mere scrap of notes that have faded over the last two days. A mix of vanilla, citrus and a faint trace of eucalyptus fabric softener.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Breathe, Eren.

It doesn't work. The air is too thick. It gets caught in his throat and forces a choked sob on its way back out.

His face contorts in anguish as he falls onto the bed, curled up in an attempt to make himself as small as humanly possible, with your shirt clutched in his hands as the world outside darkens and he simply weeps.

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Notes: Tunnel Vision will continue, just not with the same schedule it had before my hiatus. I’ll be adding word count and progress updates in the chapter guide in case you want to keep up with the story in that way (It’ll also give you an estimate of when the next chapter will be posted. I have ideas for some ficlets, which I’ll do my best to post in between TV updates just so I don’t leave you all hanging with Eren content. It’ll depend a lot on whether I see any enthusiasm for it or not though (aka comments and reblogs that aren’t… well… empty). In the meantime, thank you for the support and feel free to slip into my ask box to chat :)