#throw me to the ground ch. 3

[oddinary4bts]

Chasing Cars | ch 17 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, this chapter contains mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: alcohol, mentions of OC thinking Jungkook was going to hurt himself in October, mentions of Hobi, explicit content: nipple/breast play, hickeys, praising, teasing, oral sex (male and female receiving), jerking off, balls sucking, a bit of mouth fucking, hair pulling, fingering, unprotected sex (don't be stupid)

☆word count: 9k

☆a/n: I don't want this to be the end no :') thank you for accompanying me on this journey. I hope you loved this story as much as I loved writing it, and I hope it stays in your heart like it will for sure stay in mine <3 thank you to @moonleeai for beta-ing, you're the best <3

☆series masterpost

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Thursday, December 19th

It snowed for the first time of the year this afternoon. 

It had been forecasted for a week now, but you still smile as you walk out of the exam building along with Nabi, a blanket of snow covering the ground. Students are milling around, throwing snowballs and building snowmen as their cheeks turn rosy, and their breaths turn into clouds that slowly lift towards the cloud-covered sky. 

It’s not snowing anymore, but it’s supposed to start again over the night, which you reckon might disrupt your plans of driving home tomorrow with Taehyung, Ariane and Jungkook. You think your mother would be relieved - the apartment will be crowded for two weeks, and you know she likes her space.

At least she doesn’t have a boyfriend this year, and so it’ll only be the five of you. It’s not like you aren’t used to sharing a roof with the three others though - you’ve been good at it this semester, especially considering that you and Jungkook have been sharing a room, and Taehyung and Ariane another.

Which left your old room as a guest room for the nights Jimin and Sera get too drunk with you to make their way home.

Your relationship with Jungkook has slowly evolved over the weeks and months since you’d run home thinking that he was going to hurt himself. You’re now fully dating, or at least you tell so to everyone that asks you where you’re standing when it comes to Jungkook.

You know he does the same anyway, even if you haven’t really stated to each other that you are boyfriend and girlfriend yet. You don’t think it matters - your relationship with him has been going on for far longer than just a few weeks, and the absence of a label doesn’t scare you in the slightest. Not when you fall asleep and wake up next to him every day, his first and last words of the day always love confessions uttered against your skin.

It’s a side of Jungkook that you like. The way he’s demonstrative of his affection, not caring if your brother is watching whenever he hugs you or kisses you. Taehyung has cursed the two of you repeatedly for it, but there’s just some beauty in the carefree act of loving each other in front of the very person you thought would end you that you both can’t let go of.

Speaking about that, your relationship with Taehyung has been… strained, since October. You haven’t really been able to forgive him for what happened that night he threw Jungkook out of the apartment, and he hasn’t quite been able to forgive you for hiding your relationship with Jungkook from him. You think he’s a little hypocritical for it - he and Jungkook have had no trouble resuming their friendship despite the fact that you and Jungkook are now a thing. But you don’t mind. 

As long as Jungkook is happy, then you are happy too.

“You coming to Yoongi and Namjoon’s tonight, right?” Nabi says as you walk down the path, your shoes crunching on the snow.

You chuckle. “You think I’d miss Yoongi introducing his boyfriend?” you say. “Hell nah. Of course I’ll be there.”

Nabi laughs, slightly shaking her head. “It’s not like you haven’t seen them together at the gym.”

She’s got a point, but you still want to see gym guy - Mikey, you’ve now found out - out of his natural habitat, aka the gym. 

“Is Jungkook coming?” she asks.

You nod. “Later though. He’s going out for drinks with his friends, and he said he’d meet up around eleven.”

“That’s late,” she comments.

You playfully push her. “We’ll probably be going until three am, I think eleven is fine.”

She laughs, though her eyes sparkle as she looks at you, with excitement and amusement you know is reciprocated in your own gaze.

Tonight will be one for the books, and you just can’t wait.

You have to head to your apartment first, to take a quick shower and grab the drinks you’ve bought for the evening. Nabi tags along, chilling with Ariane in the living room while you get ready. You get out of the shower ten minutes later to see that they’ve been joined by Taehyung.

The absence of Jungkook brings a pout to your lips, even though you know he’s just with Jimin and Eunwoo at Jimin’s apartment, pre-drinking for the bar.

“What’s up?” Taehyung greets you. 

You offer him a tight-lipped smile. He takes it in stride, looking away from you to focus on Nabi and Ariane’s conversation while you make your way to your room to do your makeup quickly. Soon enough you’re ready to go, and you stop by the kitchen to grab the drinks - different flavours of lemonade with alcohol, like maybe it’s summer and the snow outside is but a mirage.

“Let’s go!” you say as you reach the living room next, and Nabi nods as she jumps up from the couch, meeting you near the door.

“I am so excited Y/n, you have no idea,” she says, and you laugh as you nod approvingly.

“Let’s go see what that Mikey is made of.”

Her laugh doubles up, and it follows you outside after you’ve put your coats and boots on. You’ve decided to walk to Yoongi and Namjoon’s place, and Nabi lets out a happy yelp when it starts snowing again.

“It’s so pretty!” she says, motioning to the fat snowflakes that are lazily falling from the sky.

You fully agree with her - there’s something magical about the first day of snow. It fills the air with excitement and joy and nostalgia for the days when you were younger and the first snow meant the beginning of the Christmas season, which you reckon might have always been your favourite season after all.

“It really is,” you agree with Nabi.

She nods wisely, and then throws you a look. “Did you know Ariane’s grandfather was French?”

You actually did. Ariane told you it was the reason why she’d decided to do a semester abroad in Paris, and that her grandfather had also been the one to name her. 

“Yeah, she told me all about it when we went out to the karaoke bar,” you say, referencing an outing that had taken place in early November, when your relationship with Jungkook still felt fresh.

Not that it doesn’t anymore. You reckon being with Jungkook will always be refreshing to you - he’s the oasis in the middle of your desert.

“Oh right,” Nabi lets out. “That time you lost your voice for five days straight.”

“I did not!” you cry out as she bursts out laughing.

You, as a matter of fact, did lose your voice, but it was only because you and Jungkook had gotten too drunk and you were screaming more than singing by the end of the evening.

You spend the rest of the walk to Yoongi’s apartment bickering with Nabi, laughing as you reminisce about the good times you spent over the last few months. And there have been many - Jungkook fits right in with your friend group, and you’ve been hanging out with all of them on multiple occasions, Taehyung, Ariane, Sera and Jimin even tagging along some of the time.

You get to Yoongi’s apartment at the same time as a flustered Seokjin, who admits he had to sprint to make it in time because Ria complained about his tardiness. He’s clutching two rosé bottles for dear life - Ria’s preferred alcoholic beverage now - and he explains he was late because of them. Though you know Ria probably wasn’t actually upset with him in the slightest, you still find it weirdly endearing that Seokjin ran.

It’s proof that he’s utterly obsessed with your friend, much like she is obsessed with him, too.

“Well then let’s get in,” Nabi says, and you follow her inside the building, and then up to the apartment in and of itself. 

The door is unlocked when you get there, and you walk in, taking off your boots in the hall before making your way to the living room, where your friend group is all gathered already.

The first person you notice is Mikey, and he politely smiles at you as Ria throws herself at you and Nabi, hugging you both tight to her chest.

“Congrats on finishing your semester!” Ria says. 

You thank her, and she takes the drinks you’ve brought from your hands so that you can take off your coat, putting them down on the coffee table where all available alcohol is waiting for you all. And there’s a lot - you would think a lot more people are coming tonight, but it really is just the seven of you, and Jungkook later.

You reckon it’s just another sign that tonight will be one for the books.

You start the evening by ordering dumplings, and you grab one of the lemonade drinks as you wait for the food to arrive, sipping from it as you talk with all of your friends. Mikey remains silent by Yoongi’s side, though you notice the way they’re holding hands, and you smile at the sight.

Yoongi is shining. His eyes are sparkling like you’ve never seen them do before, and he looks like the sun personified with Mikey by his side. He deserves the happiness, every single ounce of it, especially after what Hoseok put him through.

For some reason the thought reminds you of your old friend, and you wonder how Hoseok is doing on his side of the country. Has he found the solace he was seeking for? Though you’d long hated him for the way he’d ghosted everyone, tonight you reckon you forgive him.

You forgive him for what he put Yoongi through, only because it allowed Yoongi to experience this relationship now, a much needed relationship that’s been healing every jagged piece of his heart.

Your phone buzzes in the pocket of the sweatshirt you’re wearing - Jungkook’s shirt - and you pull it out, immediately smiling when you see that Jungkook texted you.

[5:57 pm] JK: am tipsy

[5:57 pm] JK: can’t wait to see you later

You laugh at his text, replying quickly to make sure to drink water, and then you put your phone away, focusing on the conversation again.

“That’s just because you’re jealous I can make good music!” Yoongi is saying, and Namjoon rolls his eyes, though the laugh on his lips tells you that they aren’t truly fighting.

“You say you make good music but none of us has ever heard your music, Yoongi,” Ria says, finger pointing at him like she’s scolding him. 

“You’ve never showed them your music?” Mikey intervenes.

Yoongi blushes, eyes falling to the floor. “Well, uh, I just never had the occasion to…”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Namjoon says. “Pull out the receipts, Yoongi.”

Yoongi shakes his head, looking around for salvation. He meets your gaze, but you only shrug your shoulders, a mischievous smile on your lips. You’ve been curious about his music too, so you certainly won’t be the one to encourage him to hide it for longer.

“I hate y’all,” Yoongi grumbles.

“I mean, you don’t have to share if you don’t want to,” Mikey says next to him, resting a hand on Yoongi’s thigh as Yoongi grabs his phone.

“Nah, it’s okay,” Yoongi reassures him, and they look at each other for a few seconds.

It’s intimate, and you look down at your drink to give them privacy. A few seconds later, the living room fills with the intro of a song, and your gaze widens when the lyrics start, all in Korean. You don’t think Yoongi’s the one singing, and you’re proven right when a rapper comes in, and you recognize Yoongi’s voice.

“Bro, what?” Seokjin lets out.

“Shhh!” Nabi says, and Ria fake-glares at Seokjin, who just purses his lips, visibly holding a laugh in.

The song is good. More than that, the song is moving, the emotions running high all throughout it, up until the end, when the instruments all stop except the piano, giving a melancholy ending to the song.

“Yoongi!” you let out. “That shit is fire.”

“Thanks,” Yoongi says, his cheeks turning deep red.

Mikey is smiling next to him as everyone congratulates him, and before you have time to listen to more of his music, Namjoon receives a text saying that the food has arrived. He goes downstairs with Seokjin to bring everything up, and a minute later you’re all eating at the kitchen table, Ria sitting on Seokjin’s lap so that everyone can fit around the table.

The evening unfolds with more music that Yoongi composed, songs he claims he wants to put in an EP he’ll release next year. You’re reeling at the beauty of his talent, and though he still turns red every time someone compliments him, you know his smile means he appreciates it, and is probably relieved that you all enjoy his music. 

You reckon Mikey helps, encouraging Yoongi whenever he looks too embarrassed, and you’re so happy for your friend you feel like crying. Or maybe that’s because you’re on your fourth - fifth? - lemonade and the alcohol has started messing with your brain.

Time flies, and Jungkook texts you that he’s on his way while you’re playing Jackbox on the TV, the laughter so loud in the small living room that you’re convinced the boys might get a noise complaint by the end of the evening. You’re excited to see Jungkook, deadly so, and you decide to meet him downstairs, needing some fresh air anyway.

The snow is still falling outside when you make your way downstairs. The streetlights colour it in neon orange, and it covers the ground in a soft blanket. You wait in the hall of the building, watching the world outside and thinking about how everything has changed in a year.

If someone had told you a year ago that you’d be dating your brother’s best friend now, you would have told them that they were crazy. 

Now you know there’s nothing crazy about you and Jeon Jungkook. It just makes sense. 

Jungkook arrives sometime later - it’s hard to tell if it’s been a long time or not when your head is swimming in alcohol. He smiles brightly the second he sees you, opening the door to walk into your arms.

You hug him tight to your chest, hiding your face in his neck as his arms snake around your waist. He smells of home - you’ve realized he’s become your home now - and you relax in his embrace, letting him sway you from side to side gently.

“Hey there,” he greets you with his softest voice, the one that’s reserved just for you.

“Hey,” you reply. There’s a silence as you tighten your hold on him, and then you pull away to meet his gaze. “I’m drunk.”

He laughs, pecking your forehead. “I’m tipsy. But I drank lots of water like you said.”

You nod approvingly and then return your head to his neck. Unable to resist, you lightly bite at the skin, and Jungkook yelps, jumping out of your arms.

“What was that for!”

You eye him up and down. “You look yummy.”

He snorts, grabbing your hand to pull you in. “Oh, you’re drunk drunk.”

“I’m not!” you insist, though you’re fully aware that you are.

It’s not like it matters - you know Jungkook will take care of you.

And he does - he gets you water as soon as you get inside, your friends greeting him in a chorus of hellos. He waves at them, forces you to sit down with the glass of water, and you sip from it as he grabs the beer Namjoon offers him. 

Namjoon and Jungkook’s friendship has blossomed over the last two months. They’ve gotten really close, often hanging out just the two of them, which you think is adorable. They apparently have more in common than you thought, Namjoon coming from a rich family as well.

Nothing like Jungkook, but still.

Jungkook sits in front of you on the floor, and you immediately slide down from the couch to sit behind him so that he can lean against your chest. You wrap your arm around his dainty waist, smiling softly as you peck the top of his head.

He glances at you, eyes gleaming with happiness, and then resumes his conversation with Namjoon.

This, you think, is happiness. This is the kind of scene you see in movies when everything is resolved after a long journey. It’s a coming of age - your coming of age, despite the fact that you aren’t a teenager anymore. 

You just know that, when you’ll be old and grey and reminding yourself of your college days, this is what you’ll think of. Jungkook’s presence amongst your friends, the gentle ambiance of the snow outside, the smiles and the laughter and the music filling the air. Everything - you’ll remember everything with vivid clarity when it’s time to go, knowing that this moment, and all of those related to Jungkook and your friend group, have forged the person that you’ll become.

The thought brings tears to your eyes - happy tears - and you blink them away as you hug Jungkook tighter. He looks back at you again, smiling softly, light filling those big doe eyes of his that you’ve been in love with since a certain power outage.

To think that your whole relationship with him started because of that outage - where would you be now if it hadn’t been for that?

“What?” Jungkook asks softly. 

“I love you,” you reply.

He grins, that adorable bunny grin of his that steals your breath each time. “I love you too.”

You know it - it’s been a law of your universe since you ran back home that October night, when you realized that your love for him was far more important than your brother being upset with him.

In truth, you think your love for Jeon Jungkook might have been the reason why you were put on this Earth - your purpose, if you will. Like the Fates weaved your story with his, until one can’t exist without the other.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Tuesday, December 24th

Christmas Eve has been fun. You’ve been laughing around with Taehyung, Ariane, Jungkook and your mother, sharing way too much food at the dinner table. Good food - your mother has always been a good cook, whenever she finds the time to actually come up with a meal. Jungkook helped her too, and you haven’t missed the approving glances your mother has been throwing him all evening.

Ariane has received her good shares of those too. You can tell your mother is happy for both you and Taehyung, which makes you feel bad that you initially thought it was good that she’s currently single.

She deserves love, too.

You’re in the bathroom, sometime after midnight, mind swimming with the eggnog drinks that your mother made for everyone, when your phone buzzes in the back pocket of the mom jeans you’re wearing. You pull it out, blinking a few times, and your gaze widens when you focus on the text message you’ve received.

Mostly, your heart falls to your ass when you see who texted you.

[00:24 am] Hobi: hey, merry christmas! just wanted to text to apologize for dipping in april? that sucked of me and yeah, it’s christmas so i thought it was a good time to apologize

You reread the message a few times, wondering if you’re the only one that’s received an apology. You highly doubt you’re the one that needed it after all, and when your phone buzzes again a few seconds later, with a text from Yoongi, you realize you’re not.

[00:24 am] Yoongi: you’ll never believe who just texted me

You slide your phone open, ignoring the conversation with Hoseok to head straight to the one with Yoongi. You type your reply, worrying at your bottom lip as you send it.

[00:25 am] You: i know the fuck he texted me too

[00:25 am] You: how are you feeling?

Yoongi doesn’t reply right away, and you decide not to reply to Hoseok either, instead stuffing your phone back in your back pocket before washing your hands. You return to the kitchen after, where everyone’s been waiting for you to play your turn in the game of Ticket to Ride you’ve started at midnight.

You can’t believe Hoseok texted you. It feels like a ghost coming back to haunt you, reminding you that you’d been friends with benefits, albeit on a break, this time last year. Perhaps that is why Hoseok chose to text you too - you meant something to him to a certain extent.

“Everything okay?” Jungkook asks as you frown, trying to remember what it is you wanted to do in the game.

You blink once, meeting his gaze. “Yeah.” You nod, repeating the word, and then you pick up two green wagon cards.

Jungkook lets it slide, focusing on the game too, and you all but forget about Hoseok’s text when your mother gives you another eggnog drink. You finish the game a little while later - Ariane winning grandiosely - and then you all head to bed after wishing each other a last Merry Christmas.

Jungkook plops down on your childhood bed as you walk into your room, and you close the door, leaning against it as you smile fondly. He props his chin on his hands, looking at you. 

“Tonight was fun,” he says.

You nod, smile growing wider. “It really was. But wait until tomorrow, that’s where all the fun is.”

Indeed, you’re going to visit your grandparents’ house tomorrow evening, along with all of your uncles and aunts and cousins.  It’s tradition every year, and it’s the first time you’re bringing someone. You’d be a little anxious, if not for the fact that you know your grandmother is already obsessed with Jungkook from everything your mother told her.

“I can’t wait,” Jungkook says, and the soft curve of his lips tells you he means it.

You cross the distance between you, lying down on the bed next to him. Jungkook shifts, opening his arms for you to slide into his embrace, and he holds you tight, pressing a kiss on the top of your head.

“I mostly can’t wait to give you your gift tomorrow morning,” he adds, his mouth moving against you. He pulls away, rubbing his face to take out from his mouth the hair he clearly almost swallowed from talking against your head. “You’ll be so happy.”

“You really didn’t need to give me a gift,” you say.

“You think I haven’t noticed the suspiciously large box with my name on it under the Christmas tree?”

You shrug. “Maybe it’s from Taehyung.”

“It’s written from peach.”

You snort, laughing against his chest. “And what about it?”

“You’re allowed to get me a gift but I can’t get you one?”

You nod forcefully. “Yeah. You already got me that dress anyway.”

He laughs, rolling on his back. He pulls you with him until you’re lying next to him with your head on his chest. “That was almost a year ago, it doesn’t count.”

“It does,” you mumble.

He chuckles, the sound rumbling deeply in his chest. “You’re adorable, I love you.” He pecks the top of your head again. “Besides, what did you get me?”

“What did you get me?” you ask, gaze narrowed as you look up at him.

His next peck lands on your forehead. “Not telling you.”

“Well then, I’m not telling you either,” you smugly reply.

He laughs, tightening his hold around you. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

Your heart stops in your chest, and then it starts again on a wilder beat you hear echoed behind his ribcage.

“I love you too, Kook.”

“Luckiest man alive,” he whispers, and it’s rhetorical, not asking for a reply. 

All you do is grin as you start tracing idle shapes on his stomach. You fall silent - the kind of comfortable silence you can only share with him - up until you remember Hoseok’s text. It makes you prop yourself up on an elbow, and you meet Jungkook’s gaze.

“You’ll never guess who texted me earlier.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Who did?” 

“Hobi,” you reveal.

Jungkook’s gaze widens. “The guy you used to fuck?”

You roll your eyes, pinching his side. “Yes. But mostly Yoongi’s… ex?”

“You did use to fuck though, I heard you guys.”

“Oh my God, Kook.”

He offers you a shit-eating grin. “What?”

“You’re annoying.”

He pulls you on top of him until you’re straddling him. “But you love me.”

You narrow your eyes, glaring at him. “But you’re annoying.”

His hands, now on your hips, tighten slightly, and your brain chooses this instant to zero in on the spot.

“Do you know how much it drove me crazy?” he says, and his voice is suddenly low, husky, shooting warmth right to your core. “I fucking wanted to beat his ass.”

You cock an eyebrow, tilting your head to the side as a smirk appears on your lips. “Yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah.” He forces you to circle your hips, and you’re not surprised to find him already getting hard. “I’d imagine it was me instead.” It’s Jungkook’s turn to smirk, and he sits up to kiss you, his tongue pushing into your mouth once before he lies back down. “And then when I was fucking Shelly and you were touching yourself?”

You’re turning molten, like you’re metal melting in a forge. “Yeah?”

“That’s when I knew that whatever I’d promised to Tae didn’t matter anymore.” He grinds into you. “I needed to have you, one way or another.”

You crash your lips on his so hard you taste blood. He’s quick to slide his hands under your shirt, and he fumbles with the fabric until you part to allow him to take it off your body. You’re only wearing a red bralette you bought before finals, and Jungkook’s gaze darkens at the sight.

“Shit peach, you’re always so fucking hot.”

“One way or another, you say?” you repeat what he said earlier.

He looks confused for a heartbeat, and then he nods. “Yeah. I was into you already then, as you know, but damn every time I touched myself all I could think about was you.”

“Outrageous,” you tease as you circle your hips once more.

He grunts softly. “Oh, peach, don’t pretend you weren’t thinking of me too.”

You lean forward, sucking on his lower lip, your tongue then flicking at his piercings. “Oh, you know I was thinking about you,” you say against his mouth.

You move down enough to find his neck, your teeth teasing the skin before you suck on it, yet you refrain from leaving a mark.

You don’t want your mother asking questions tomorrow.

Jungkook grunts as you lick at the spot, and then move back up to nibble at his jaw. His large hands on your waist caress up your flanks until he reaches your breasts that he shamelessly cups, his fingers immediately searching for your nipples. He pinches them, hard enough to hurt, and you moan out loud, hiding your face in his neck.

“Careful, peach,” Jungkook warns. “We wouldn’t want your family hearing us.”

You bite at his neck again and he hisses. “What did you just say?”

“Fuck,” he groans, and it sounds like a growl. “Now I want to fucking ruin you.”

You straighten, your hands landing flat on his chest to hold him down. “Why don’t you let me have my fun tonight?”

His dark gaze surveys you carefully as you climb down his body until you’re sitting on his legs. You grip his thighs and then slide your hands up to his clothed erection. You run a hand along it and then move up to push his shirt up, revealing the strong muscles of his abdomen. You graze them with your nails, and Jungkook’s eyes flutter shut as your other hand returns to his dick.

“How should I please you tonight?” you ask.

You lean forward and, unable to resist, you suck a hickey on the spot right above the hem of his pants. Jungkook instinctively bucks his hips in response, and you smirk as you sit back on your heels again.

“Someone’s impatient,” you tease.

“Peach…” he warns.

“Be nice,” you say. “I’ll give you everything you want.”

He takes a sharp breath, and then nods curtly. You bite at your lower lip, a smirk teasing the corner of your lips.

“Good boy.”

He groans, but then you’re ridding him of his pants and boxers, and his dick springs free, slapping his abs. He looks just as pretty as he always does, the large vein running up his dick begging to be licked. You don’t even resist - you immediately bend down, tracing it with your tongue up to his tip, which you circle once before pulling away just enough to grab the base of his dick.

You stroke him slowly, meeting his gaze. His cheeks are flushed with arousal, eyes shining with lust and desire, all of it for you. You feel powerful - you have him wrapped around your finger, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

It’s with that thought that you finally take him in your mouth, not breaking eye contact. He clenches his jaw to hold a moan in, and you take him as deep as you can, your eyes watering when he hits the back of your throat.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath.

You pull almost all the way out, hollowing your cheeks as you suck on his tip, teasing his frenulum with your tongue. His dick twitches, but you’re holding him tight, keeping him in place.

You get to work, bobbing up and down, drooling all over him. You use your drool as natural lube so that you can jerk him off in time with your motions, and Jungkook grows infinitely hard in your mouth, so much so that you wouldn’t be surprised if he came.

You wouldn’t mind - he always tastes good for you, and the thought of it is making you soak through your panties to the point you think your pants might even be affected. But then again, Jungkook always makes you so wet.

No one’s ever fucked you as good as him after all.

You take him all the way in, and Jungkook thrusts up, grunting as you moan around him. His hands are in your hair, and he’s been guiding your movements, though always allowing you to pull away to breathe when you need it.

So when you decide to pull away so that you can suck on his balls, he lets you do it. You reward him by jerking him off quickly, your grip tight on his dick just the way you know he likes, and he fists at the sheets of your bed, fucking into your hand.

Right before you think he’s about to come, Jungkook pulls you away. He’s panting heavily, and you barely have time to breathe before he flips you on your back, climbing on top of you so that he can kiss you. 

The kiss is ravishing, languid, all tongues and saliva and his teeth digging into your bottom lip. You barely can contain your moans when he drives your legs apart with a knee he then presses on your clothed core, and you can’t help but grind on his leg, searching for much-needed friction.

Jungkook leaves your mouth to leave a trail of wet kisses down your neck, and then on your clavicle. He sucks a purple mark underneath it, and you arch your back in his touch as he cups your breasts again, massaging them.

“Peach,” he says as he’s looking at your necklace where it lies between your breasts. “You’re so perfect.”

And then he’s pushing your bralette up enough to have access to your nipples. His mouth closes around one while he pinches the other between his thumb and index, and you lose your hand in his jet-black strands, pulling on his hair just a little by reflex.

His tongue circles your nipple, and then he licks at it twice. It hardens in his mouth as you hold your moans in, and your eyes roll to the back of your head when he shifts to your other nipple, offering it the same treatment.

“Take this off,” you breathe, pulling at the fabric of his shirt.

Jungkook raises his head, meeting your gaze. His lips are glistening with his saliva, and he looks so devilish you think you’d be able to come just like that.

“Take it off for me,” he teases.

You roll your eyes despite your lips curving in a smile, and you pull his shirt off, throwing it on the floor. You rake your nails on his back - lightly, not hard enough to leave a mark - when he returns to your nipples, devouring your breasts like a man starved.

“I fucking love every part of you, you know that right?” he says when he pulls away.

You nod, but he’s already going down your body, reaching for your pants. He takes them off, and to your surprise, he takes your panties off too, leaving you naked and gleaming when he pushes your thighs apart to look at you properly.

“So pretty…” he praises.

You want to tell him to fuck you, that you don’t even need foreplay right now - you’ve been feeling your juices dripping out of your pussy for a while - but he doesn’t leave you time to speak, immediately diving in, lapping a large stripe from your entrance up to your clit. He swirls his tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves, and you put your hand over your mouth to muffle your moan.

“Silence, peach,” he reminds you, and then he circles your clit again. “I really don’t want your mother to look at me differently tomorrow morning.”

You don’t have anything left in your brain to say that she wouldn’t care, and maybe that’s good - you’re pretty sure she would, as a matter of fact, care.

“Sorry,” you apologize.

Jungkook shoots you a quick glance, and he pecks the inside of your thigh lovingly, miles away from the lust transpiring from this moment. “I love you,” he breathes against your skin, and then he’s back on your pussy.

He eats you out like he’s a demon come from hell, and soon enough he pushes two fingers inside of you, fighting against your tightening muscles. You take a deep breath to relax, and a few seconds later he arches his fingers, rubbing them on the most sensitive spot inside of you. It makes your eyes roll to the back of your head, and your mouth falls open on a silent moan as he starts fingering you, quick and hard, always rubbing your g-spot. He times his fingers with his tongue, and it’s no wonder he’s dragging you towards an orgasm at eighty miles per hour.

It’s no wonder it hits you like a slap to the face when he sucks on your clit hard, and your thighs close around his face as your back arches off the bed, your climax hitting so hard you feel like you’re swimming in the night sky, amongst stars and galaxies and nebulas.

You’re shaking, thighs trembling, as he milks your orgasm out for so long you think you’ll die, but eventually his fingers leave your pulsing walls, and he licks them clean. You watch him, your eyelids heavy with the ecstasy invading your bloodstream, and you feel fucked out, your mind like cotton as he positions himself between your legs.

“Have you had enough?” he asks, teasing your entrance with his cock. “Or do you want me to fuck you?”

You reach for him, fingers grazing his chest and abs. “Shit, Kook.”

He grins wickedly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you repeat. You chuckle lightly, and then you glance around. “I do want you to fuck me,” you whisper, “but my bed creaks a hell of a lot.”

Jungkook shrugs, picking you up in one swift motion that makes your mind swim even more. The room spins around you as Jungkook carries you off the bed, and then he sits you on the floor. He grabs a bunch of pillows, arranging them in a makeshift bed on the floor, and then he motions at it, a proud smile on his lips.

“Voilà,” he says.

You snort. “You’ll fuck me on this?”

He smirks, picking you up to lie you down on the pillows. It’s a little unsteady, but when he positions himself between your legs again, you forget all about it.

Even more so as he rubs his dick on your clit, and meteorites erupt in front of your eyes.

“Yeah I will,” he says. “Unless you don’t want me to?”

You gulp, your throat suddenly dry with arousal, and you nod your head. “Fuck me, Kook.”

He doesn’t need more to push in, and he sheathes all of himself inside of you. Or at least all that fits, and he’s quick to put a hand over your mouth to keep you from moaning. You bite at his palm, and he startles, moving his hand away.

“That was mean,” he says, a pout appearing on his swollen lips.

Fuck, you love him so bad.

“Sorry,” you apologize.

He narrows his gaze, bending down to steal a quick, gentle kiss on your lips. “No you’re not,” he says.

“I’m not,” you agree.

He pulls almost all the way out, leaving just an inch of him in. “And for that reason, I’ll fuck you until all you remember is my name.”

He pushes all the way in again, and you bite your lip to refrain from crying his name out. It becomes much harder when he starts pounding into you, and soon your room fills with the sound of skin slapping against skin, and of the squelching your pussy makes every time he fucks into you. It’s clearly loud enough for everyone in the apartment to hear, but faint music is coming from Taehyung’s room, and you know your mother sleeps with foam earplugs in.

You can only hope they don’t hear you when you moan Jungkook’s name. He gently rests his hand against your mouth again then, though he’s quick to push a finger in instead. You suck on it, teasing the pad with your tongue, and Jungkook grunts as he jack-hammers you, so much so you fall off the makeshift bed.

You both don’t care - you don’t even think Jungkook realizes. He’s too busy rearranging your gut, and you’re too busy trying to not moan like you want to do. Jungkook keeps at it for a while, strands of hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead, but his pace remains unforgiving, a reminder that he has a solid cardio from all the hours he spends at the gym.

Eventually, Jungkook gets bored of the position, and he pulls out. You get a glimpse of his wet dick before he flips you on your stomach, and he’s quick to fuck into you again, the new angle so good you feel like you’re floating somewhere between your body and the ceiling.

His forearm is next to your head, and you hold onto his wrist as he pounds into you. You know he’s nearing his high when his motions grow unfocused, slower, and soon he bends down, grunting against the side of your face as he releases his load deep inside of you, painting you white.

You hold onto him as he comes, circling your hips to prolong his pleasure, up until he stops you with a hand on your waist. He pecks the side of your face, and you turn your head to be able to kiss him properly. It tastes like the sweat that’s collected on his upper lip, but you don’t care. Not when it’s his sweat, and you are so obsessed with him you wish you were under his skin.

“Fuck,” he grunts when he pulls away from the kiss. 

He pecks your cheek again and then straightens to search for something to clean you up with. He reaches for the tissues on the night table, and he takes a bunch of them that he puts against you before he even pulls out.

You both manage to avoid making a mess, and Jungkook lets you go clean up first. You put on his shirt, as it’s long enough to be a dress on you, and then you head to the bathroom, where you take a quick shower. Jungkook goes next, kissing you deeply before leaving your room, and you wait for him under the covers of your bed, your heart still beating wildly from the sex.

As it always does when it comes to sex with Jungkook.

Jungkook comes back about five minutes later, and he slides under the covers with you as you’re on your phone, looking at the conversation with Yoongi.

He still hasn’t replied, and though that worries you, you know he’s probably just busy with his own Christmas celebration.

“Everything okay?” Jungkook asks as he molds himself to your back, an arm wrapping around your waist.

You turn on your back, going in for a soft kiss that settles your heartbeat in your chest. 

“Yes,” you reassure him. 

You glance at your phone again and then switch to the conversation with Hoseok. “I don’t know what I should say.”

Jungkook blinks a few times like he needs it to focus on your screen, and then he reads Hoseok’s message. “I mean…” he lets out. “He seems genuine.”

“I know, but it’s weird no?”

Jungkook purses his lips. “Why?”

“Because I’m with you now,” you explain.

His eyes widen. “Oh, is that because of what I said earlier?”

You nod, worrying at some dry skin on your lower lip.

“Oh, peach,” he says, and he pecks your forehead. “I really don’t mind if you want to reply. I was only teasing earlier.”

You cock an eyebrow, not entirely believing him. He smiles sheepishly, shrugging your shoulders.

“Were you?”

“Well…” he trails off, turning on his back as he looks up at the ceiling. “I was jealous, yes. But as you said, he mostly is Yoongi’s ex. What you guys had hasn’t mattered for a really long time.”

He’s right. He’s entirely right, and it reassures you, enough so that you don’t feel guilty for replying to Hoseok, right before you decide to turn off your phone for the night.

[2:37 am] You: hey merry christmas! no worries:)

You put your phone away, and then you turn to face Jungkook, wrapping your arm around his dainty waist as he wraps his around you, one of his biceps a perfect pillow for your head. You sigh in contentment, knowing that you are right where you’re supposed to be in the world - by Jungkook’s side. 

Home, wherever he is.

You fall asleep with love in your heart, shining bright on you despite the dark, winter night outside.  

Monday, December 30th

The restaurant is crowded, lively chatter and clinking utensils filling the atmosphere with the type of life only the holidays can provide. Taehyung sits at the head of the table, a bright smile on his lips as your mother explains to Ariane and Jungkook how you come to this restaurant each year when there’s a special occasion.

By that, she means your and Taehyung’s birthdays, as you spend hers on the camping trip.

“We started when you were what?” your mother says, looking at Taehyung. “Fourteen?”

“Thirteen,” he answers. “We came with a bunch of friends from middle school, and Y/n was complaining the whole time.”

“I was not,” you say, pouting slightly. “You were just ignoring me the whole time because I wasn’t cool enough.”

“You really weren’t.” Taehyung’s teasing remark earns him a slap on the arm from your mother, and Ariane telling him to shut up. “What! She was just obsessed with One Direction, it was annoying.”

“And what about it?” Ariane says. “One Direction was a good group!”

Horror inches into Taehyung’s gaze. “Not you too.”

Ariane rolls her eyes, but then the waitress stops by your table, taking everyone’s order. An easy conversation follows, your mother telling you about interesting cases she saw at the ER over the last few months. Jungkook looks appalled when she mentions certain of them, his eyes about to bulge out of his head.

“You’re good?” you let out, patting his thigh reassuringly. 

“We’re supposed to eat after she’s told us all of that?” he asks, his widened gaze sliding to you.

You snort. “Yes, we are.”

He sits back in his chair, folding his arms on his chest. “Damn.” You just laugh even more, and he looks at you again. “It’s not funny!”

“It is,” you insist. “You’re adorable.”

He glares at you, though his eyes are gleaming with too much amusement for you to believe he means it. “So are you.”

“Right right,” you say, at the same time as Taehyung fake-gags. 

“You guys are disgusting,” your brother says. 

“And you think you’re better?” your mother intervenes. “You all should listen to him when he calls me and gushes about Ariane.”

Taehyung flushes red as Ariane leans towards your mother. “Oh? What does he say?”

“Namely that he thinks you’re the love of his life, and that he wants to marry…”

“Stop!” Taehyung interjects. “Fuck, mom, this is not necessary.”

He’s so red he looks like he might pass out, and you can’t help but laugh at his expense. “Don’t worry, Ari, he’s always been a hopeless romantic.”

“I’m not!”

Ariane laughs, and she rubs his back. “You are. I love that about you.”

Taehyung’s distressed features turn into a soft smile, and you roll your eyes teasingly. 

The rest of the dinner goes well, all of you eating your fill. Jungkook finishes your dish when you declare yourself defeated, and you speak with your brother without any animosity for the first time in months.

It’s relieving, far more than you would admit it. Or perhaps it’s because he’s invited you to the party one of his childhood friends is hosting, which he never did before. You know it’s because Jungkook is his closest friend now, but you still appreciate the invitation, and the party that comes with it.

Taehyung’s always partied the hardest surrounded by his friends, and tonight is no different. It’s a night of drinking and revelry and bright smiles, loud music to accompany the chatter and drinking games and everything that makes a party a good party. There’s a hot tub, and you and Jungkook spend far too long in it accompanied by Ariane, Taehyung and two of his other friends, taking turns rolling in the snow before jumping back into the hot tub.

The stars shine on and on above you all, and though it’s freezing outside you think they might allow you a piece of summer in the winter night.

You head home before Taehyung, walking hand in hand with Jungkook. You’re both tipsy, even maybe a little drunk, yet it doesn’t deter you. Not when the night is beautiful, and you have Jungkook next to you.

“I still can’t believe you got me that frame,” Jungkook says as he notices you looking up at the stars, your eyes going over the Orion constellation.

Indeed, you got him a star map of Valentine’s Day last year for Christmas. It’s beautiful, and Jungkook grew teary-eyed when you gave it to him, telling him that it was a map of the night you’d fallen in love. He promised he’d hang it in his room the second you returned to your apartment, and then he sheepishly gave you your gift.

Your reaction to his gift was… much less wholesome than his. You were outraged, telling him that he was crazy to spend so much money on you, and Jungkook just shrugged his shoulders, telling you you deserved it.

You still think he’s crazy. But over the last few days, he’s slowly convinced you that it’s going to be fun, that you truly do deserve the gift…

And who would say no to a trip to Bora Bora?

“I’m sorry,” you let out. “You fucking bought first-class plane tickets to go to Bora Bora. My gift looks like nothing compared to yours.”

“It’s not nothing!” Jungkook insists. “It’s the most sentimental gift I’ve ever received.” He smiles at you, his big doe eyes swimming with love for you. “It’ll forever be my favourite gift.”

You can’t help the smile that curves your lips upwards as your heart warms in your chest. “You deserve it,” you say, and you mean it.

Jungkook deserves every proof that people do love him. That his parents don’t know shit when it comes to him - you’ll try your best to shower him with all of the love your heart holds, every day of your life with him.

“And you deserve the trip,” Jungkook says. “You always work so hard in college, I just want you to relax for a while.”

“With you,” you say, eyes glinting with mischief. 

“Obviously.”

He pulls you in, interrupting your walk, and he kisses your forehead softly. Your heart grows even warmer, so much so that you think flowers are blooming in your soul, like a garden bursting into life.

You get home together with him, your mother seemingly fast asleep in her room from the soft snores that come from behind her door. You make your way to your room, and Jungkook plugs in your old fairy lights, even though they’re so dim now you barely can make out anything.

“Thank you,” Jungkook says as he sits on your bed.

You sit next to him, leaning your head on his shoulder. “What for?”

“For everything,” he replies, and he wraps his arms around you to pull you into his chest. “Getting to love you is the most beautiful thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

“Oh, Jungkook…” you trail off, looking up to see the silver lining his gaze.

“I love you more every day, peach,” he whispers. “It’s… it’s a gift.”

You cup his cheek, tilting your head backwards as you pull him down. The kiss is soft, gentle. The kiss is everything that makes Jungkook Jungkook, and you you. It’s the months of struggle that led to so much beauty, it’s the knowledge that, wherever you’ll go in this life, he’ll be by your side.

It’s the knowledge that he’s the one for you, and you’re the one for him.

When you pull away from the kiss, what seems like an eternity later, Jungkook pulls out his phone from his pocket. You watch him curiously as the device lights up his features, and a second later, your room fills with the first chord of Chasing Cars.

Of your song.

“Cuddle?” Jungkook asks.

You can’t say no to those big, doe eyes, and you lie down with him, your head on his chest.

“You know,” Jungkook says when the first chorus starts. “Ever since you showed me this song, it’s been my favourite.” He pauses, pecks the top of your head. “Not that I didn’t know it before. But it makes me think of you now.”

Just like it makes you think of him.

“It does?” you let out.

You feel him nod more than you see him. “When I marry you, I want it to be the song we dance to.”

Your gaze widens, and you prop yourself up on an elbow so that you can look at him. And despite the dim light in your room, despite the blurriness in your gaze from the happy tears he summoned, his beauty shines for you. So bright, a proof that he’s the Sun in your life.

He’s the astral body you were meant to orbit.

“When you marry me?”

His arm tightens around you. “Yes, when I marry you.”

You smile, brighter than a summer day. “You’ll be my husband.”

“And you’ll be my wife.”

You laugh, a crystal clear sound that heals whatever wounds were left from the months apart. From that night Taehyung punched him and kicked him out. From every time you thought that your timing didn’t align and that maybe you weren’t meant to be in this universe.

But you are. You’ve always been meant to be, haven’t you?

“Let’s start by calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend, shall we?”

He pouts. “M’kay, then. Girlfriend.”

Another laugh tumbles from your lips, and you put your head back on his shoulder. He runs a soothing hand on your back, while you trace random shapes on his chest, and you think this is it.

This is a moment that will be forever engraved in your memory, to look back on whenever you have a bad day. A first moment - though it’s hardly the first - of a long line of events that will make up the story of you and Jeon Jungkook.

The song reaches its last chorus, and your heart, beating in sync with Jungkook’s, reaches the nirvana of you and him.

If I lay here 

If I just lay here

Would you lie with me, and just forget the world?

And you think, perhaps your story was already written in between the lines of your favourite song - a story of resilient love, and of promises of forever. Perhaps it was written between the first verse and the chorus, or perhaps it was written in the melody. It’s hard to tell - you just know it’s become a law of your universe. 

Now, you’ll lie with Jungkook, and maybe you’ll even forget the world. It’ll just be him, forever.

And you’ll spend the rest of your life chasing cars around his head.

Prev

☆☆☆☆☆

I am so emotional please do not touch me :') I can't believe this story is over. I hope you guys loved the ride - let me know what you think about this last chapter <3

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[ovaryacted]

WISH YOU KNEW || MASTERLIST

Logan Howlett/Wolverine x fem! reader

SERIES SUMMARY: After coming into Wade’s world following their team effort to save his timeline, Logan attempts to adjust to his new reality. In rebuilding his life from the ground up, your paths collide when he least expects it, throwing him off course. Despite knowing he’s a walking red flag, he can’t deny how you draw him in, and he wonders how close he can get before his fairytale falls apart.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. Eventual smut. Foul language. Alcohol Consumption. Worst! Logan / Variant! Logan. Age Gap implied [Logan is his canon age, reader is mid to late 20s]. Friends to lovers w/Logan. Developing feelings & crushes. Sort-of Slow Burn. Mutual Pining. Dating & Courting. Wade Wilson plays matchmaker. Established friendship w/Wade Wilson. Angst. Emotionally constipated Logan. Miscommunications & arguments. Depictions of self-sabotage, doubt, and anxiety. Takes place after the events of the Deadpool & Wolverine (2024) movie. Mentions of other characters. Each chapter has additional warnings and context; heed the tags.

A/N: So, this idea has been brewing for a while, and now that I have it more laid out, I want to share it with everyone. I hope you all join me for the ride, and thank you for being here. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated! 

➣ Masterlist aesthetics are subject to change. All chapters are not shown.

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

▹ CH. 1 - KISS THE GIRL

▹ CH. 2 - TBA

▹ CH. 3 - TBA

↳ more to be added…

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

[cupidddd-d]

heart eyes

aww, they're in love with you !

peter

"h-hey," peter's voice cracks as he tries to speak, clearing his throat as a blush creeps up his cheeks. "i-i mean, hey."

his hands fiddle with something underneath his robes, his freckles slowly disappearing as his flush grows darker.

"hi peter, what's up?" you offer him a polite smile as you try not to laugh at how adorable he is.

"s-so i noticed that um...y-you're really good at, um, ch-charms. c-could you maybe...tutor me? i-i mean, i-it's fine if y-you don't!" he stutters.

he clears his throat again as he stares down at the ground. preparing himself to be slapped. for what? he doesn't really know. maybe for even daring to talk to you, let alone asking you for anything. why would he deserve to hold even an ounce of your attention?

"sure, that's fine. i'm free anytime, so let me know when you want to meet in the library," you shrug simply, your eyes widening in shock as he shoves 3 boxes of chocolate frogs in your arms.

"okay, thanks, bye!" he rushes off before you can respond, practically running away from you.

"um...bye, i guess?"

james

"merlin-!" your neck almost collapses as james places his elbow on your skull, casually using you as an armrest and leaning his full weight on you.

"has anyone ever told you how short you are?" he ponders, letting out a quiet oomph when you shove him off.

"get off me, you...ogre!"

"sweetheart, i'm hurt. anyhow, have you heard of what happened to malfoy? i set his mattress on fire," he looks at you with a childlike grin, eager for your approval. "you said he was insulting you behind your back, didn't you?"

"oh, that's not...that's not really a prank. that's just, um...arson." you scratch the back of your neck awkwardly, your lips twisted into a weak grimace.

his smile dips slightly. "well, i didn't exactly consult the boys about it. was more of a personal project. for you. don't you like it?"

"um...it's the thought that counts, right?"

as dubious as your answer is, it causes james' spirits to lift once more, and he tackles you in a hug (which subsequently cuts off your air supply--who knew he'd have such a strong grip?).

"i knew you'd love it!"

sirius

"ahh, good evening, love. sitting at the fireplace all by your lonesome?" sirius says loudly as he plops down on the couch next to you, throwing an arm over your shoulder.

"not anymore," you gingerly pick up his hand as if it's radioactive, tossing it aside and leaving it dangling behind the couch--but most importantly, away from you. "what are you doing, black?"

"you're so cold to me," he sighs, raking a hand through his hair. "you didn't notice anything new about me?"

you shake your head cluelessly.

"nothing? really, love? shoes? haircut? rings? clothes? you don't notice anything?"

you shake your head again.

"i'm heartbroken! devastated! anguished! inconsolable, even! i did all this to fit your tastes, you know!" he complains. "can't i have a little kiss to heal my shattered soul?"

he puckers his lips, leaning in with a hopeful expression.

"yeah, maybe in your dreams, black." you snort as you get up from the couch, moving as far away from him as possible.

he bites his lip as he watches you leave, idly rubbing his jaw.

"oh trust me, i'm dreaming...hell, i'll do a lot more than dreaming..."

remus

"i couldn't stay for break, so i wanted to give you an early yule present, if that's okay?" remus rummages around in his bag and hands you a strange rectangle.

upon closer inspection, it seems to be a (poorly) wrapped gift, but it's the thought behind it that warms your heart and causes an involuntary smile to spread across your face.

yes, too much wrapping paper was used, and there's tape in unnecessary places, but remus made a gift for you. who cares that it looked like it had been constructed by a blind toddler?

"thank you, remus," you say sweetly, your voice dripping into his ears like warm honey. "can i open it?"

"o-of course, and if you don't like it, i also have a sweater in my dorm for you. i um, remember how you'd always compliment my sweaters, so i thought i might get us a matching pair." he offers you a shy smile that makes your heart melt.

"you're so sweet, rem," you say softly. you delicately tear the wrapping paper, not wanting to ruin his hard work.

"it's my favorite book. i thought you might like it, and i annotated it. i highlighted the lines that made me think of you, and i also wrote little comments in the margins," he explains quietly, picking at his cuticles. "but now that i'm saying it out loud, it seems stupid..."

"it's not stupid, rem! i love it! it's really sweet and thoughtful! thank you," you say earnestly. "i'm really excited to read it over break. i mean it,"

"you're welcome, dove,"

[lisenberry]

The mountain is you

Ch. 3: I hear your voice in my head

Dom Price x Fem Reader

MDNI/NSFW/18+

CW: Dom/Sub, Bondage, Sex Work, Pain Play, Spanking, Temperature Play (shower), Spit, Voice Kink, Size Kink.

(Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 4)

AO3

You sat back on your heels with your hands folded in your lap as he walked in.  His bootsteps seemed to vibrate across the wooden floor beneath your pillow.  A steady gait, with all of the suspense of a drum roll.

As you faced the high-backed chair, you could only make out the top of him until he made his way closer into view.  He was tall enough when you were standing up.  But on the ground at his feet, he eclipsed everything else around him.  There were no windows, no ceiling.  Just his thighs giving way to his waist, his arms and shoulders. 

Your head tipped back as far as it could just to take him all in, and even then, you came up short of meeting his eyes.

“Already off to a good start, I see.  You look lovely, sweetheart.”  He appraised you in a way that was both agonizingly slow and methodically brief, as he took off his jacket and slowly rolled up his sleeves

“Thank you, sir,” you answered, to the spot on his chest where his flannel shirt opened in a V.  It earned you a quick bob of his head in approval. 

He was starting you off easy.  That much was clear.  Like a teacher on the first day of school.  Throwing you softball questions to gauge how much of the summer reading you’d done over break.  How you responded determined how far he’d push you, and which side of him you’d get.

Could he see the goosebumps spreading across your skin at the mere sound of his voice?      

“Next time, I want you to look at me when you say it.”  He bent down only slightly, aiding your efforts just enough that you could obey. 

His clear eyes glinted patiently between his dark lashes.  Dark brows, dark beard.  They were like signal fires along an unknown path.  No choice but to give yourself up and follow.

“Yes, sir.”  A slight smile pulled at the corner of your lips as the first flutter of heat worked its way from your cheeks down to the echoing emptiness in the cradle of your hips.

“Good.  I like to begin with an inspection.  To assess your readiness, and to make sure your healed from the previous session.”

“I’m ready,” you quickly admitted when his bare hand grazed against the side of your cheek.  You turned into it, starved for even the slightest touch of his roughened palm.

“And I like to take my time exploring what’s mine,” he rumbled, firmly snagging a hold of your chin.  A gesture that simultaneously chastised you for speaking out of turn, and possessively staked his claim. 

You let out a surprised breath, and he took the opening as an invitation to slip his fingers inside your parted mouth.  Two at first, and you instinctively flattened your tongue and closed around their impressive girth. 

“That’s it.”  A short hum of approval followed, as your eyes slipped closed while you sucked them deeper into your throat.  “Don’t overexert yourself just yet.  There’s plenty of time to show me how much you can take.”

He let you savor him a bit before he pulled out with a wet pop of skin and spit, and you nearly fell forward at the loss.  You licked at the salty trail his skin left behind on your lips.  

“Turn around and bend over the stool.”  He pushed a plushily upholstered ottoman closer behind you.  It was the perfect height to kneel and bend against as your arms fell over the other side. 

“Open your legs wider, don’t be shy.”  He folded up the hem of your skirt and brazenly pawed at the meat of your ass in wide circles.  You felt the stretch and pull at your exposed holes, and you wondered if the pads of his fingers were abrasive enough to leave scratches behind. 

In the way his voice had already left etchings on your mind.

“Christ, you’re soaked.  Have you been touching yourself?”  It was barely even a question, the inflection missing from his even tone.

“Yes.”  He pulled his hands away at your answer, leaving a chill in its absence, intentionally.  “Sir,” you quickly corrected.

“Good girl.”  A harsh clap to your backside was your reward.  It smarted with a sharpness that caught you off guard.  He wasn’t taking it easy anymore.  “What do think about when you play with my sweet little cunt?”  His hand returned between your legs, and with it, a probing forefinger glided along the sensitive split of your folds.

You jumped at the sensation, pulling away from the intimacy of it.  How long had it been since you were touched like this?  Ghost had only ever let you use toys on yourself.  Those were the rules, for your safety and his.  Where were the rules now?

This is what you wanted...

“This, sir,” you answered with more certainty than you felt.  Another slap, and your muscles melted into the ottoman and your legs parted wider to brace for the next impact. 

But it didn’t come.  Instead, he pulled back and cleaned off his slick smeared fingers along the side of your thigh.

“This, sweetheart, is just a warm-up,” his low, sardonic voice crooned, as his hands snagged in your hair and arched you back far enough to see him towering behind you.  The back of your head hit the front of his thighs.  “I’ll try to take it slow this time, but no promises.”

Oh fuck, he was good, you shuddered at the thought.  The unknown.  The waiting.  The surprise.  He ticked the boxes of your kink like he wrote the book himself.  Like he’d been paying attention.  You almost broke scene in your gratitude, but you kept your eyes trained up at him, wondering if he could see it written all over your face.

He must’ve, because for a moment, he broke too.  A subtle crinkle at the corners of his eyes, a brief softness that you would’ve missed if you blinked.  Just before he bent down lower, and spit on your face.

He released your hair as you sputtered in shock when it hit your closed lips with a warm splat.  Your tongue darted out to taste the small piece of himself he offered to you.  Not a kiss so much as a wad of spit on the palm to seal the deal.  A promise to take care of you.

As you moved to catch the drop that rolled down your chin, he took hold of your wrists and held them above your head.  With a quickness that left your mind spinning, he knotted a loop of smooth rope around each one, binding them together like a sturdy set of cuffs.  He slung another loop over the exposed wooden beam along the ceiling.

Handy, you thought as he tied it off with a slipknot that left you hanging up on your tip toes.  Once again, the ottoman slid underneath you, but this time you kneeled on it.  He eyed you up and down, making sure you were secure before letting go of the steadying arm at your waist.

You weren’t weightless.  You knew this about yourself.  No one picked you up and carried you around because you were so tiny and pocket-sized.  You were just a woman, and hadn’t met someone big enough to throw you around like you were made of air.

You had substance.  You were made of things.  Matter and atoms, and particles, or whatever.  Flesh and bones.

So, when you hung there suspended, it felt like a dream, and all you could do was focus on the parts of you that felt contact.  Your wrists.  Your knees.  The ropes that cut into your skin, the plushness that kept you from hitting the floor.  You established your center of gravity and braced for the worst with an anticipatory thrumming low in your belly.  Deep within the cradle of your hips.

Nothing would pitch you over.  You could take anything. 

True to his word of being honest about what he was going to do, he flashed the paddle in front of you.  As wide as his hand, it was made of wood and wrapped in leather.  It made Ghost’s crop look like a feather duster.

You let out a clarifying breath through your teeth, licking at your spit-soaked lips to find that tether.  To his promise that burned sweet like spearmint and menthol tobacco.

“Anything you want say before we start?”  His rough-edged voice posed both challenge and threat.

It was the first stop on the train, you reminded yourself.  And he was making sure you knew you could get off anytime.

“No, sir—”

The words barely left your lips before he delt the first blow.  The slap of leather to skin echoed through the house, bounced off the windows and the walls. 

You didn’t scream, not yet, but the sting welled in your eyes to match the blooming fire on your ass.  When the second one swiftly followed, and even harder than the first, you nearly swallowed your tongue to stifle a gasp, wondering if he wanted to hear you. 

But you weren’t an actress.  This wasn’t for show.  If he wanted to hear you scream, to see you cry, he had to earn it.  Right there alongside you.

The third and fourth came slower and with slightly less force, but the fifth nearly rattled your teeth. 

“Oh, fuck!”  You finally exclaimed, no longer able to blink back the tears.  

“You liked that one, did you?”  He had the nerve to laugh behind you.  Was he emboldened by your feedback?  Was he enjoying this as much as you?

It wasn’t long before you lost track of how many whacks you’d taken.  He didn’t bother counting them aloud like some clock ticking away the time.  There wasn’t a limit.  The only one who could stop it was you.

“Had enough, yet?”  He checked in, winded from his own exertion. 

“No, sir.”  The words came slower, as if you had to pluck them out of a messily discarded pile in some dark corner, the more your strength drained away.  You were so close.  Right there on the brink.  You could see it like a trail disappearing over the horizon.

A steadying hand found your shoulder, squeezed warm and firm, as he moved closer behind you.  Enough to whisper in your ear.

“I’m not going to stop until you break.”

With the last command, and a final searing crack, you felt the fresh gush of squirt as you finally let go.  The scream you’d been waiting for.  That maybe he had been, too.

The sweet release that stole your breath and your mind, and dragged you all the way under.  And he hadn’t even touched you.  There was no vibrator strapped to your thigh.  Just a gentle hand on your shoulder.  The polarity to the abuse on your ass.  Nerves flayed and blown wide, you still needed the one thing that would pull you back together.

“Touch me, please,” you whimpered, with a voice hoarse from crying.  “I need to come.”  Deep in the subspace, you sagged limply against your bonds. 

“I can’t deny you anything, sweetheart.  Not when you ask so nicely.”

He pulled the quick release on the rope and caught you against his chest.  Sitting back on his chair, he held you facing forward onto his lap.  You were boneless, propped up only where he held you tightly in his grip.  Careful not to hold your neck, he instead wrapped his forearm under your breasts, cupping one in his palm through the thin silk fabric of your slip and pinning your bound wrists to your chest.

His other hand started at your mound of curls and trailed lower, parting the folds to slowly reach the tender bud at its apex.  He brushed it once, twice, before reaching lower.  Swirling circles around your opening, tracing along the trembling rim before gliding back up again. 

You squirmed weakly against his hips, desperate to touch him back.  To guide his hand where you wanted him to go, but you were helpless to do anything but weather his patience.  To be led at the pace he set.

His beard grazed the top of your shoulder and along the side of your neck.  In your addled brain, you imagined that he kissed you there, that his lips and tongue and teeth met skin.  That the ragged breaths of his need matched your own.

As his thumb worked the pearl of your clit in faster, deliberate circles, those thick fingers you suckled earlier slid deep into your walls.  The achingly tight stretch, combined with the precious friction brought you to a roaring climax of moaned oaths and sounds you’d never heard before.

“You did so good.”  You felt his hot breath against your shoulder as you shattered around him, along with a quick, supportive peck of his soft lips.  Too soft and too brief to register over the riot in your blood.  “I’m feeling generous.  Let’s try something else.”

A pouty whine of doubt was all you could offer, still in the incomparable thrall of an orgasm in subspace.  You couldn’t say no.  So deep under his sway, you’d give him anything.  Let him do anything.  There was no room for resistance in that vast, cloudy place. 

But you didn’t know what else was left.  What laid ahead was too far beyond your reach.

No thoughts, only sensations.  You couldn’t even focus enough to see beyond the fog.  All that held you up was the sound of his voice.  The strength of his arms as he lifted and turned your dead weight, hooking your wrists around his neck.  His hand never leaving your throbbing cunt.

“None of that.  You’ll like it, I promise.  But you’ll have to trust me.”  He curled his fingers forward, hooking deeper in a way that had you muffling your wild shrieks into his chest.  “You do, don’t you?”

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, until he pulled his fingers away.  You clenched down harder and sank against them, but he slipped them free despite the protest.

“Words, remember?  Need to know you’re still with me.”  He swatted your cheek with the same sticky, wet palm.  Not enough to hurt, but it pulled you back out just enough to speak.

“Yes,” you answered, biting your lip to see if it was still there.  That you weren’t just a cloud of disembodied mist.  “I trust you,” as another slap opened your eyes to meet his. 

He really expected you to keep up the formalities after what just happened?  The world was a different place.  Surely the continents had shifted, and the oceans had dried up.

But there he was, you noted as he came into focus.  You hadn’t just imagined him.  Those signal fires lit up to guide you once more through the dark.  There was a freckle on his nose.  A dimple just above his beard.  He seemed to pause as well, and you realized how firmly he was pinched with restraint.  How tightly he held his own need for release. 

If it was a word he wanted, you’d give it to him.

“Sir,” you finally finished, with a small smile pulling at your tingling cheek.

“There’s a girl,” he said with a low chuckle, as he carried you to a different room.

One that smelled like sandalwood and citrus, with walls of such a bright white that you buried your face further into his shoulder to shield your eyes from it.  The fuzzy, light flannel was a soothing contrast to the sting at your backside.  It still pulsed and burned with each course of blood through the muscle and fat.

“You made quite a mess of yourself, I’m afraid.  Need to clean you up.”  The sound of creaking metal and the spray of water were harsh to your ears.

A strangled sound escaped your lips, half a cry, half a whimper.  This was going to hurt.  Your overexerted pussy perked up at the prospect of it.  It was a devious little thing, swollen and puffy with eagerness that your body could survive another round of punishment.

No, it wasn’t punishment, you corrected yourself.  It was what you needed.

He set you down slowly onto the closed toilet seat, untied your hands and pulled the silk shift up over your head like a doll being undressed and put to bed.  The sleek porcelain was so cool against your bare skin that you shivered at the loss of its paltry heat. 

“I’m right here.”

Keeping his eyes on you and his hands not far away, lest you fall over, he arranged a chair made of PVC pipe into the open shower area and stripped from his own clothes with a quickness that spoke to his own enthusiasm.  It was either that, or a natural efficiency with which he did all things. 

Pants, shirt, boots.  Until all that was left was the dark hair that covered him in varying degrees of masculine thickness from head to toe, and his briefs.  An erection tented the fabric to such a painful degree that you reached out for it, only to be distracted away.

“This one’s all about you.  Don’t tempt me to change my mind,” he slanted you a look that guaranteed you’d regret it as he mouthed at the back of your hand absently.

Two kisses?  You could get greedy for them if you weren’t careful.

But before you could muster any disappointment, he had you by the arms again and positioned you over the makeshift chair.  You sat astride it, with your ass facing just out of the stream of water and an opening below for easy access between your legs.  Your tits draped over the top.

He kneeled in front you, all the better to watch you to submit to him, when your rational brain was clamoring to find your safe word.  Abraded skin meeting hot water was a next level consequence that you weren’t prepared to face with him.

You usually did that part alone with a bottle of wine, your comfort candle, and your favorite movie waiting for you on the softness of your sofa.

But the endorphins that kept you down in the subspace also kept you pliant, giddy with desire.  Fearless.  Reckless, you would’ve argued, if you’d been in some other state of mind. 

Not when you still felt the aftershocks of bliss, and the rawness of your paddling.  Instead, you did your best not to flinch as he directed the steaming water along your skin.  Where you expected a searing torture, there was instead a satisfying burn.  Just shy of scalding.  Just shy of too much.  It heated you up like a cauterizing iron to a wound.  A healing type of hurt. 

Unlike a misplaced hand shying away from a hot stove, you leaned into it.  Arched against it like a bear to tree bark.  That itch you’d never been able to reach.  Dark and subterranean, it skittered around underneath, unable to be caught by the light.

And just when you thought you’d had enough—when the nerves began to die out under the overwhelming blaze—he turned it up hotter still.  A new wave of pleasure and pain, as the backs of his knuckles caressed the needy patch of your sex. 

Violence on one side, and serenity on the other.  Like two sides of a coin flipping end over end into an infinite universe.  It built a force within you that finally collapsed on itself, consuming you whole.  Slower, and somehow more shocking in its intensity than the first.

“Is this how stars are made?”  The last dizzying thought before you slipped beyond reach.

You awoke as if from a dream some time later, with your head in his lap and wrapped in a velvety soft gray robe.  Big enough to fit you like a blanket, it must’ve been his.  The clarity hit you fast, and you sat up with a start.  The waiting surge of adrenaline that always followed a scene found you well-rested. 

“I am so sorry.”

“Easy now.  Here, drink this.”  He adjusted himself to move with you, not letting you go as you tried to bolt, and tipped a bottle full of water towards your lips.

It even had a straw.  How thoughtful. 

“Thank you,” you added, not able to meet his assessing gaze.  Had you even said that yet?  Where were your manners?

“You’re welcome,” he answered breezily.  As if not really knowing what to say himself.

Probably because you squirted all over his expensive looking ottoman and said weird things about turning into a constellation when you came your brains out.

“I don’t want to keep you any longer.  I didn’t mean to take up your whole day.”  You looked at the clock and couldn’t believe it was already evening.

How long had he sat there just holding you?  Your empty stomach reminded you of the food you’d meant to stop for on the way home.

“Are you hungry?  I can order dinner if you want to stay a bit longer.”  He sounded more confident after you’d drained the water and handed it back to him.

You never wanted to leave the cocoon he’d wrapped you in, but it was best to take it slow as you stood to find your discarded clothes tucked behind the sofa. 

“I actually made plans, but next time, yeah?”  You assured him, when he looked at you so vulnerably that you reached for him.  It was only a brief touch to his forearm, but he seemed surprised by it.  “Will you send me your availability?”

A shitty way to say, “You just changed my life,” but you hoped there would be a next time.  That there was still more you could do for each other. You still had to hold up your end of the bargain.

“My calendar’s wide open, sweetheart.”

[uchispeach]

Sycamore Tree (Ch. 3)

Dark! Rafe Cameron x Fem! Reader

Warnings: mentions of underage drinking, dub-con / non-con touching & kissing, obsessive & manipulative behavior, Rafe is a bit scary in this…

This fic will contain dark content: such as dub-con/ non-con and violence. You have been warned.

Almost a week has passed by since you last saw Rafe, still, he had found the way to make himself present throughout the days.

He texted you regularly, checking up on you; making questions like “How are you?”, “Have you eaten yet?”, “Where are you?” and his favorite one: “Who are you with?”

You would be lying if you said you didn’t find his interest sweet; most of the time matching his energy and taking as much interest for his daily life as he did for yours.

The texts were numerous but there were ones more memorable than others, such as the day you finally reunited the courage to ask for Topper.

You still remember his response: “I’m taking care of that, doll” You remember getting flustered by the nickname and almost throwing your phone out of the window.

“Y/N!” Your sister shouted as you continued to submerge yourself on your phone. “Topper hasn’t pressed charges yet…Jennifer told me.” Right, you remembered her mentioning it before. “I know…I think there’s a big chance he won’t” Your eyes left the screen to look excitedly at the brunette, not expecting the frown on her face.

“Pfft” She let out an incredulous sound. “That just means he’s planning something else…something worse than jail.” That took you by surprise, causing you to stand up and reach out for the younger girl. “Why would you think that?” Your face morphed into a worried one.

“You really think he’d let JJ alone out of the kindness of his heart…No Y/N! Kooks always get their way.” You bit your lower lip, holding yourself from revealing the real reason Topper wasn’t bothering the Pogues anymore.

“Let’s just wait for a few more days…There is no need to be paranoid!” You tried your best to sound comforting, either way, Kie sighed out in exasperation, stomping away and leaving you alone to sink in your own guilt.

(…)

“I’m thinking pastel pink…but, what do you think?” You tilted your head while staring at the nail polish container. When silence was all you received, you decided to gaze at the dark haired girl. “Jennie!” She finally looked away from her device. “Hmm?” Her tone confirmed she had no idea what you were talking about.

“You’ve been distracted all afternoon” You pouted while supporting your knees on her soft mattress. “I’m sorry! I’ve been texting with-” Her words were interrupted by the harsh sound of a car’s engine. You noticed her senses being alerted as she adopted an apologetic look. “Please, don’t get mad!”

“When have I ever gotten mad at you?” You questioned as knocks were heard on the ground floor. “Well, you now just might.” The smile following her sentence was awkward.

The knocks intensified and Jennifer didn’t doubt before running down the stairs. “Wait!” You shouted right behind her as you skipped a step or two to get down faster.

The only answer you got from your friend was a fit of giggles, and soon you were both facing the main door. Out of breath you stared at the tall shadow of what seemed to be three guys. “Who did you invite?” The taller girl ignored you, unlocking the door at an inhuman pace.

The wide crystal door was out of the way now, letting in the group of young men. “Hello there, girls!” Kelce greeted you excitedly while raising his busy hands in the air.

Topper followed right behind, wearing an uninterested face while holding a cooler with his right arm. You could almost swear you saw him frowning in annoyance when he saw you in front of him.

Then, there was Rafe; standing proudly with his hands in his pockets, wearing a pair of expensive sunglasses and a predatory grin.

“Hi, doll” His voice was deep and confident, giving you a few goosebumps. “It’s…It’s nice to see you” You spoke shyly, slightly intimidated by his proximity.

He softly chuckled. His strong chest rumbled, showcasing some of the veins in his brawny arms. “I’m delighted too” He joked as you felt the heat of his skin on your nape and his heavy palm squeezing your shoulder. “Now, let’s have some fun” He whispered into your ear.

(…)

The laughs echoed throughout the entire house, and you couldn’t help but let out a muffled giggle as you saw the dark haired boy lifting up your friend and threatening to throw her in the pool once again. “Kelce, stop!”

Even Topper left his grumpy state for a few seconds and decided to smile a little. Both him and the Cameron boy had pulled out a blunt, sharing it and causing you to cough more than a few times.

You were seated on the same beach chair as the blond, forced to support part of your back on his naked chest. He didn’t seem to mind though, going as far as holding you steady by throwing his arm around your neck and over your chest.

Your nervousness levels had reached the roof when his fingertips had accidentally rubbed against your breast; and the blond could feel it exuding from your body:“You’re so tense. Relax.” He looked at you through the corner of his eyes. “I’m sorry” You stared back, embarrassed at your own body’s reaction.

“You’re always apologizing.” You weren’t sure if it was a complaint or not, still, you apologized once again. Realization hit you as you saw him smirking harder. “Don’t worry, I like it. It’s cute.” You were growing more flustered by the minute. “Just as cute as this little skirt you’re wearing.” Your heart felt like it was about to explode from how hard it was beating.

You took a deep breath, doing your best to pull your anxiety aside. “And…I like your sunglasses.” You struggled forming a whole sentence.

And with a wave of newfound boldness, you finally took the decision to reach out for the boy’s face.

Your fingertips hesitantly caressed the side of his face before fixing the sunglasses’ crooked position “…But, I like it better when your eyes aren’t covered.”

“Say less” Rafe took you by surprise as he abruptly tore the accessory from him and discarded it to the side like a piece of trash. “Rafe!” You laughed out loud at the shocking display. He sent you a childish look before holding you closer to him.

Once you were able to tame your chuckles down, the intensity of his eyes on your lips made your whole body freeze. Intimacy between you two only grew stronger as his palm positioned itself on your neck’s side, seemingly not getting enough of your body’s warmth.

“Y/N!” The sudden appearance of Jennifer made you pull away from the blond. And as her hands shook you by the shoulders, you couldn’t help but jump out in surprise. “Jen, calm down. You’re going to get her dizzy.” Rafe was quick to intervene, pulling you flush against his chest. “Let’s get in the pool” She said cheerfully while ignoring his words.

“I don’t know-” She shook her head frenetically. “Come on!” You could feel the enthusiasm leaking out of her pores. “…But I don’t even have a swimsuit” You argued, quickly shut down by your friend’s proud response: “I have a solution for that!”

(…)

“Stunning!” The taller girl cheered you up, noticing the way you scanned your body on the full length mirror. The pink checkered bikini had small bows on the straps, immediately making it your first choice.

Jennifer continued praising your figure until a loud noise interrupted her. “Was that glass shattering?” Her face morphed into worry itself. “Guys!” She shouted before leaving the room and running downstairs.

“Alright” You sighed while continuing to dissect your reflection. A ringtone went off, making you lose your focus. “Everything okay?” You said loudly while saving your clothes on the tote bag sitting right next to the phone.

“Hi, Y/N. Yeah…Everything’s pretty great.” Pope sounded relaxed, allowing you to steady your breathing. “You don’t know how comforting it is to hear that.” Relieve leaked through your soft voice, making the boy smile at the other side of the speaker.

“Yeah, I know…I really thought it was over for us.” His voice still had some remains of fear in it. “Don’t say that!…Hey P, just wanted to let you know I’m not with Kiara.” You bit your lower lip while struggling to fit your umbrella in the bag.

“I mean…I called ‘cause I wanted to talk to you.” He shyly revealed. “Oh!…of course. How have you been doing?” There was a short silence before he replied: “I’m just feeling a bit down.” You frowned, quickly taking the device in your hand. “Why?…Did you and the boys fight?” You got no response. “Whatever it is, you know I’m here for you.” You were quick to remember the boy your unconditional support.

Your friend’s answer was overshadowed by the sudden sound of heavy steps. You instinctively looked around, your eyes finally setting on the door. “…we had to hide for days. And I guess it really affected me not being able to step outside, not even for a quick sec’ and- and I missed you too.” The steps stopped, only replaced by a growing shadow peaking under the door.

“Y/N?” You were brought back into the conversation. “I missed you too, Pope.” You hoped the boy didn’t notice the distraction on your tone. “Then, let’s see each other. Tomorrow!” Enthusiasm leaked through the speaker.

“Tomorrow?…We can’t, I’m sorry. Kie and I have to help my parents’ at The Wreck.” The dark haired boy continued to speak, unfortunately, your mind only allowed you to catch on a few words. “What about Friday? We can all meet at The Château.” You interrupted him.

“Oh! That works too.” The steps could be heard again, stopping you from hearing the disappointment in Pope’s voice. “I’m counting the days!” You smiled lightly. “Bye then. Love you!” You said before hanging up.

The commotion of someone bursting inside the bedroom made you jump. “Rafe!” You gripped your chest, feeling your agitated heartbeat under the fingertips. “Rafe?” He moved without saying a word, an indecipherable look on his face.

You felt like hiding when his eyes lingered up and down your figure, taking their time to analyze every centimeter of skin. “I got lost on the way to the bathroom.” His features were still stoic.

“It’s the first door-” “I remember that scar.” Your feet instinctively took some steps back as you saw him moving forward. The wooden floor cracked under his heavy legs.

“That one” He clarified while your back hit the wall. His fingers superficially traced the white horizontal line that decorated your thigh’s side. Rafe took his time redrawing the thing, applying some pressure with his thumb.

“You were trying to help that feral cat.” He squeezed harder, causing you to flinch. The pain made you remember, it was a rainy afternoon at Tannyhill; you had spotted a trembling kitten hanging on from an old tree’s branch.

“Always caring for the ones who don’t deserve it.” You had managed to wrap your frail arms around the poor thing before you had both fallen down. “I never understood it.” His free palm reached out for your jaw, grabbing firmly onto the side of it.

“I guess you’re too kind for your own good.” And as he lightly shook your head, you remembered the fall, the pain of the piece of glass cutting through your skin and the fierce teeth of the feline burying into your arm.

His breath felt overwhelming over your mouth, but even more so as his lips brushed yours in delicate caresses.

You trembled as his other hand stopped toying with your thigh, and reached for the meat of your ass. He gave it a rough squeeze while sinking his teeth into your lower lip.

You tried to pull away from the discomfort but the blond kept you still with his brute force. You knew better than to continue pushing once you started feeling the metallic taste of your own blood.

Tears started forming once you were forced to gasp in pain. Rafe saw it as a chance, slipping his tongue in.

The kiss was like nothing you had experienced before, so passionate and hungry you could almost feel the desperation on your bones.

The Cameron boy explored your whole mouth with his wet muscle, making you go out of breath. His lips moved over yours with experience, while all you could was hold onto his naked chest -hoping not to faint from the lack of air-.

You desperately tried to pull back as soon as your vision grew blurrier, and after a few tugs the blond finally gave in. Your choked coughs echoed through the whole bedroom.

“You taste…so sweet.” He got all over your face, closely analyzing the tears that streamed down your puffy cheeks.

“Hey, don’t cry” He whispered right before licking the salty liquid on your left cheekbone. “I’m sorry” You weren’t exactly sure what you apologized for, still, you felt the need to.

Both of his palms were now squeezing each side of your face, maintaining you on the same spot as he kissed you over and over again.

A/N: I finished writing this at a government office while trying to get a new birth certificate.

[val-cansalute]

PICKING UP THE ———- PIECES -———

ch. 5

ch. 1

ch. 2

ch. 3

ch. 4

ch. 6

a/n: 😪 banners by cafekitsune and saradika-graphics

Snow still lays thick upon the soil once you’re gone. Along its boundless surface, specks of silver glisten, basking in the gentle glow of the moon, smothering the town’s bustle.

“You sure?”

The wind is cruel, lashing auburn locks erratically about Ellie’s face, numbed by the frigidity. In spite of the burning cold overtaking her limbs, her grip on the straps of the saddle tightens and her eye contact with Tommy turns ever so slightly hostile,

"Tommy, it’s been less than a day. She can’t be far. You comin’ or not? ‘Cause I’m doing this with or without you.”

He looks back at her wordlessly with a furrow in his brow, piercing through the tense silence laced with the distant bustle of Jackson,

“Alright… Let’s set off quick then.”

“Okay.”

Something compels her to silence, an impulse to keep her lips sealed over restless secrets. Maybe she knows that going after you is illogical, that it was a choice you made on your own. But she can’t bring herself to indulge in those realisations – all she knows is that she has to find you; there is no hesitation. Thankfully, the urgency in her tone was explanation enough for Tommy.

With a rushed onset, they split up to cover more ground, venturing onwards into the overrun territory encompassing Jackson with eyes vigilant, searching for signs of you, but seconds turn to minutes, and minutes turn to hours of vacillating between trot and gallop, losing sense of direction and fragments of determination to the exhaustion that mutinies her mind.

Thank god the hoofprints come into view when they do - as if by magic or a blessing, the impressed snow shows itself clear as day, juxtaposing the sea of white bordering it,  darkened by dirt and grime. Ellie perks up with desperate intrigue so she pulls the reins and crouches down beside them, muttering to herself,

“Huh, what do we have here?”

And then her heartbeat quickens in anticipation of relief,

“She's close.”

Verily, she follows, the tracks guiding her further into the dense vegetation with senses working overtime to accommodate the fact that it is winter and hordes are rampant. She fucking prays you didn’t run into one, but the forest is deafeningly silent, seeming to hold its breath tonight.

She’s fast on your track; in this moment, the path is hope, a lifeline steering her along.  Every now and then, a rustle of leaves, or the distant echoes of infected throw her mind into disarray, but she scans the area rapidly, shaky grip tightening on her firearm, before pushing on.

Just under an hour, the prints become faded and scattered, and the apprehension makes her stomach twist before she lifts her head to greet the destination - a desolate clearing.

“Fuck me.”

Dim moonlight hangs over Ellie and Tommy’s exhausted figures. The night has been relentless. The trail resulted in nothing more than wasted time and the discovery of a empty clearing, devoid of any sign of you.

Frustration and fatigue etched on her face and lingering in the air around her, Ellie kicks at a loose stone on the ground like a little kid, the full regret of having set off hurriedly with no real plan or navigation overcoming her. They’ve gotten nowhere.

In a see-through attempt at remaining pragmatic, Tommy pats her shoulder and states with a tone of reassurance, though it’s betrayed by the wearied rasp in his voice,

"We'll figure it out, Ellie. We just need to rest for a bit and rethink our strategy. She couldn't have gotten far."

But Ellie's resolve is fixed and her jaw is set in determination. It’s too late to turn back now, she knows that.

"I can't rest, Tommy. Every minute wasted is another minute she's further."

He sighs heavily with complete sincerity, running a hand through his unkempt hair.

"Ellie, she’s probably asleep right now, or some shit. And pushing yourself like this won't help anyone."

Their intermingling voices rise, threaded with increasing aggression until the tension has thickened beyond salvaging, and the rift between their convictions seems insurmountable in the darkness of the night.

Finally, unable to find common ground, Ellie announces,

"I'm not waiting. I'm going to keep searching. You wanna go back? Fine."

And, without waiting for a response, she takes off, leaving her horse and Tommy, who mutters quiet cusses into the heavy stillness of the night. She moves with purpose, the flashlight attached to her backpack tearing through the darkness.

She refuses to let the ache in her feet claim her; every step she takes echoes the silent plea for you to be found. Even as the hours wear on, Ellie's determination refuses to wane in spite of the fatigue gnawing at her bones. She can’t let herself think, she can’t let herself dwell, she has to keep searching, even if she can’t tell herself why.

However, the moon, as always, gives surrender to the encroaching dawn. Ellie's flickering hope of finding you dims as her steps grow heavier and her eyes wearier, and the first light of sunrise bleeds into the sky from the horizon.

Eventually, shattered and running on sheer god-like willpower, Ellie stumbles upon a vantage point, and stands over the landscape, large enough to swallow her whole millions of times over, like she’s the last person on Earth, staring into the face of impending destruction.

But it’s just dawn, and the overcast warm glow showers upon her as the realization that she has been searching through the night hits her. The screeching thought of you inevitably having gotten hurt plagues her mind. Deep breath, in and out, she lets the weight of it all settle upon her weakened shoulders, yet there’s still no time for rest.

The search is far from over.

You strain your neck to squint up at the skeletal structure that has born the brutality of the post-apocalyptic world, barely making out the details past the overgrown foliage seeping out of its broken windows and destroyed walls.

You enter with caution and heightened senses, searching for any signs of danger. The creaking floorboards beneath your feet shatter the palpable silence in the damp air.

Shifting through the shadows, your senses remain sharp and attuned to the slightest noise, scanning the objects illuminated by the dim light of dawn filtering through the cracks in the abandoned building. Shadows loom outstretched along the corridors.

In a shadowy corner, a man is crouched over a bag, and you watch him with a racing heart before you emerge, your silhouette a silent spectre against the dilapidated walls.

Your eyes meet for a fleeting moment before you both jump into action instinctively, but you swiftly disarm him. The struggle is brief but intense, and he is overpowered, because, if there’s one thing fear has taught you, it’s that each movement has to be calculated and purposeful.

And when he’s on his knees, trying to plead for mercy, when he’s scraping pathetically at the scruples of humanity left in your soul, you remain resolute - just don’t think. Your grip is firm as you subdue him.

A few blows leave him incapacitated, and you leave it at that because you have never been able to succumb to gratuitous violence. He lets out a muffled groan with his cheek pressed against the cold stone floor.

Swiftly, you bind is wrists and ankles taut, ensuring he can’t pose a threat before confiscating his meagre supplies and rifling through them. Food, water, anything that could sustain you on the journey ahead, you take, and then you drop his bag my his side and arise.

You turn to leave, but you glance back at the man over your shoulder, meeting his eyes with a solemn expression. You haven’t done this in a while, not since you arrived at Jackson, and your penchant for showing no mercy has been buffed down.

There’s so much you have to beg your mind to steer itself away from, beg it to not to linger on the helplessness in his eyes as he looks back at you, or how you would’ve slit his throat without a doubt when it was just you and Soren.

With the stolen supplies secured, you walk through the entrance. You have to convince yourself of one last thing.

Mercy takes on different forms.

Out into the muted light of dawn, the air is brisk, and the horizon enlightening drags the worry of not making it out of the treacherous night you endured off your shoulders. A new day. A momentary respite washes over you; you’re only a little scathed.

With the first light of dawn illuminating your path,

“Only an hour or two away …”

It is a small victory in the grand scheme of things, but it’s enough for someone with your past.

Mounting her horse, the familiar weight of the saddle grounds you as you set off once more into the unknown. The rhythmic, muffled thump of hooves against the snow-blanketed floor, and the shadow of the horse and rider stretched long over the ruins, a lone traveller navigating the remnants of a world.

You ride on, your mind numb to the thought of returning to Soren. Back to the old house, to the doorstep where your heart lies dormant.

Crestfallen, the fruitless landscape stands before Ellie, as if to mock her hunched over figure, bathed in the warm hues of the noontime sun. She has been traversing since the wee hours of the morning after stopping momentarily to map out a journey in her relentless pursuit of you, trying to stay determined, but the urgency that keeps her moving forward is dulled by the incessant pangs of hunger and the desperate struggle to keep her eyes open. Doubt creeps in as the vast emptiness erodes her resolution.

Just as thoughts of turning back infiltrate her sleep-deprived mind, a faint sound carries along a whistling gust of wind, drawing her fading attention. Pained noises, barely audible, leave her instantly alert, and Ellie follows the source of the sound with a subtle limp in her step. Though her senses are sharpened by the urgency of the situation, everything still seems blurrier and muffled.

Guided by the haunting echoes, she carefully weaves her way through the silent surroundings, every step weighted with anticipation, into a derelict building.

She approaches cautiously, entering a room where the sound is amplified and she comes face to face with the source: a man, bound and gagged, his eyes shut as he lies, weakened by his restraints. Without hesitation, Ellie kneels beside him, pistol pressed to his pained temple, her gaze unwavering,

“Who did this to you?" she demands, her voice edged with a fierce determination. His eyes fly open, looking up at her fearfully.

“Shit! Some fuckin’ girl – I don’t know!”

“… When did she leave?”

“Like ten minutes ago! I haven’t got shit, she took everything! I’m begging you, please untie me!”

She stands, contemplating it for a moment, before she kicks him over so that he can contort his body into a sitting position, eliciting a sharp groan. He wasn’t tied up beyond hope of managing to undo the knots, you made sure of it,

“You can figure that out on your own, I got shit to do.”

With a sense of exhilaration, Ellie jogs out and circles to the back of the building, her eyes scanning the snow-covered ground for any sign of movement where she notices a fresh set of foot and hoofprints, meeting at a point along the line where they become one trail of hoofprints, a delicate dance littering the frozen canvas.

Hope surges within Ellie as, once again, she follows the tracks. She has to move fast; you have a horse and she has only her feet. The air is tense with anticipation, but she somehow manages to power through the all-consuming exhaustion and hunger with the promise of getting closer to the elusive figure she seeks.

The sun dips lower on the horizon; the bitter cold forgotten in the warmth of purpose.

Nothing is left of your house but the gnarled bones of the home it once was. The memories of all you left behind seep through the cracked walls – the good and the bad, a silent witness to the passage of time.  You hold your breath captive in your tightened chest and push open the door, its rusty hinges protesting your return with a shrill creak.

The air is thick with dust dancing in the slivers of dim light that manage to pierce through boarded windows. Everything surrounding you, once thriving and familiar, is now reduced to mere echoes, whispers. Your fingers gently trace the life left in the fray, your gaze sweeping over the remnants of all you lost to the destruction. There’s nothing but blood left to salvage, to hold onto.

You lay in the centre of what used to be your bedroom, save for the actual bed, beside the shadow of the place where Soren used to lie, but there is no reprieve. You can’t look at it, your gaze pointed to the damp-stained ceiling, rust-coloured organic forms scattered across it.

If there’s one thing you can trust to remain a constant in your life, it’s that memories flood your mind no matter when or where you are, unbidden and unwelcome. Here, you can let them play out wholly, succumb to the deserved guilt that you cannot let yourself escape.

Trace the mustard outline of the leakages in the wallpapered walls with the movement of your weary pupils, stop trying to battle the thoughts as they influx from the depths. Turn your head to look at the ruined wall – no matter how hard you scrubbed, droplets of what once was his blood, and his blood only, taken over by that cruel evil, seeped through and infected it just as the clicker infected him. They still burn as hot and bright as they did that night, staring back at you.

You had been splayed out on the floor, over tattered blankets, similar to now, waiting for Soren, who had heard a noise beyond the gate. The worry was becoming an annoyance, so you got up and ran out into the night to find him, further out than you usually would on your own.

You should’ve stayed. Never should’ve wandered. It was your fault he had to fight off that clicker, the scar etched into his back for all eternity, evidence of your fatal error. Even though you made it home with adrenaline pumping through your veins, the nagging sting eventually became an undeniable ache, and from that point, Soren was already dead.

He begged and begged, eyes glassed over for the first time since your mother died, but your pathetic selfishness left him shrinking beside the new force overcoming his body, till he became what he prayed he would never become.

Then, and only then, did you do it. Coward that you are, bashing his obliterated skull over and over in the haze, blood and brains sent adrift, consuming all the surfaces they landed on, your mind, body, and soul, for the rest of your life, and anything that lies beyond.

There’s a violent shift and you jolt back to the surface, gasping for air like you were drowning with sharp, shallow, greedy breaths.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Ellie's urgent voice cuts through the remnants of the memory.

"I got you," she whispers, a breathless relief in her voice. You, disoriented and still caught in an intersection between past and present, struggle to hold back the already fallen tears and even in spite of the glaring truth that you came here wilfully, the sight of her brings sweet relief.

“Ellie-”

“Shimmer.”

“Huh?”

“The horse’s name is Shimmer.”

[mothervvoid]

Kakashi's Birthday Recs

since it's our beloved boy's birthday, I thought I'd take some time to rec a few of my favorite fics (and a few of my own)!

The Pack Survives by ihopethelightwillshineuponus

genfic | 97k / 25/25ch | Kakashi & Team 7-centric When a simple C-rank mission turns into a straight-up nightmare, the members of Team Seven narrowly escape with their lives. They end up stuck in the middle of nowhere, each of them injured and forced to rely on one another for help.

A++ whump & team bonding, it's great!

Like You'd Get Your Knuckles Bloody For Me by mabledonut

genfic | 37k / 10/10ch | Kakashi & Team 7-centric Kakashi was in hell, or something close to it. a.k.a. Genin Team 7 goes bananas after their sensei gets kidnapped and tortured.

another A++ whump fic, with some really great team bonding moments. kakashi defies hiruzen's decree a little and spills a bit of knowledge about naruto's dad + team ten cameo & mednin!shikamaru!

The Last Time I'll Abandon You by mabledonut

genfic | 300k+ / 78/120ch | Team Minato-centric | Ongoing “Hatake Kakashi, isn’t it…?” Kakuzu asked as he emerged from underground, as the black strings or wires or whatever they were retracted back into his body, catching Kakashi from behind along the way, tugging him down, once again laying him prone on the hard rocks and roots of the forest floor. “It’s been some time, but yes, I do remember you…” Shit, we are in a bad way, Kakashi thought to himself as he struggled to get up. Who’s gonna…

an absolutely SAGA of a story, a must-read. though it's a genfic it DOES have some background ships like asukure, and features TEENIE TINNYYY allusions to ships like kakarin, obikaka and obirin. some top-tier whump, nauseating, will have you reading through your fingers at times, i honestly cannot recommend this fic enough!

Uneasy Lies the Head by Hiiraeth

genfic | 130k / 27/27ch | Kakashi & Team 7-centric “Shikamaru,” He began, trying to stay calm. “I’d like for you to get Sakura." Kakashi swallowed thickly and swayed on his feet. "Because I think I've just been poisoned."

POISON FIC!! kakashi has been poisoned! will he and co figure out a cure IN TIME? take a look and FIND OUT!! stunning whump, wonderful team dynamics. this was one of the first fics i ever read in the naruto fandom and it did NOT disappoint!

Just Leave Me in Two Pieces by @perpetuallyuneloquent

genfic | 12.5k / 3/?ch | Kakashi & Team Minato-centric | Ongoing Kakashi kept his eyes closed as the world came into focus around him. The stale air smelled vaguely like old sake and burning kerosene, the ground beneath him gritty and cold. His mind was too sluggish for him to process more, however. I just want to go back to sleep, honestly. Well, that was concerning. Usually, he couldn’t sleep. …Where am I?

exciting and deliciously upsetting fic as team minato goes through the recycling wheel of miscommunication. featuring some grade A whump and a side of people not saying what they should when they need to, and a very interesting original villain!

And Of Course, I'm throwing a couple of my own fics:

red clouds, white wings, silver hair, dogteeth by Mothervvoid

Kakashi/Konan | 2.8k / 1/1ch | Kakashi & Konan-centric When she goes to him she must shed her red clouds and become something else. White wings, dark clothes; bright like an angel as she was when she first made her descent into the ravine where she found him. She could have left him of course, leaf seal on his headband and red spiral flak jacket. This man is her enemy.

in this fic i dare to ask the question: how would this ship work? feat some kakashi whump!

Pebble Brain by Mothervvoid

Kakashi/Obito | 20.7k / 6/6ch | Kakashi & Obito-centric Communication is king.

my obikaka magnum opus.

[feyhunter78]

Among the Sun Ch 2

Description: Your mother must make a choice for the good of the kingdom. Ch 3

Your corset feels too tight, but you relish it, taking comfort in the grip it has on your rib cage, pretending it’s a firm hug, a grounding measure as the throne room fills with armored soldiers.

“You must forgive me y/n, you must.” Your mother says stricken, your hand in hers, her grip ironclad.

“All will be well, do not fret.” You whisper, standing beside the throne, the hem of your skirt wet with blood.

“The Great Sun of the Empire, the Conqueror, He Who Bled Among Demons and Lived, Miguel O’Hara, Emperor of Nueva York, stands before you.” A herald announces as the doors slam open.

You flinch back at the sound and force yourself to turn towards the doors.

“Forgive me, y/n, forgive me, my child.” Your mother whispers over and over again, the sound setting your nerves on edge.

The room quiets as he enters, the sound of his heavy boots echoing off the walls and up to the high domed ceilings.

He is…not the monster you envisioned. He has monstrous traits, but your first thought is that he’s quite handsome. Tall and muscular, with thick black hair and piercing brown eyes. His features are strong, almost divine in their arrangement, and you fight the urge to move towards him for a better look.

“Queen Cyathea, you have my deepest sympathies for the loss of your husband and son, but I am a man of principle, I cannot make exceptions, so I offer you a choice, bend the knee, pay tribute or—”

“Take her.” Your mother says, cutting off the emperor.

You look back at her in shock, but she pushes you forward. “You must do it, y/n, for our people.”

You stumble forward, catching yourself right before you topple into the firm, armored chest of Miguel.

It’s as if he hadn’t noticed you before, but now he grabs your wrists, pulling you closer, inspecting you with an uncaring eye. “You wish to offer your daughter as tribute? My people do not believe in slavery, nor do I.”

“Take her as a bride, a servant, a bedwamer, she is pretty and a quick learner she can do many tasks.” Your mother says frantically, sounding very unlike herself.

Your face burns at her words, and you struggle against Miguel’s grip.

“Stop.” He orders, his voice cold.

You freeze, glancing back at your mother, silently begging her to do something, anything.

“Take her, leave our kingdom alone, we will not trouble you.” Your mother says a tone of finality to her voice.

She has made her choice.

Tears sting your eyes, and you stare up at the ceiling, praying they will not fall. You can’t cry in front of the Conqueror; you can’t show such weakness so early on.

Miguel laughs, it’s a booming sound, soon echoed by his men. It’s terrifying, and you fight the urge to curl in on yourself.

“I will take the girl, your kingdom remains in your hands, My Queen.” He says, giving her a half bow before throwing you over his shoulder and departing.

He doesn’t set you down until you’ve entered some kind of tent. It’s large and lavish, lanterns hanging from taunt ropes, trinkets, and pillows thrown about.

“Please, my mother is grieving, she did not mean what she said, I will return, and we will not trouble you. You can take anything you desire from the kingdom, but I beg of you, please let me go.” You can’t stop the tears from falling, and you try to quickly wipe them away.

Miguel towers over you, his arms crossed, his broad chest rising and falling in an even motion. “An arrangement was made; will you not honor it?”

“I—”

“A queen, a princess, a kingdom without honor is no good to me. It serves only as kindling.” Miguel says the lack of concern dripping from each word.

“No, no, please, I will honor it, I will.” You stumble over your words, cursing yourself for such weakness.

“Good.” He says curtly, his hands settling on your shoulders before they begin to slide down your body, his large warm hands caressing every inch, the skin so hot you fear he’s attempting to burn through the fabric of your dress.

You jump back, mortified. “How dare you?”

He grabs you, pulling you back, one hand on your waist, the other continuing its path. “I am checking you for weapons, cariño, cannot have you attempt to kill me as I sleep.”

You relax, slightly. “Oh…well I did not bring any weapons, I was not allowed to bring anything, but clothing and a few personal items, all of which were checked by your men.”

“But they are not me, they are not allowed to touch you.” He says, his hand leaving your wrist as he crouches down, his hands sliding down your waist, hips, legs, until he stands back up seemingly satisfied.

“I have no weapons.” You tell him.

He hums in response and grabs a dagger from the wall.

“Wait, wait, please, I swear I have nothing.” You plead, throwing your hands up in front of you helplessly.

He throws the dagger with surprising speed, and it tears through the fabric of the tent. Then you hear a thump. He leaves you there, then reappears dragging a body behind him. “Recognize him?”

You force yourself to look at the dead man’s face, he has a strange mark on his neck. You don’t recognize him. “No, I’ve never seen him before.”

Miguel hums in response.

“Should I recognize him?” You ask, inching closer, trying to place the man.

“Stay back.” He warns.

You freeze and your stomach churns as you watch the flesh melt off the man, revealing a twisted, demonic form beneath.

“He’s an anomaly, a human who strayed too close to dark magic and was consumed by it. They prowl the land searching for victims, destroying lives with a single act.” He explains, before he snaps his fingers, and the corpse dissipates.

“And he was coming here? For what reason?” You ask, a chill of fear settling over you.

“There is no reason to these creatures, y/n, if you see one, with that mark on their skin, you run. You find me, and I will kill it, do not attempt to engage it, no matter what it says to you.”

“They speak?” You’re both curious and horrified.

“They lie.”

He’s silent after that and finishes removing his armor, leaving him in simple breeches and a linen shirt. The shirt is unlike any you’ve ever seen. It dips low in a sharp “v” exposing his toned chest, with loose laces you assume meant to close the gap, but Miguel has them undone.

“Where am I to sleep?” You ask carefully, your hands behind your back to hide their fidgeting.

He looks over at you and raises an eyebrow. “In my bed.”

Your face heats up and you shake your head. “I—that is not appropriate, I am unmarried.”

Miguel makes his way over to you, his amber eyes burning into you. “Would it be more appropriate if you were married? If I kept you half bare in my bed while your husband was languishing in a castle somewhere?” He leans down skimming his nose up your throat inhaling deeply. “Yes, perhaps it would, how pathetic he would seem. How tortured he would be knowing that his wife is well satisfied night after night, drooling for my cock like a whore.”

You rear your arm back and slap him. Shock reverberating through you, your hand stinging, your head reeling. You were going to die.

Surprise flickers across his face, then he starts laughing. He keeps laughing, doubling over, the sound rich and still booming, echoing off the walls of the tent, and you take a panicked step back.

“I—I am so sorry, Your Majesty, truly, truly sorry.” You cry, tears welling in your eyes once more.

Miguel straightens up and in one swift motion throws you over his shoulder, then onto his bed. “You have fire cariño, I enjoy it.”

He’s hovering over you, strong arms steady, no sign of fatigue from holding up his weight. Gray ram-like horns protrude from his head, their bases hidden by his thick hair, the ends tipped with gold. He trails a clawed finger down the curve of your cheek, until all you feel is a calloused fingertip resting at the corner of your lips.

Can he retract them? You wonder, your eyes on the cloth ceiling.

Miguel gently grabs your chin, guiding your eyes to his. They’re brown like the rum barrels you often see rolled off ships, and just as potent as the intoxicating liquid they hold.

“Please do not harm me, I will not cause you trouble, I swear.” You promise, feeling a strange tugging at the edge of your consciousness as Miguel keeps his eyes locked on yours.

“Sleep, I will not touch you. I am not an animal who forces himself upon others.” He reassures you, a bitter tinge to his tone, his eyes shifting from yours for a moment, that tugging feeling receding.

You’re too stiff to sleep but try to force yourself to relax. “Thank you.”

Miguel’s eyes snap back to yours, red scattered within the brown, blood flecking the dirt of a battlefield. “Do not thank me, sleep.”

His words echo in your mind for a moment, then you sink into the arms of sleep.

TL: @not-aya, @belos-simp69, @deputy-videogamer, @sxnasbitch, @maxi-ride, @minimari415, @syndrlla97, @gejo333, @lady-necromancer, @zeyzeys-stuff, @tayleighuh, @loser-alert, @envyjmoney, @allysunny, @princessloveweird, @freehentai, @xlittlebubx-blog, @berry-potchy, @drefear, @jkthinkstoomuch

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

Hi!! This is hopefully a fun question to ask! 💚 What are some of your favourite versions of suguru &/or satoru by your moots/non-moots that you’ve read in their fics ? For example your winter satosugu drabble has my favourite satoru 💅💅💅

🥺🥺🥺 ANONNNN first of all i’m so happy you like that satoru…… i’m really fond of him too!!! he’s very Husband + the implied mommy issues are tasty imo…

but wahhh… this is absolutely a fun question!!!! i doooo wanna preface this by saying that i legitimately love . all my moots’ versions of stsg. they’re all a little different so i go to different moots/other writers depending on what i’m looking for :3 i love love love the fact that fanfic births so many different takes and aus…. it’s one of my favorite parts of reading it!!!

i doooo have some versions of stsg that i’m partial to though!!!! gonna throw them under the cut, i decided to only go with my moots because i’m…… really scatterbrained. there are SO many other sugus and torus that i adore my brain just can’t pull them out at command </3 but i hope this’ll suffice!!

first of all…. my favorite gojos :333

niku’s gojo in general is one of my favorites ever ever ever but i’m specifically adding a link to bten because . bten lives in my brain <3 and i adore both bten!reader & bten!gojo more than anything….. ANYWAY . niku’s gojo is my favorite for many reasons but above all else he just…. feels so real to me . sometimes i have to remind myself that i’m reading a fic and not canon content bc her gojo just FEELS like gojo . it’s a little scary. i read bten and heard kaiji tang’s voice in my ear 😭 i think it’s sooo difficult to capture the balance that canon!gojo has, but niku does it so effortlessly!!! he’s so charming and guarded and annoying and kind beneath it all and i’m just….. in love with him . that’s all. i do want to strangle him just a tiny bit but mostly i want to kiss him.

sel’s col!gojo…. my baby my husband the loml. i adoreeeee sel’s take on gojo and the way he views/approaches love ….. and just like niku her gojo feels so real and so grounded!!!! sel has a way of rounding out her characters and making them feel so human, which i. adore. and it works so well with gojo. col!gojo is canon to me idc. he’s so relatable to me and following his story with col!reader was just so touching 🥹🥹 i . cried . every time he blushed or got flustered i fell to my knees . flustered gojo is really hard to get right i think??? bc it’s just….. such a rare mood from him. but it feels so perfect in her fics. col!gojo reminds me of a plant in the softest, most loving way and i just want him to grow and embrace the sun !!!!!!!! i want him to be happy….

another general pick; alexis’s gojo!!!!!! (link goes straight to my personal fav which is a very bold statement to make but i think abt this fic constantly)…. this is another gojo that just feels. so canon to me somehow???? every time i read her gojo fics i’m just like yeah…. that’s gojo satoru. that’s the gojo satoru that i love and adore. it always reminds me of WHY i love him sm and it’s just….. such a wonderful feeling yk??? alexis rlly captures what i perceive as the core of his character!!!!! i can’t tell you what it is exactly but i feel that so strongly!!!!! he’s my baby and i love him so so bad. he makes me so happy and he feels so human:((((( i just love him…. him and his self-destructive little habits….. also special shoutout to idol!gojo bc he’s just soo. yeah.

then we have io’s flower shop!satoru <333 the fic isn’t out as of rn, but i added a link to a snippet that i’m still swooning over….. i ADORE this concept and it’s so perfect for io’s gorgeous and flowery writing!!!! he was made for her fr…… i just really love the idea of a soft, gentle, smitten satoru 🥺 and him being a flower boy rlly scratches an itch in my brain because of his canon ties to flowers!!! the fact that he kind of views other people as flowers. or at least compared them to flowers in ch. 236….. i just feel like this concept is . genius. nature loves satoru and he loves it back . he’s a nurturing soul at his core imo and that’s not something i see people explore super often, but this au captures it perfectly <33

NOW. SUGU TIME.

moss’s knight!suguru…. my beloved. not a day goes by where i don’t think about him. there isn’t a single language on this earth that could properly convey the physical reaction i had when i read this drabble . this is . The most attractive suguru in the world. to me. he’s so sexy i’m sorry i need him so bad. we all know how i feel about knights and suguru individually so when you mash em together….. 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 yeah. my life was changed. the armour the blood the contrast between his polite exterior and gritty fighting … i’ll be so honest just the idea of knight!suguru fighting using his fists instead of his sword is enough to have me falling to the floor in agony like i NEED him. you don’t understand. you will never understand. it physically pains me to know that he will never beat ts out of me. BUT YEAH HE’S JUST SOOO???? he’s so hot and cool and Doomed and i desire him carnally

then we have mickey’s suguru :3 he’s just….. soooo fucking charming? it’s sickening . i can’t stand him. he’s perfect and i need him. mickey always writes him in a very wolfy way while also making him feel so soft and sweet and i just…. adore it. he’s a loverboy first and foremost and he makes me sooooooo happy it’s insane…… i’m linking my personal fav sugu fic of his but i truly adore them all!!!!!!!!! his suguru is just . theee most charming man alive and that’s all i can really say to properly convey my feelings. this particular fic genuinely wrecked me i got soooooo flustered just reading it 💔💔💔 save me sweaty!sugu…….. save me……….. he’s a wolf he’s a romantic he’s a cooer and most importantly he’s my Wife :33

kairo’s suguru is soooo lovely and so hot but i’m especially in love with black is the colour!suguru….. he’s just. so hot i’m sorry. not really though. tattoo artist sugu 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 with his piercings …. his honeyed voice…… his boundless devotion…… heavy breathing . he’s so mommy in this. but also so Father. that’s the best way i can explain it aaaaaaand i’m terribly weak to it……. he’s just so perfect there are SO many scenes in this fic that made my knees buckle 😔😔 he’s so sweet and doting and complex and just hhhhhhhhhhhHHH kairo if you see this you’ve ruined me for life…… specifically thinking about the scene where he worries he acts more like a dad than a boyfriend sometimes + where he calls reader his dove…… i need him in my life i need him to fix me

lily’s poseidon!suguru stole my heart very recently and i have ….. not stopped thinking of him since. i love any take on suguru as a god and lily’s version is just so genius . suguru being a god of the sea????? it’s perfect….. and the fact that he’s so gentle and coaxing and sweet 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 just the way he speaks in this drabble had me captivated he is truly the god of all time….. and his DESIGN . the concept in itself. i know for a fact that he’s the most stunning man you’ll ever see. he’s so almighty and powerful and he speaks so softly and gently but you hear every word crystal clear because he just has this Presence…… i rlly can’t stop thinking about him.

then we have rem’s suguru!!!! who is the acts of service king of All Time. and i’m obsessed with him. i love chatting with rem because i love her but also because we always agree on suguru and her thoughts always make me feel insane….. he NEEDS you to need him. he needs to take care of you. or he’ll literally explode. he’s such a caretaker and i can’t get enough of him….. that’s really the Core of suguru’s character imo!!!! his desperation to take care of others. he wants to take care of you more than he ever takes care of himself because doing that makes Him happy. and rem just captures that so, so perfectly, yknow?????? oughhhh her sugu is just so Mommy i need him to coddle me :(((((

aaaaand finally!!!!! last but not least!!!!!!!! rheya’s vamp!sashisu :33 i know you asked for stsg specifically but i’m throwing in shoko as a bonus bc they’re All characterized so well in this. they live rent free in my silly little brain . there’s not a single person on this planet that i trust to write poly sashisu more than rheya bc she just Gets them!!!!! and….. vamp!sashisu..,… lord save me…….. they could drain me like a capri sun idec. I LOVE THEM!!!!!! their preferred biting spots just feel soooo in character and the fact that they’re all so gentle makes me emotional 🥺🥺 generally speaking i’m not super into vamps but rheya entered my life and i was changed forever . i need them so bad

i wasn’t gonna tag anyone originally, but i want you guys to know how much i love you and think abt your silly little guys actually... thank u for letting me read abt them 🥹

@stellamancer @seiwas @kissxcore @neptuneblue

@mossmotif @dollsuguru @teddybeartoji

@storiesoflilies @hayakawalove @satoruxx

[everythingne]

marketing ploy - LN4 / ch. 3

a little (drunken) insight to Olivia and Oscar's relationship. Plus, a conversation she’s definitely not supposed to overhear, and one she finds makes her start to regret everything.

piastri!oc x lando norris / fake dating, brothers best friend trope

warnings/notes: alcohol/drunkness, language, like two jokes about sex, i named oscars sisters bc i couldn't find anything after two minutes of searching and also its cute ok

prev | next

—

06 APRIL 2023 — MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA ↴

“Oscar!” I shout, the clock striking midnight. At my mother's house in Melbourne, we’re already all terribly drunk in the pool with only our eldest sister Ophelia's half sober boyfriend to make sure we all don’t drown while the 'middle' sister Oaklynn is in control of the aux so our extended family can't ruin the mood with what we call 'divorced dad rock.' It's an average Piastri birthday party, booze, music, and sopping wet bodies across the pool deck in the mid Autumn chill.

“Ollie?” Oscar says, turning around and slipping on the wet deck, splashing vodka all over the ground beneath him. Lily giggles into the back of her hand, steadying herself on his arm, and I snort as Oscar makes a face at the spilled drink.

We were so not going to have a good flight back to England tomorrow night.

“Happy birthday to my twin brother because its now midnight, baby!” I shout, being met with loud cheers as my mother guides me across the pool deck so I don't fall in. As Lily takes the now half empty glass from Oscar, I'm handing him what is probably the biggest shot of the night. He grins, arm wrapping around my shoulder as we clink our glasses in toast, tap them on our lifting knees and then take the shots with no chasers. The Fireball washes down my throat fine, but Lily’s shrill laugh lets me know Oscar’s not faring so well as our family claps at our celebratory shots.

“Come on, Ossie!” I laugh, leaning into him as I giggle and he laughs in turn, hiding his face in my hair as he groans and slumps against me. Luckily, Lily is smart enough to slip the shot glasses out of our hands.

“Why do I always let you pick Fireball? It burns every time I drink it.” He complains into my hair before stepping back, I grin up at him as a polaroid flashes.

“Twenty two slaps!” someone shouts before I can respond to Oscar. I scream, running to be out of the way of the barrage of backhands from our sisters when I trip. Oscar tries to catch me, bless him, and we both end up screaming as we tumble into the pool with a loud splash.

“Good lord—" Josh, Ophelia's boyfriend laughs, and he and Lily help us all back to the deck with plenty of half-wet towels to try and dry us off. I giggle and sit up once the parties attention is shifted elsewhere, some song playing that takes the heat off of us for a moment. I peek up to look at Oscar and he smiles at me, poking my nose.

“Thanks for this party." He says and I shrug, going to say its no big deal as I always do when he continues talking,

"Lando’s stress is rubbing off on me. With him being next in line for the best racer position, McLaren's pushing me and Bia up as quick as they can. I think they're expecting someone to try and buy Lando out from them.” he murmurs and in my head, the rest of the party fizzles out. My attention is solely on the man born a few minutes before me. His arm wraps around mine as he pulls me to his side. I slot there, where I belong, a comforting embrace of an older brother of the same womb.

"Lando's contract goes to 2026, and lets not worry about F1 right now." I poke his thigh where a bruise from a minor crash in training months back was finally finishing its healing stages, "Ossie, you, and everyone here, come before anything or anyone else. I would rather throw you a big party than fly back to England to chase around statistics with Red Bull for a few days."

I close my eyes as the world spins around me and I feel Oscar shift. His body heat vanishing around my shoulders, the air seemingly changes as some sort of breeze rolls across the pool deck. It makes me shiver, and I glance up at Oscar to see him staring into the light reflections of the glowsticks deep in the water our legs dip into.

“Ossie?” I whisper. He's in his head again, and this time I'm concerned it's my fault for some reason. His tongue pokes out, a sharp breath coming through his nose before he turns to me.

“What’s happening with you and Lando?"

Oh for the love of god--

"I know, I know, okay, older brother don’t let him hurt you speech bullshit blah blah but… is there something there?” Oscar blurts out with the upmmost care in his tone. I'm taken aback by how genuinely worried he seems about it.

“It’s nothing serious.” I deflect, hand coming to squeeze his wrist just above the watch he wears (that is definitely ruined now), “Just some flirting, some gifts… it’s like testing the waters.”

“Is he… kind to you?” Oscar's tone is far too accusing for my liking, almost like he's expecting me to say no, but despite that I nod.

“Too kind.” I find a small giggle escapes my lips. I have the urge to tell him everything, to say it’s all for media, but something makes me stop myself other than knowing it would kinda ruin the whole secrecy of it. Oscar watches my face, and I can see him sense there’s a lie, but he doesn’t push.

“Okay.” he sighs, taking my hand and squeezing it, “as long as he’s good to you.”

OLIVIAPIASTRI MADE A NEW POST ↴

tagged: oscarpiastri, oaklynnpiastri, opheliapiastri

liked by redbullracing, mclarenracing, landonorris, and 896k others...

oliviapiastri: to ossie,

happy birthday to the only guy worthy of sharing a girls night wine bottle with. thank u for always being our biggest supporter in the darkest days and a ray of sunshine on our good ones. papaya looks wonderful on u and we cannot wait to see you grow into such a confident person (thank u @ landonorris for that)

ur a good man, charlie brown. much love from oakie, ophie, and ollie (and lily, josh, momma, and dad) 🧡🧡

landonorris: happy birthday to the only guy who is allowed to pick me up from the club atp

⤷ oscarpiastri: u would be dead without me

⤷ landonorris: actually.

maxverstappen1: ayyy happy birthday man !

lovepiastris: AAAA BABY OSCAR!!!

oscarpiastri: watch me literally sob into this chardonnay.

mclaren: easily the best looking siblings 💪🏻😮‍💨

10 APRIL 2023 — MILTON KEYNES, UK ↴

"I'm bored." Oscar whines over the phone, making me laugh as I settle down at my desk in Red Bull's home base. There's about sixteen hours worth of things I need to cram into the next eight, considering my statistics for the next grand prix are due in like... twenty six hours?

"Aren't you supposed to be training?" I hum, reading through files and highlighting important notes I know I'll need to bring up with my team during our meeting tonight.

"Lando's going right now, and I kinda almost puked after endurance so I’m taking a break.” He makes a mock gagging noise and I recoil and groan and his soft laughter comes through my headphones.

"Christ, Ossie." I lean back in my chair, staring at the list of notes of things we need to improve by Azerbaijan, "Augh, this is gonna be the death of me. Max's numbers keep changing so he keeps skewing the data, at least Perez is pretty consistent."

"How many sensors do you guys have for Azerbaijan?"

"I'm not doing that work today, thats Kylie's job. Most of my work right now is just making sure that the car isn’t literally falling apart in Max’s hands since he’s been pushing it so hard this year.” I run my hand through my hair, feeling the grease along my hairline and cringing. I need a self-care day soon.

"Oh and Kylie’s pretty much running real time analytics herself this race so I might be able to hang around you at McLaren for a while if Christian's not breathing down my neck."

“Sick. I need to introduce you to the new social media photographer. Lando convinced her to a do a whole section on film.” Oscar giggles and my eyes widen--film photography was one of my passions in secondary school, and I can't imagine trying to shoot F1 on it.

“This poor girl.” I laugh as I adjust my seating and open the sensors scan from the left tire of Max's car, noting any abnormalties that haven't already been flagged. In the silent lull in the conversation, there’s a click and a creak on Oscar’s end of the call.

“Oscar—“ Lando’s talking is muffled for half a second before I hear something fall and a chair squeak, “what were you trying to ask me about earlier?”

My did my heart flutter when I heard Lando talk?

Nope. No. No, thank you. No.

I did not like Lando Norris.

“Oh—hold on Ollie—I’m going to attempt to mute.” I hear Oscar laugh as he taps his phone-screen, and like many times I’ve been on the phone with him I have to pause to see if he actually managed to mute the call.

Oscar seemed to always miss the important buttons, like hanging up or muting himself. Over the years, I’ve heard quite a few things I wasn’t supposed to.

Like Oscar’s next question—

“If I don’t just say it I’m never gonna ask, because it’s such a cliche thing but—what exactly are you trying to do with my sister..?”

I nearly die as my cheeks flush bright red as I scramble to pick my phone up.

Okay, super overdramatic reaction, but hearing this conversation happen in real time is not something I can feel like I would be able to physically handle. So, I’m quick to turn my volume all the way down and take off my headphones as soon as Lando’s laugh makes my cheeks dust pink.

Oscar was never particularly protective over me, in fact it had always been opposite. Even as the youngest Piastri I was constantly protecting my older siblings with my whole heart, like when Oaklynn was being bullied by her pole vaulting captain and I hit that guy so hard I broke his nose, or when Ophelia first got her heart broken and I drove all the way from Melbourne to Sydney in one go to pick her and her stuff up from his house. Oscar and I had many moments like that, considering our sisters were a bit older than us, it was always Oscar and I together. I had moved to England with him when he chose to pursue racing, he had been there every late night I spent studying to get into analytics as early as I had.

And I knew one day Oscar would have this conversation with the man I would marry, someone who took my entire heart in his hands and held it so gently I felt safer than I ever had.

But, Lando was not that guy. Not as far as I was aware.

Maybe ten minutes later, figuring the conversation is long done, I turn up the volume and just catch the end of it. Oscar's laughing, theres a soft thwack of someones arm being hit as Lando keeps talking, his voice fading into my headphones.

"...Ollie's just... I could stare at her all day and never get bored."

"You are--" Oscar laughs, and I hear him hit Lando's arm again, "so so goddamn cheesy, mate!"

"Sorry!" Lando laughs, and I try to ignore the way I bring a hand to my mouth as I stand up and pace around a little, shaking my hands and arms out a I try to suppress the giggles that bubble to my chest.

10 APRIL 2023 — IMESSAGE ↴

OLIVIAPIASTRI MADE A NEW POST ↴

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 978k others..

oliviapiastri: ‘can i come pick u up from work?’ and then we end up at a car meet AND i get to sleep over?? win win.

⤷ maxverstappen1: @ charlesleclerc shovel talk?

⤷ charlesleclerc: yep.

⤷ oliviapiastri: oscar has already been yelling at me for like five hrs pls i swear nothing happened

redbullracing: lets just not tell christian you were out of the sunroof of a drift car.

mc481: lando and olivia spotted together... olivia suddenly has a new bf...

oaklynnpiastri: BABY SISTER HAS A BOYYYY AAAAAAAA

letsgolando: OH MY GOD THE FLOWERS?

18 APRIL 2023 - AZERBAIJAN GP PADDOCKS ↴

"Olivia Piastri."

"Max Verstappen."

"Olivia Louise Rae Piastri."

"Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc."

"Shit, she remembered."

I snort as I set my bag down as Max and Charles hover at my desk in the Azerbaijan paddocks. I'm starting to think the Ferrari driver might be having a contract change soon if his team is so lax with him basically living with us in Red Bull.

"What?" I ask, crossing my arms as the fabric of one of Lando's plain black leather jackets he'd lent me rubs the fabric of the sweatshirt I'd stolen from him underneath.

"How was your drift date?" Max grins and I roll my eyes as I plop down in my chair. Charles takes his spot in one of the side chairs as Max sits on the edge of my desk.

"He showed up to Red Bull, brought me flowers, we stopped to get takeout food and then went to the car show. He knew one of the guys drifting so we got to ride in his car and then he invited me over to watch a movie and we both fell asleep halfway through." I lean forward, "does that satisfy you?"

"Sleep?" Charles prods and I take a pen off my desk and throw it at him.

"Yes, sleep." I huff and before Max and Charles can continue their barrage of idiotic comments and questions, three knocks sound to the creak of the hinges as Christian steps into my office with Ada right behind him.

"Morning Chris, Ada." I nod and Max and Charles stand, greeting them both with firm handshakes.

"Ferrari might need their driver back, Leclerc, and Max--you need to get dressed." Christian waves them off without as much as a hello, before Ada shuts and locks my office door.

"What?" I find myself asking again as Ada grins to me.

"Sales are up 70%." She says, "We've made around... 28 thousand pounds so far."

"Holy shit." Is all I can say. 28 thousand pounds in revenue because Lando and I were pretending to date?

"You guys are doing swimmingly, we just have one more stipulation. You've already done the soft launch, Lando will be doing his tonight. The next thing you guys need to do, other than the paparazzi date but Astrid is working with Lando on that right now, is the celebration." Ada clasps her hands, Christian nods, keeping his back to the door that leads into the office and for some reason it feels suffocating.

"Great Britain. Hopefully Lando will podium, its his home race, a nice little kiss, it'll be cute."

We have to kiss in front of everyone. How could I fucking forget? The GB prix isnt for a while, two months if I remember right, but my mouth goes dry at the thought of kissing Lando Norris.

I don't remember agreeing and bidding goodbye to the two, all I know is my stomach ache doesn't go away for the rest of the night. Even when I ball the fabric of Lando's jacket--still smelling like him, over my face and scream into it.

LANDONORRIS MADE A NEW POST

liked by oscarpiastri, charlesleclerc, redbullracing, and 987k others

landonorris: made a pretty good pinkie promise a while ago.

oscarpiastri: good man

mclaren: we love to see our racers winning 🥹

mercedeeznnn: this has to be olivia. IT HAS TO BE.

maxfewtrell: don't fuck it up norris

⤷ landonorris: trying

rbfansunite: so we're all thinking the same thing right?

papapa.ya: LANDO AND OLIVIA !!!! WE WIN !!!!

[soulc-hilde]

Game Shakers / Ch. 2

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.

Pairing: Eminem x OFC

Warning(s): Cursing, Drug Abuse, Racial Discrimination, Sexual Assault, more may be on the way as the story progresses

Summary: 2000s is quite the highlight between the fashion and rise of pop culture. Seemingly the new faces of shock value, rapper Marshall Mathers and rockstar King Woods finds a common ground amongst the unnecessary bullshit.

A/N: Sorry for the late update! I'm rediscovering my urge to write as I work back to back and get paperwork ready to prepare for college. It feels like life is slowly coming together, I just need a damn car. Y'all got chapter 1 to 32 likes and 3 reblogs... is my writing that good or are we all in desperate search for Eminem fanfic? Much love, though!

Standing on the carpet of the VMAs, Marshall and an excited Deshaun pose beside of the rookie's mentor, Dr. Dre. Finishing a couple of photo-ops, they were guided down the carpet. As Marshall clenched on his gum, anxiety gnawing at his mind, Deshaun was studied the face of every celebrity he knew.

"Yo, Doody, this is crazy man," he laughs. "I can't believe that we're really here." Marshall hums, "I can't believe how crowded this bitch is." Dre shakes his head, "don't stress, this will all end soon once we get inside the venue."

Deshaun looks down at the now bleach blond rapper, "you think those girls are gonna be here, man?" Marshall kisses his teeth, "they have to be, I read on the call sheet that they were listed to perform or some shit."

Andre raises an eyebrow, "who y'all whispering about, looking like some mean ass gossip girls?" Marshall smirks, "you ever heard of that new band, The Hydez?" The older rapper's face scrunches at the band name, "uh... who?"

"It's a band with these five girls, only one of them is white, and are covered in tattoos--" Andre's face drops in recognition, "oh! Nevermind, I know. I know who're talking about now. What, you got a little crush or somethin', Slim?"

Deshaun laughs, "more like that boy's in love with the lead, King. Once they talked during Warped Tour, he was hooked on her." Rather than snapping back, Marshall side-eyes his friend.

"Fuck both of y'all, man," the blond rolls his eyes, walking down the carpet. The others following, throwing out a joke here and there, when a reporter strikes her mic out desperately.

"Eminem, quick question," she blurts, "are you and The Hydez leader, King Woods, dating? What of your wife?" The three rappers freeze, flabbergasted at the onslaught of questions.

Marshall clears his throat for a second before stepping closer to her, "excuse me?" The woman repeats herself, "are you and King Woods dating?" The blond raises a brow, "no, we ain't. Where'd you get that from?"

"Well, just a few minutes ago, I had simply asked her and the rest of The Hydez about you and they just, like, flipped out on me," she snorts, "I don't know why she became so defensive over me asking about you, but it was a little suspicious, wouldn't you say?"

Marshall hums, "yeah... yeah, um, what was it that you asked them about?" A bit of irritation was rising in the back of his mind, he didn't expect a lot of positives to come from the whole spotlight shit but he at least thought that King and her friends were genuine people.

"I just simply wondered if you were the person others say that you are, you know like violent towards women, vulgar," she lists, "I was just asking the real questions. It was them who kept calling you all types of names like skittles and tiny ass--"

Marshall shakes his head, "le'me stop you right there, sweetheart. You was just sniffing around, asking questions about me to other people and they flipped. How about you do your job and ask about people's career instead of digging for dirt, have a nice night."

The three walk away, leaving the woman in disbelief. Deshaun looks back at the woman with a confused smile, "the fuck was that all about?" Marshall shrugs, "turns out everybody wants to know if I'm as vulgar or violent as my lyrics."

"And what does that have to do with The Hydez?" Andre glances at him in confusion as well. Reaching inside the venue, Marshall smiles, "King chewed that curious bitch the fuck out." Andre and Deshaun share a knowing glance.

Andre rubs at his forehead, "and she does know that you're married, right?" Marshall nods, "sure does. Besides, she told me that she's not interested in anything outside of her music. I can't say I blame her."

"Damn straight, you can't," Deshaun sasses as they find their seats and sit down.

The award show begins, the venue going dark as the stage lights set off. Throughout the show, he watched as stars strutted across the stage presenting awards and performing for the masses. Faces he's seen on the television from the kitchen of his old job and new ones that were scheduled to officially debut, much like him.

Every time his face appeared on the massive screen as a nominee for a selection of categories, his jaw clenches with anticipation. If he thought signing with Dre and putting out the EP was a nerving wreck, it doesn't compare to his first award. If he could win at least one award, he could take it as his moment of truth to flash his winning in the face of those who lacked faith.

So far, he's won Best New Artist which was unreal to him. "Was this supposed to happen?" He questioned in the mic, unsure that his name was chosen and written on the card.

Getting his name etched into the award, he returns to his seat with an exhilarating tremble in his step. Sitting down, he meets eyes with a smirking King who simply sent a nod his way before turning to face the stage once again.

As the show moves on, he solely tunes in whenever his name or the band, The Hydez, were mentioned. So far, the girls won their second award of the night for Best Rock Video and Best Group Video. They also took home the awards for Best Editing and Best Special Effects.

Closer to the last few minutes of Britney and NSYNC's performance, a stagehand signals for The Hydez to follow after her. Perking up in his seat, his eyes were attentive to the stage as the night was reaching its final round. Stone Cold Steve Austin introduces the band and the lights dimmer more than before.

"You excited to see your girlfriend?" Proof teases. Marshall simply side-eyes with a smirk.

The starting piano plays for 'In The End,' a green light takes over the stage as Harley starts to rap her verse in the mic as King sings her adlibs. In contrary to their carpet outfits, the group appeared far more casual while dawning their usual black get up.

The redheaded leader bounces across the stage alongside her members as the lights flicker every time the chorus hits. Engaging with the audience, the crowd of fans belt the lyrics. Marshall slightly nods his head along with the music, enamored by the abrupt energy shift from the likes of the pop star barbies.

The lights complimented her barely finished sleeve tattoo and burnt orange curls, the sliver piercings that accessorized her face created a tug in his gut. She was just ethereal and dark, it intrigued him. Once Marshall becomes interested in something, he never lets go.

2019 - Interview

"Would you say that the VMAs was the start of the infamous Eminem and King pairing that we know of today?"

Marshall nods, rubbing his shaved chin, "yes. Meeting her at Warped Tour, I saw her as this crazy friend but seeing the trance she could put people in with her music, I guess I had developed a bit of an admiration for her."

"Did you expect yourself to fall in love with King? How did you deal with shifting from being married to being single with those thoughts?"

Marshall leans forward to grab a bottle of water, "I more so dreamed than strived to fall in love with her. I believed that she was far out of my league and divorcing from Kim made it a bit harder for me to see myself as boyfriend material for her."

Taglist: @slytherinroyalty16

Series Masterlist

[trashmouth-richie]

Series summary: Hawkins Annual Halloween Festival is in town, and this year you and your friends were lucky enough to work the event. But when some of your co-workers are missing, and a trail of blood leads to the woods behind the festival. Your friends work together to find out what’s going on. A killer is on the loose but who could it be? Or is it the town’s spooky secret of what really happened at Hawkins Lab?

ch 1: FLICKER

ch 2: A SCREAM AND A SLICE

ch 3: THE ROCKSTAR AND THR REDLIGHTS

chapter summary: flashbacks provide some insight on our favorite metalhead.

chapter trigger warnings: 18+ only, character death, references to child neglect, upside down references, poor parenting practices, etc, blood, character death, killer reveal.

CH. 4: FAMILY VALUES

1974

The tires on Evil Kneivel’s Stunt Bike trudged through the familiar path of the bare thread carpet in the back bedroom of trailer 8 in Forest Hills Trailer Park. Eddie was on his stomach, ignoring the rumbling noise from the hollow emptiness in his belly, he pressed his lips together to vibrate a motorcycle sound through his mouth, casually blowing dark curls from his vision. 

An annoyed huff echoed across the thin walls, “This is boring,” Billy snarled, he was laying flat on Eddie’s bed, feet on the wall, throwing up his stretch Armstrong to himself before tossing it across the room, landing with a splat on the broken closet door. 

Eddie pushed himself up from the carpet, the fibers itching through the holes in his jeans and scratching his knees. 

He shrugs, running his tongue through the gap of his latest pulled tooth, “wanna see my guitar?” 

“No,” Billy huffed, his thumb nail catching along the ridges of the zippo lighter he had stolen from Melvalds, lighting a small flame that he quickly extinguished with the flip of the lid. “I wanna do something fun.”

“Alright then, genius,” Eddie scowls, sitting next to Billy on the brown and burgundy ripped threads of an afghan blanket, “what do you have in mind?” 

Billy swings his feet around, landing with ease and standing before his friend, the smirk on Billy’s face was one Eddie knew all too well. 

—

Neil and Al didn’t hear the boys sneak out from the back room, too drunk and elbow deep in “work” to notice their sons had pushed the screen outward and hopped down to the ground. 

“The instructions are clear, Al,” Neil said, his mouth around a can of Pabst, scrubbing a dirty thumbnail through his eyebrow, “here let me see that.” 

Al blows a cloud of smoke into the air, handing over the poorly written note on the back of the Hideout napkin, clad with ketchup stains and spilled coffee. “Don’t know how you can even read this shit.”

“I can read that’s how I can read it dumb fuck,” Neil snapped, grabbing the napkin from him, he looks over the scratchy pen marks, pointing at the instructions again, “see right there, Creel laid it all out for us.” 

“Okay wise ass, but it doesn’t make sense. How the hell are we supposed to break int- into that place without anyone seeing us?” Al puts the butt of his cigarette into the overflowing ashtray, blowing smoke around the side of his mouth. “It’s under surveillance and the guards are armed.” 

“The guards are armed.” Neil mocks, “Jesus Christ you sound just like a woman, how many cars have we boosted?”

“That’s different, easy. Breaking into a secret government lab? This is above our pay grade, and your skill level.” 

“Yeah and your big brains are why you got fired from the mill right?” 

“Shit,” Al downplays, “they didn’t pay worth a damn, boosting and dealin’ keep my pockets lined just fine.” 

“If only it was enough to keep Liz around right?”

“Don’t say that bitch’s name in this house, I’ll slit your throat and use it for an ashtray, Hargrove.” 

“Ahh shit,” Neil quips, “don’t get your panties wadded up, but back to this,” he says waving the napkin around, “the tunnels, that’s our way in.” 

—-

Eddie’s van is barreling down the highway like a bat out of hell. Nancy hasn’t stopped crying, slowly wiping her tears, with the front of her shirt, sniffling every so often. 

You’re grief stricken, numb to whatever the hell just happened, and what those things even were— and to top it all off, Eddie somehow knows?

Steve is leaning on the center console between you and Eddie, back seat driving and giving him directions on how to get to his house. 

At first Eddie had thought about going to his trailer, he knew his dad and Wayne kept their rifles in the back shed, but decided against it at the last minute, hollering over his shoulder for anyone having an idea of where to go. 

How safe could he keep everyone if his house was bordering on enemy lines? 

—-

1983

The Hargrove’s house was nestled on Cherry. Older but comfortable, a damn sight better than the paper thin walls of the trailer, and the soggy couch that reeked of spilt beer. 

Billy was going on and on about his girlfriends, yes plural. The blonde haired Gina or was it Jenny? And Tanya, the rich one who lived by Steve Harrington. 

Junior year was different for the boys, where Billy excelled in popularity with the jocks being a basketball star, Eddie fell into a different crowd, the Hellfire Club.  

They were still friends, still causing trouble on nights you couldn’t hang out, Billy now refusing entirely to hang out with Eddie when you were around, which you weren’t complaining about. 

Eddie takes another swig of Mt. Dew and continues drawing a rogue for one of the older guys, Nico, in Hellfire. He was only half listening to the way Billy was describing the differences between the girls, body type mostly. 

“If you want in on the action big boy just let me know, Gina loves hearing Metallica play when we steam up the windows in my car if ya know what I mean,” the cigarette hanging limply from his lips wiggled as he spoke, sending ashes down to his black converse. 

Eddie immediately thought of you. He wasn’t sure of his feelings when it came to you but he wondered if you’d be weirded out that Billy was planning to get him a date. How would you feel if he went out with some chick?

The idea of you kissing someone made his stomach turn, and not in a butterfly way. 

Instead of listening to Billy bitch about how much he can’t stand you and how you’re holding Eddie back he just went along with it, “yeah man, sounds good.” 

“Sounds good?” Billy questions, racking the weights he was lifting with a thud, checking his traps in his reflection, shooting a look over his shoulder, “I’m trying to get you laid, dude.” 

Eddie looks up from his seated position in the corner of Billy’s room, his fingers were silvery from shading the lines of his drawing, pinked eraser rubberings littered the front of his new Metallica shirt. “Yeah man, I’m down, what’s her number.” 

Eddie wrote the number on the corner of his paper, barely registering what else Billy was saying, his mind wandering to what kind of shit his dad was up to this time. 

Al was home for a longer stretch than normal this time, but he seemed to spend every waking minute at the Hargrove’s.

Eddie wasn’t dumb enough to think that his dad actually wanted to hangout with him. 

Oh no, Al Munson had his priorities whenever he came back to Hawkins with his tail between his legs, and seeing his only son wasn't the top of the list. 

He went to the bar first, picking out the waitress with zero confidence, saying all the right things and tipping her just enough to make her think she was really something. When her shift was over, he’d bring her to a sleazy by-the-hour motel, giving her the ol’ Munson magic and then, when she was in the shower or cleaning up in the bathroom, he’d bolt. Driving to the nearest gas station casino and spending whatever money the waitress had in her purse. 

He’d finally crawl back to Wayne’s when he was bone dry, claiming he was home “for good this time!” And how he, “just wanted to hangout with my boy!” 

Turns out the “hanging out” was going over to Neil’s and getting shitfaced drunk, bringing Eddie to tag along, to prove to his brother that he was a good dad. He failed to mention that Eddie would end up locked in Billy’s room until dawn. 

So no, getting laid wasn’t on Eddie’s mind right now. 

“I told Tommy H to leave you alone, told him I’d fuck his girlfriend again if I caught wind of him messing with you.” Billy said, shoving his chest out proudly. Maybe if he helped Eddie spread his wings, he’d stop getting picked on, but in Billy’s eyes, Eddie brought alot of it on himself sticking up for those fucking nerds he always hung out with. 

The Hargrove kitchen table was covered in the same paperwork they always were when Al came over. Weird haikus, and riddles that were partly solved, a timeline of when and where everything needed to take place, and lastly, a complete blueprint of Lonnie Byers’ house. 

Everything was just about set in stone, the only thing the men couldn’t figure out is why Creel had decided that it had to be Lonnie’s son as the baited sacrifice. And whenever they asked, Creel would say the same thing, “an eye for an eye.” 

—

1986

“Right here,” Steve said, pointing his hand in Eddie’s face and out the window to his big behemoth of a house. 

The kind of house that belonged to a homeowners society, telling you when, where, and how to water and mow your grass. Not the type of neighborhood that housed the brown piece of shit on wheels that was arriving into the Harrington driveway at record speeds. 

Steve fumbled with the door and had to pry Nancy away from the van, she was petrified, her body shaking and tense, beneath his arm. 

Eddie turns to you, tapping you gently on the shoulder and when you don’t move he guides your chin towards him, his heart breaking at the sight of your tear filled eyes. 

“I’m gonna keep you safe, okay?” His eyes were large and the worry on his face only made you more scared, but he tried to put on a brave face for you, “c’mon, we gotta get inside.” 

Steve’s home was decorated with expensive paintings and gold fixtures. The kind of decor that wasn't available at a mall but ordered from some lavish designer in New York. The living room had vacuum lines in the carpet, as if it were never used. The wood floors in the foyer sparkled from the overhead chandelier, it was a catalog home, looking as if it were staged for a photo 

shoot rather than people actually living in it. 

Nancy’s cries echoed loudly around the empty Harrington home, Steve scooped her up like an infant and carried her down the carpeted steps to the open basement. 

Eddie still wasn’t acting like himself, his eyes were clouded over with something you couldn’t pinpoint, plagued with grief? But you felt reassured when his fingers curled into the spaces between yours as you followed Steve and Nancy to the basement. 

—

NOVEMBER 9, 1983

“You working tonight?” Eddie asks at your locker, ringed fingers working over the corners of a Polaroid of you and him last summer when he tried to teach you how to skateboard. One of his favorite memories. 

“Nope,” you answer from deep inside your locker, looking for the crumbled history notes you swore you still had for todays test, emerging from the locker and hitting your head on the way out, “ow fuck! Nah I’m off tonight, Don closed since Joyce’s son has been gone, why what’s up?” 

Eddie shuts your locker and shifts his worn notebook to his other hand, “it’s Wednesday, the Hawk has free popcorn, thought maybe we could see a movie?”

It wasn’t weird for two friends to go to a movie together, you and Eddie had done it multiple times. Completely casual. Even if the heat from his fingers bumping against yours sent flutters to your stomach and he quickly moved his hand like you were a snake that had bit him, a blush forming on his cheeks. 

“What time?”

“I dunno, seven? Pick ya up at 6:30, that way we can stop and get snacks to sneak some snacks in to go with our free popcorn.” 

His boyish grin was the same from when you were kids, dimple dipped cheeks, and the darkest eyes twinkling with mischievous glee.

The door to Mr. Stanley’s Chem 210 was open and you stopped before going in the classroom to give Eddie your answer, “fine, but I want twizzlers.” 

—

“What the hell do you mean it’s not enough? We did exactly what you said, solved each fucking riddle!” 

The weathered boards of the Creel House groan as a screaming gust of wind slaps loud against the old home, the late winter storm rattled the wooden foundation and pelted the window panes with ice, pinging loudly with each large gale that forced its way through the cracks of the poorly maintained home.

A small fire crackled in the sunken fireplace, wafting dark plumes of smoke into the living room and ashing soot onto the cobweb covered furniture. 

“He makes the rules, I do not, I am simply a messenger, a ves—,” a tattered mitten hand cups around his mouth, acting as a poor excuse for a shield against a barking, wet cough. Lungs burning with each wheeze of oxygen leaving. He clears his throat when the fit is over, wiping his mouth with a moth bitten scarf around his sagging neck, leaving blood behind, “..vessel, I don’t make the rules, Neil.” 

“A what?” Al quizzes, shifting uncomfortably from his left leg to his right, “we delivered that kid exactly where you told us to! The whole town thinks he’s dead! Hawkins PD put out the report last night that a body was found by the quarry.” 

Creel pokes the fire with the blunt end of his cane, crumbling a reddened log into pieces, adding a wadded mass of newspaper, the face of Will Byers’ missing poster front and center, his cherub smile warping with the heated flame. 

“The boy is hiding somewhere. The creatures can not find him, he is convinced that there is help from our side.” 

“Impossible,” Al scoffed, rubbing the cold of his nose on his sleeve, “I just talked to Chief Hopper at the Hideaway last night, and according to him it’s a closed case, Lonnie and his former ol lady were making funeral arrangements.” 

“What you hear, and what you see, seem different ways to hold the key.”

“Enough with the psychological bullshit!” Neil yelled throwing his beer across the living room, “tell us what he needs from us.” 

The blackened tooth smile creeps onto Creel’s face his red chapped lips split and bleed, and he holds back his cough just long enough to whispers the same fallacy he was given only hours before, in another dimension identical to this one. 

“A son.” 

—

The wind was ripping snow across the streets of Hawkins. The windshield wipers on Eddie’s van had frozen in place, stopping half way in the middle of the windshield, the shitty wipers no match against the freezing, winter rain. 

You were certain that the seat belt in the passenger seat had never been used before tonight, but Eddie was insistent that you wore it, foregoing his own with a you’re kidding right? look. The whites of your knuckles shine bright with each overhead street lamp that dances lazily on the windshield, and Eddie looks over with a laugh.

“Almost there Pebs,” he mumbles, his mouth snug around the filter of a cigarette, a half smirk on his lips, “don’t worry.” 

The storm foiled more plans than just good driving conditions, apparently The Hawk had closed earlier that day when the windchill dipped down to the negatives, Sal ensuring that his employees had plenty of time to get home before the weather took a turn for the worst. Thankfully Family Video was still open, and Eddie’s trailer was empty for the night, save for a couple of beers in the fridge and the heat from an electric blanket. Apparently the manager of Family Video didn’t give a fuck about the roads, neither did the factory. 

You and Eddie were met with the rolling eyes of Steve Harrington as you two shoved each other out of the way to get into the door first, bringing with you a cold gust of wind and chattering teeth.  After securing The Poltergeist and two boxes of peanut M&M’s, you and Eddie were tucked into the tin can death trap on wheels, trekking slowly to Forest Hills Trailer Park. 

The bumpy driveway was nearly covered by the falling ice and snow, causing Eddie to slide into his parking spot, well the front yard, of trailer 8. Before he jiggles the key out of the ignition, a man’s shadow illuminated the front door, the burning end of a cigarette glowing on a presumed inhale, and Eddie mutters a ‘fuck’ under his breath.

“Stay here, okay?” He says with a shallow voice, his eyes never leaving the front door of the trailer, “I’ll be right back.”

What the hell was his dad doing at home this time? Maybe he was confused, thinking it was Thanksgiving already— probably wondering where the turkey and green bean casserole were. 

The door of the van groans as Eddie pushes it open with his shoe, slamming it shut and hearing the crinkle of built up ice breaking away from the frame. Ice was gathering in his hair as he scurried up the steps, the shadow moving away from the door so Eddie could come inside, and once the threshold was breached, he wasn’t surprised to see his dad standing in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette, long fingers wrapped around a can of Wayne’s breakfast PBR.

“There’s my boy,” Al greeted with a false tone of cheer laced in his voice, “only been waiting here for an hour, I need your help with somethin’.”

“Sorry,” Eddie mutters, shutting the door tight and shaking his hair free of the elements, “must have lost my schedule on your flight arrival.”

“Watch it,” Al snaps, his eyes are bloodshot and dark rimmed, voice gravelly, “I’m in no mood for your shit tonight, alright?”

Eddie tuts through his teeth and shoulder checks his old man before walking to the living room, pulling the cord from the wall jack, unplugging the tv. Holding it against his hip to bring it to his room.

“What the hell man, I was gonna watch that!” Al yells as Eddie trudges into his room, shoving shit off his dresser with a sweep of his arm, putting the small tv down he turns to find his dad right behind him, glaring menacingly at him, nose to nose. 

“The rabbit ears haven’t worked in months, guess you’ll have to go to Neil’s..”

His insult is cut short as Al grabs him by the lapels of his denim vest, shoving him into the closet door, busting it off the sliding track. 

“Listen to me you little fuck…” Al spits, literally into Eddie’s face, “I said I’m not in the mood for your shit tonight, ya got me? I need your fucking help for once in your life, can you manage that?” 

“Get off me,” Eddie sneers back, trying to hide the trembling in his jaw as he grits his teeth, “I’m serious.” 

I'm serious, Dad! Al mocks, shoving Eddie harder into the closet, the splintering wood busting beneath his shoulder blades. “I ain’t ever asked you for nothin’ in your whole damn life, let you live here with Wayne, no rules no nothin’ and now it’s time to pay up. I need a favor.” 

His eyes were shocking in a desperate way, anger riddling his irises. 

Eddie thinks fast to his underwear drawer, the wad of cash shoved into an old sock underneath a sticky playboy, “I don’t sell whatever you’re on, and I don’t have any cash.” 

“Ain’t about money, or horse, Eddie boy, you remember my friend, the one that lives in the old house on Morehead?” 

Eddie thinks back to all the “friends” Al had ever introduced him to. There was Bud the one who owned the bowling alley in Bridgeport that had a fake eye and an gnarly looking scar on his face from a dog bite, Willy Jack who helped take the plates off of the van and scratch up the VIN number when they stole it from that scrap yard north of town, he even painted it any color Eddie wanted, but somehow the friend he was talking about wasn’t registering. 

Raising an eyebrow, Eddie shakes his head no. “Doesn’t matter,” Al said all too quick, “his son has been missin’ see, for years, and we need your boys’ help finding him.” 

“Who’s we?” Eddie asks, finally wiggling free from his dads hands, straightening his jacket, “and why the fuck do I need to find him?” 

A closed fist breaks through the paneled wall next to his chin, “enough with the questions Eddie goddamnit! I need you on this, and you’re not gonna tell me ‘no’ you understand me?” 

Eddie had never hated his dad more than he did at this moment. If he were older he’d swing a fist into his gut, knock his lights out once and for all, but he didn’t dare, shoulders slumped and the weight of the world and all its guilt piled onto him. He had no idea what kind of shit his dad was getting him into, only the gut wrenching feeling that something was terribly wrong, and the only thing he could do was nod his head, agreeing to lend his trembling hand. 

Across town on Cherry lane, Neil Hargrove was having the same friendly little “discussion” with Billy, but the conversation was different, lighter, happier, and the two Hargrove men seemed to be on the same page for once in their lives. 

—

OCT. 1986

The Harrington’s basement was set up much like the Wheeler’s but on a grander scale. Large tv tucked behind an oak cabinet,, a beige leather couch that seemed to stretch across the entire living room area, a surround sound system in each corner,  two bedrooms and a full bathroom. Setting Nancy down on the plus couch and covering her small form with a wool blanket, Steve opens a closet door and wrangles out a new set of golf clubs, leaning them against the wall, and running his hair through his fingers, as if he’s trying to make a mental list of household objects that could be used as a weapon. 

The phone rings noisily in one of the bedrooms and Steve leaves to answer it. 

Eddie still has your fingers between his, his rings leaving small indents but you don’t mind, it’s a comfort. He’s muttering to himself, in a tone only he can hear, biting the nails on his right hand with grinding clicks of his teeth. Looking at you his expression falters for a split second, trying to put on a calming mask, nonchalant-like even though inside he was screaming. 

It wouldn’t be long before the Demodogs came, especially if the Demogorgons were out, would he be looking for him? Wondering where he has been? Why he’s been gone? 

He guides you to the couch, a grand gesture with his nail bitten hand, grabbing a blanket and putting it around you. 

Steve emerges from the back bedroom, a tiny bit of relief in his eyes, “that was Robin, they’re on their way here, I guess they barely made it out.” 

You wince at the thought of everyone dead at the carnival, the way Argyle’s body was ripped to shreds, the howling cackle from Creel, the way he stood with his arms in a welcoming hug, just an hour ago you were convinced you were going to kiss your best friend, now the majority of Hawkins was dead. 

Steve turns to Eddie, with wide searching eyes, fumbling for the right words but failing, “I need answers man, right now.” 

—

Robin hangs up the phone, blood drying on her fingers from when she tripped over the gaping carcass of Tammy Thompson, her face covered with streaks of dirt and god knows what else, “ Let’s go! Everyone’s at St—”

A stinging in her spine brings heat, warm and dripping, then fiery hot, a hand on her shoulder she turns to see his maniacal eyes, the blood from the gash on his head now trickling into his mouth, white pearls stained in ruby. 

“I did you a solid Rob, killed that bitch for you—didn’t even think twice about it, because we’re friends,”  blood now trickling down her back into the waist of her scoops ahoy uniform shorts, she garbles a breath cusping on the breath of a question. 

“shh,” he reassures, wiping tears from her freckles lined cheeks, extracting the knife from the well in her back, he helps her lie down gently, “this isn’t going to kill you, it’s just temporary you see? I can’t have any distractions, I can’t let you get in my way, but don’t worry!”

 He moves to rip the phone cord from its hook, “I’ve done so much research on this meticulously studying over books on ways to cut the human body, what would hurt the worst, the least, the angle of the knife  was just right, I guess I could be wrong,” he scratches his head, the whites of his eyes rolling as the smell of blood starts to work him up, an ache he can’t scratch, “hmm… take care, yeah? I’ll be back.” 

A pool of blood blossoms from Robin’s back, flowing into the blue carpet fibers of her room— in tandem with the slow blink of her eyelashes meeting. 

The ignition of his car engine backfires with a gunshot noise, the bloody knife he used to kill the others laid gently on the leather of his passenger seat. 

Driving down the desolate streets of Hawkins, he looks in the rearview mirror, and for the first time, Jonathan Byers likes what he sees. 

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[deceptive-daydreams]

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Smoke Signals

Chapter Nine - Blue Eyes

W/C: 8.4K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

Blue eyes never caught your attention...until they stepped into The Bourbon.

A/N: this was such a monster of a chapter to edit just because there's a lot going on...i hope y'all like it <3

Masterlist

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“Okay, well that’s not gonna work.  We can’t afford all that.” 

“What if I gather some…I dunno…donations?”  You ponder.

“Bambi, enough.”

Eddie huffs at your persistence, crossing off a few items from the list placed in front of him.  Your adorable handwriting had spelled out numerous options for fundraising ideas; something to get the bar back into a somewhat profitable margin.  He wasn’t going to lie to himself and say he wasn’t grateful for your efforts but he had proven to become more and more annoyed as your list grew throughout the week.  An impatient Jett stands next to you, rocking back and forth on his heels as he sucks in his cheeks, attempting to keep his thoughts to himself, though it was never his strong suit to remain quiet when necessary.

“Dude, just pick one!”  He blurts out.

The tiny office looked comical, three bodies crammed in a small space that would certainly run out of oxygen had the door been shut.  A displeased glare catches Jett’s attention, only offering you a shrug in response to his outburst.  You’d mentioned before even approaching Eddie for the umpteenth time this week that the key was going to be patience.  Let him come to you.  Make it seem like part of it was his idea so he doesn’t feel like you’re doing charity for him.

“No, we can’t afford to put on a…a wine tasting or a—hoedown?”  Eddie questions with furrowed brows as he underlines the words with his pointer finger.

“Eddie, if you let me–”

“I’m not letting you do anything.”  He asserts.

“Listen–”

“No.”

Eddie Munson was the most stubborn being on planet earth, that much you could attest to.  But you weren’t going to let him tackle your plans to the ground without a good fight.  

“Munson.”  Jett tries, only to be met with an inflamed scowl.

With wide eyes, you attempt to pull his attention back to you, hoping to save Jett from receiving an earful later.  “Eddie–”  

“Nope.”

“Eddie!”  You squeal, eyes squinting shut painfully as you throw a miniature tantrum.

“Bambi.”  He deadpans, leaning over his desk to stare you down.  “Leave it.”

The look that used to scare you weeks ago now only had you rolling your eyes.  He was at it again, refusing any ounce of help that was offered.  When he got like this, you could only play it up and bring out your begging eyes.  Hope for the best.  

“Jett, can you give us a minute?”  You clear your throat, an overly polite tone taking over.

“Fine.”  He sighs before leaning in to whisper.  “The hoedown…make him pick the hoedown.”

With a playful smack to his shoulder, you escort Jett out of the office–or rather you push him out and kick the door shut.  His sights were set on that hoedown ever since the two of you sat down to scrawl out a few ideas the previous week.  It was bold of him to assume that you could ‘make’ Eddie pick that option.  If you’d learned anything since moving here, it was that Eddie Munson was a force to be reckoned with.

“Alright Munson.”  You lean over his desk as he takes a seat in the squeaky office chair, you were a bit too comfortable in his space as your perfume flooded his nose.  “We are doing one of these, whether you like it or not.”

His stare should frighten you, large intimidating eyes nearly black as the patience drains from him, tongue poking the inside of his cheek as if he were contemplating a scolding remark that would force you to back off.  It only encourages you.

“Oh, we are?  I wasn’t aware we were under new management.”  He counters, seemingly deciding to choose a softer approach.

“Yes, we are.”  You bite.  “Because if not, we aren’t even a we.  There is no bar.  Will that make you happy?”  

If it seemed harsh, it still needed to be drilled into his thick skull.  

“I know that!”  Eddie raises his voice, caught up in the heat of the moment.  He didn’t allow himself a moment to think, only act.

He wishes he could punch himself for the way he made your face drop.  A hint of fear taking over your graceful features.  It wasn’t who he was—or at least that’s what he was trying to convince himself.  He didn’t yell to get his way, he was not his dad.  

“Fuck–’m sorry.  Sorry.  I didn’t mean to…get all mad and blow up on you.”  He sighs, shyly shifting his gaze toward the ground.  “I’m just…”  He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “I’m stressed and–that’s not an excuse, I’m just trying to–fuck I dunno.” 

“Eddie...”  Your saccharine tone pulls him out of whatever hole he was currently digging himself into.  So candied and coated in tenderness.

He doesn’t need to respond for you to continue, the look on his face telling you everything.  The wrinkles forming between his eyebrows are extra prominent, frown lines growing deeper in his anguish.  

“Let us help.”  Your words are dripping in honey.  It’s obvious that you’re buttering him up, putting on your extra sad puppy dog eyes just for him, lip puckered out extra pouty, such a pretty sight, all for him.

“We want to help.”

There’s no saying no to you, he can’t stomach it.  It was getting worse as time went on, every time he had the urge to tell you no, he couldn’t help but feel sick.  Maybe if he pulled Jett back into the equation he’d have better luck.  The kid got under his skin especially when he egged Eddie on and didn’t take a hint.  But when you’re sitting all pretty for him, your elbows propped on his desk as you stare at him like you want nothing more in the world, who is he to deny you?

“Okay.”  He exhales nervously.  “Whatya got?”

“Really?”  Your eyes twinkle, something he’d pay to see every single day, even if he was on the verge of bankruptcy.  Which he was.

“Don’t make me change my mind.”  

From just outside of the door, Jett chews on his nails, the argumentative tone of conversation just seconds ago still riddling him with anxiety.  It would do no one any favors to rile up the boss who had clearly already been under an immense amount of pressure with his inherited business crumbling around him.  Jett knew the steaks, he knew that Eddie would refuse to give up given that his grandfather had passed down everything to his only known grandson, leaving behind his legacy.  Unfortunately, it’s hard to offer help to those who refuse it.  But Jett knows that if anyone can persuade the big, bad Eddie Munson who was too stubborn for his own good, it was going to be you.

Every time you walked into the room, Jett witnessed a miserable man come to life.  Bored, tired eyes became enamored and filled to the brim with infatuation.  A bland day would instantly be cured the second you sauntered in with your tray, more often than not dropping it in the process of securing your apron around your waist.  You never learn, always opting to struggle with the tray tucked in between your arm and body while your hands fumbled with those damn strings, sending the tray straight into the floor, your pens spilling out of your apron and startling you every time as the items clanged against hardwood.  And every time, Eddie is there, watching from across the room before the inevitable happens.  Every time, he is at your feet, collecting your mess and questioning ‘got it?’ in a gentle tone that Jett doesn’t ever recall hearing before you came into the picture.  

Every time, Eddie Munson is reduced to a puddle of a man right before everyone’s eyes.  Only ever for you.

It’s infuriating. 

Jett supposes had he made his move sooner he would hold your attention like Eddie does.  He would catch your gaze from across the bar, a tiny smile gracing your lips.  The sparkle in your eyes would be for him and only for him.

Reality delivers a punishing kick and reminds him that Eddie had you from the beginning, even when he was outright rude to you.  He had your curious eyes from day one.  It wasn’t fair, Jett was so convinced at first.  It wasn’t fair that Eddie had been the biggest asshole and yet your mind seemed so made up on him, eyes never lingering on another soul as long as they did when Eddie was around. 

He was sure that he was over it, he told himself there was no chance, but something about the banter he heard muffled by the office door only stirred up every pessimistic cell in his body.  Every giggle you let out at some stupid ‘joke’ that wasn’t even funny, every fucking time Eddie called you Bambi, every time you playfully scolded him only to reel back and flatter him, all of it drove Jett nuts.  His fists were clenched at his side, knuckles threatening to split at the tension and face a raging red.

Because Eddie Munson had the very thing he desired.  And he didn’t deserve her.

–

Your negotiations intrigued Eddie, the way you had a solution for every problem he attempted to create didn’t even frustrate him anymore.  It used to aggravate him when you would offer a simple solution to a problem he deemed unsolvable.  Now it only made his pupils dilate, his breathing becoming uneven solely because he couldn’t get enough of your energy.  He thrived off of it, a different kind of high taking over him when you would voice your ideas, your eyes lighting up as he watched the gears turn in your head.  

He almost misses your offer to persuade Jett into snagging some hay bales from his family’s farm should he end up choosing the Hoedown Night from your extensive list.  Truthfully, he was lost.  Lost in swirling thoughts of the girl in front of him who nearly two months ago, he would have never given the time of day to.  And he didn’t…at first.  But now…now he would give you any time of day you wanted.  Rain or shine, day or night.  He didn’t care, he would do the impossible if it meant your face lit up like a Christmas tree every time.  He just couldn’t quite admit it to himself yet.

His lack of enthusiasm concerns you although you don’t show it as you continue ranting on about Donnie mentioning some old table cloths and picnic blankets she no longer wanted that could be used.  She even mentioned her husband having a few empty barrels out in their garage that could be great for apple bobbing.  She went as far as to ask around for different items they could use from her neighbors, already collecting an array of items they could use at their disposal.

“-and then we charge for entry.  I know it’ll probably only make a small profit but it can hold us over somewhat, right?”  

He’s thinking again.  

His bottom lip is tugged on by his teeth and his lids are heavy with that far off look.  You didn’t think your pitch was that awful in all honesty.  You would admit that Donnie’s idea of a stripper night could be taking it too far but there were so many other ideas that had such potential and if he turned every single one down, you didn’t quite have a backup plan prepared.

“Eddie?”

He blinks, twirling his pen in between his fingers as if it were a drumstick but he still remains unresponsive.  It’s not a good sign.

“I-I know it’s a lot of work and–”

“Okay.”  He breathes.

“Okay?”

Your eyes become doe-like, ironically.  You were really living up to that nickname, the one that sent goosebumps up your spine if he said it soft enough.

“Okay.”  

His agreement doesn’t feel genuine, his gaze cast somewhere far off from the tiny room.  

“Eddie.”  

Your tone goes stern.  Or at least stern enough for him to break out of his thoughts.  Within seconds, coffee colored eyes are regarding you in a way that can only be met with heated cheeks and twiddling thumbs.  He had been lost in his mind again, only returning at the mention of his name a second time through that firmness you displayed when you really cared about something.  

“Bambi.”  The word is grounding, anxieties settling where they were once fluttering around in your stomach.  You no longer worried if you had upset him in some way.  Not when his voice sounded so smooth, so satiny that it almost killed you.

That welcoming voice that felt like a tight hug echoes in your ears.  Brown sugar falling from his tongue and sweetening any further exchange of words, no matter how conflicting his mindset could be compared to yours.  As long as he kept using that tone, you would be putty in his hands.

“Um, so…we’re doing this?”  You question meekly, a contrast to the confidence you had just displayed. 

It’s quiet, though his red cheeks are louder than any words.  He’s apprehensive, his irises darting around the less than decorated room.  It’s obvious that he’s fighting an internal battle, engaged in a horrible disagreement with himself.  Harsh words are probably prodding at his brain, forcing him to be reluctant in accepting any fraction of help.  

What he doesn’t realize is that while he swears you’re staring at the biggest coward to walk the earth, you find him to be brave.  It was clear after previous nights of long talks and shared trauma, that this wasn’t easy for him.  Giving up control was the most terrifying thing he could do.  Accepting this form of help was foreign to him, people back home in Indiana never offered him such courtesy.  

So you wait.  

With a stupid amount of patience that Eddie will never understand, you soften your gaze.  All pressure is removed.  Your attention shifts to doodling some kind of a flower on the paper sitting atop the desk in between you.  You don’t await an answer from him, you only exist with him.  Nothing is required of him and somehow, you both understand that.  

He doesn’t want to be held to such requirements.  He wants you to raise your standards and he wants to meet them, exceed them.  You shouldn’t have to dull your bright personality for his shattered dignity.  He’d always been a shadow looming over those he was closest to, always a dark cloud among a sunny day reminding everyone of his detrimental existence.  

Good things did not happen to Eddie Munson.  

Not in the past, not in the present no matter how convincing life could be in coaxing him into its trap, and certainly not in the future.  Anything disguised as a saving grace would always end up being Eddie’s eternal hell.  It always has and it always will.

Either way, his fate was determined.  So why not let you take the lead?  In his eyes, it would honor him if you ruined his life and although the mere thought of you leaving him behind in the aftermath of destruction haunted him, he couldn’t help but give up his control.  

He was tired of fighting off the ‘good things’.  

Especially when he would be left to piece himself together either way.  It’s just another event he would have to endure, another lesson he wouldn’t learn from because he was too goddamn stubborn.  Another mountain he would have to climb with his bloody, bare hands.

You continue waiting, not once pestering him for confirmation.  He hates it.

He hates it, he hates it, he hates it.

You should be screaming at him, demanding an answer after his prolonged silence.  Your hands should be smacking the surface of the desk in annoyance, your eyebrows should be pinched in frustration, and they aren’t.  

There’s a comfort in the abuse.

Secretly, he begs you to lose your cool, pleads with some higher power that you snap out of it and just slap him across the face like he deserves.  He is being difficult and you aren’t reacting.  He has gone mute and you are simply okay with it.  Even in the most forgiving situations he braces for impact but you make it so hard to.  

His guard is supposed to be up, the walls are supposed to close him in and keep everything out but they’re crumbling around him, fast, exposing him.  He feels naked but you don’t stare at him with expectancy, you don’t reach out and snatch what vulnerability he has left.  

“I–”  He breaks the unforgiving silence, wincing as his voice cracks.  It’s only when you glance up at him with understanding eyes, your heart on your sleeve, that he relaxes.  

Tension still pulls at every muscle, but he breathes.  He breathes through the nausea of putting his trust into another person.  Something he swore to never do again ever since his dad dared to show his face one last time back when Eddie was in high school.  It was only the last time because he had gotten arrested, Eddie was sure he’d be stupid enough to give him several chances in hopes of fixing his deranged father.  He was only human and the six year old kid in him only wanted to see the good in people, especially his ‘pops’.

“We–we’re doing this.”  He practically demands of himself.

“Eddie we don’t have to–”

“We’re doing it.”

With glassy eyes, he nods as if he’s still convincing himself.  You can’t help but intervene.

“Seriously, I know we were coming on strong but it’s just because–”

“I know.”  

You don’t need further confirmation from him, big brown eyes doing enough of the talking as you begin to assure him he was the one calling the shots.    

“Do you?”  You ask genuinely.

Again, a part of him is pissed that you won’t just take the answer and tell him he didn’t need to be such a baby about the whole thing.  Maybe slam the door out of irritation, enough to shake the wall.  Maybe ask for a raise for all of your efforts.  People didn’t do things for him just to be nice and he was already hating himself for being so pitiful that Donnie was offering to help without any compensation.  

“Yeah.”  He whispers.

“Are you sure?”  

“Can you just–”

Eddie finds himself on the cusp of blowing up again.  Anger bubbles in the back of his throat like bile, his hands clenched into fists repeatedly as his lips trace those familiar numbers before letting anything he regrets fall from his mouth in his moment of fury.

“Can I just what?”  You question softly, hand reaching for his.

“Nothing.”  He breathes.

There’s a pause, a brief moment where he’s clearly panicked, resembling a spooked horse.  It disappears just as fast as it came, his eyes softening as he processes the situation.  You just had to go and ruin it.

“Why do you count?”  

The question spills into the air without you even thinking, your mind simply throwing it out there without fear of any consequences.  Without thinking that maybe now isn’t the time.  You regret it as his shoulders tense up, his guard up once again.  The guard you’d patiently chipped away at only to destroy any progress you’d made.

“I–”

“Sorry, sorry!  I’m sorry, I–just pretend I didn’t ask.”  You attempt to stitch the messy conversation back together.

“No, uh, I-I…”  

Stop letting her in.

You’re gonna get hurt.

You don’t expect his shoulders to untense as he sighs, you don’t anticipate how quickly his guard falls again, any hesitance he displays faltering before completely disappearing into thin air.  All that remains is sincerity, face no longer contorted in worry and eyelids drooping ever so slightly in his sudden relaxation.

“I just–I started doing it after…after everything back…back home.”  He answers before his thoughts can steer him away.  “I dunno why.”

You’re satisfied with his answer, you’d even be satisfied with no answer.  He didn’t owe you explanations and yet he kept giving them to you.  Spilling his guts out to you, practically letting them fall onto the thin, dingy carpet of the office.

“I, uh, I’ve asked my therapist about it.”  He elaborates, voice quiet and mumbled.  “She said it’s part of the PTSD.”

You didn’t expect him to reveal such a personal detail although you find yourself squeezing his hand, settling into the quiet of the bland room.  Words aren’t necessary, they never are between you.  

“I don’t even know how to throw a hoedown.”  Eddie snorts to himself, the energy shifting into something more familiar, more comfortable in the blink of an eye.

You’re willing to unpack whatever baggage he had revealed but it’s clear that he no longer is.  And that was okay.  

“Oh don’t you worry, I’m gonna get you a big bedazzled cowboy hat and everything, just let me take care of the details.”  You partially joke, deciding not to tease him over his not-so-subtle choice of Hoedown Night.

“No, nuh-uh.  Not happening.”  He protests, arms thrown up dramatically.

“C’mon, you need to look the part!”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

His smile is contained, a grin threatening to pull at his pretty lips as his thumb grazes the top of your hand.  A small gesture that nearly burns your skin.

“Well, I think you’d look cute in a cowboy hat.”  Again, your mind speaks for you without any contemplation.  

You should take it back.

You want to regret it.

You don’t.

It’s worth it when his face flushes red again, his fingers coyly pulling a curl over his face as if to hide, a sight you wanted to capture if only you had your polaroid with you.  You’d have to settle for mentally pinning this moment to the wall in your mind that was ever growing.  He doesn’t return the flirtatious banter but it doesn’t go unnoticed when he beams at you from his chair as you offer him sparkling eyes and fluttering lashes on your way out.

Two Weeks Before Thanksgiving

“Okay, Jett’s  bringing the haybales in for Friday?”

“Yep.”  Your pen glides across your messy, scribbled out checklist in a hurry.

“Did you get the apples yet?”  

“Nope, was gonna stop by Thursday so they’re fresh.”  You mumble, jotting down a few more tasks that had yet to be done.

“Alright and Nathan’s gonna have his truck all set for hay rides outside, that’s another charge right?  We can charge extra?”  Donnie questions, her scatter brain on full display.

“Yes, that would be great.”  You assure, grace in your tone.

“Alright and then, Eddie’s friends should be here on Wednesday to surprise him–”  Donnie begins to mutter.

What?”  Your eyes widen, practically bulging out of your head.

“Yeah, Steve?  And then the others–”  Realization hits Donnie like a train, her eyes nearly falling out of her skull just as yours were.  “Oh shit!  I forgot to tell you.”  She hisses.

Glancing around, she ensures the coast is clear before waving you out back.  It was a Monday, the lack of patrons allowing you to do all the planning you needed to for Knife’s Edge first ever Hoedown.  Donnie had been mapping out the place, assisting you in drawing out the layout for the event on paper.  Eddie had been managing the bar, the sluggish evening rendering him positively bored, making it a point to initiate a huge yawn every time you passed by throughout the evening.

It drove him crazy when you pretended to ignore him.

“Do you think he heard you?”  You whisper, the safety of being just around the corner not enough to convince you.

“He didn’t, that boy is nearly deaf.”  Donnie seems certain.  “God, I can’t believe I forgot to tell you.”  She throws her arms up in exasperation.

“Why didn’t you tell me!?” 

“Here’s the deal.”  Donnie pulls herself together, grabbing you by the shoulders.  “They come into town Wednesday night.  Four of them I think, I always forget their names, god it makes me feel like shit.  Anyway, they’re gonna surprise him at the bar.  They usually stay with him.”  She nearly runs out of breath in her explanation.

“Okay.”  You breathe.  

“Did I answer your questions?”

“I, uh, I think so.”  You nod.

“You cannot tell him.”  Donnie stares you down.  “They’ve never surprised him, he usually knows when they’re coming to visit.  Swear you won’t say a word.”  

Her demeanor is almost threatening although you find it sweet that she cares so much.  Eddie’s best interest had always been something she prioritized, same as you.  In your eyes he was a golden boy with a golden heart who was dealt shitty cards.  You weren’t sure if Donnie had been enlightened about any pieces of his past but you both seemed to have the same goal in mind.

His happiness.

As you continued to prepare for Friday’s events, you avoided eye contact with Eddie at all costs throughout the night, especially after you had learned about the ‘big surprise’.  You’d walk past the bar, the shaker in his hands as he prepared a drink.  He’d pause, the shaker mid air as his gaze trailed after you.  You felt awful for denying his puppy eyes but it was all for his benefit in the end.

You couldn’t lie though, holding his attention as you continued to ignore him over and over offered you an ego boost.  You’d never been looked at in such a way, you never felt so desired in your life.

–

“Have you seen the way she ignores me?”  Eddie complains, Jett only muttering nonsense in response that Eddie couldn’t decipher.

“She won’t even look at me when I talk to her!”  He almost whines.

It was getting to him, your constant neglect.  It had been a day, a whole day since you’d started avoiding his eyes, never smiling at him the way you usually did throughout your shift.  Not one little wave thrown his way.  He felt starved.  He’d never been so needy for someone’s attention, he was starting to feel like a leech.

“Dude, she’s just working.”  Jett grumbles, his hands occupied as he stacks a hay bale against the back of the building.  They’d been instructed to go out back and relocate them to make things easier come Friday night.  They’d previously been stacked near the dumpsters, a little ways away from the building and were now being hauled next to the back door for easy access.

“You don’t get it, she’s being weird.  It’s like she hates me.”  Eddie grunts as he lifts the brick of hay.

“Maybe she does.”  Jett sighs, not a single thought behind his words.

“What?”  Eddie questions, attempting to hide the panic that had begun to shock his nerves, his head snapping toward his supposed friend.

“I–I dunno.”  

“She say somethin’?”  Eddie demands, shoving the hay onto its corresponding stack as he diverts his attention to Jett fully.

Jett’s gaze only gives off that he’s hiding something, his eyes avoiding Eddie at all costs, an ongoing trend poor Eddie was beginning to find.  It only fuels a fire inside of him, embers growing angrier each moment Jett stands there dumbly.

“Did she?”  The look in Eddie’s eyes resembles that of a bear that had been poked.  Jett regrets letting his innermost thoughts fall from his lips in a moment of irritation, now he was subject to Eddie’s unforgiving inferno that was never easy to escape from.

“No.”  Jett snaps a bit too aggressively.  

“Then what?”

“I don’t know why you think she owes you attention.”

If Jett hadn’t fucked up yet, he certainly had now.  If only he could’ve kept his stupid, naive mouth shut.

“The fuck did you just say?”

Eddie’s fist clenched at his side says enough, it screams that the conversation should stop here, that Jett needs to stop egging him on but he refuses to let it end here.

“Yeah, you practically pissed on her, claiming your territory and shit.”

If looks could kill, Jett would be in for a world of pain.  Just when Eddie thinks the twerp is finally going to realize his place, he keeps going.

“She’s not your property, what if she had her sights set on someone else?  You gonna swoop in and piss on her again?”  

It feels as if someone grabbed his heart straight out of his chest and chucked it off the nearest cliff.  The blood had stopped pumping and he swears he feels his veins run cold.  He didn’t think he stood a chance with you but the thought of you becoming absolutely infatuated with Jett sickened him.  Did you really have the intention of going after Jett?  He couldn’t stomach the idea.  He might as well sell the bar and run now to save himself the heartache, the only thing he was good at.

“I–”  Eddie’s speechless, rage and sorrow clouding his vision.

“Oh, now you’re gonna shut up about–”

“I never claimed her, or pissed on her, or whatever the hell you’re saying.”  Eddie argues.

“Yes you did!  ‘Bambi’?  What kind of shit is that?”

Eddie can feel himself vibrating with anger, his blood heating up once again as he scowls.  Jett had not once expressed any interest in you and now here he was, attacking Eddie over something as stupid as a nickname.

“Go fuck yourself.”  He spits before storming inside.

No one would ever want to be on the receiving end of the absolute death glare he’d shot Jett.  It lasted seconds but some would go as far to say those seconds were torture.  Deep down Eddie knew he could punch Jett and be done with it, assert his dominance.  But that’s not what his intent was, you weren’t some prize to be won.  You had simply fallen into his life and he couldn’t help but fall in lo–

He couldn’t help but surrender to your existence.  

And now?  Now he was in his head again.  If you were going to ignore him, he was going to let you.  You didn’t owe him a thing, even after the late night talks and spilled guts of vulnerability.  Jett could have your attention for all he cares now.  Except, he does care.  And that’s what causes such an ache within him, the fact that he does care even if you don’t.

–

“Eddie, can you hand that glass to me?”  You request sweetly, tip toeing as you point toward the shelf above him.

He looks up, a wine glass tucked nicely on the top shelf within his reach but clearly outside of yours.  The frown on his face puzzles you though you keep to yourself as he garnishes a drink with orange.

“Mhm.”  He mumbles bitterly, reaching up to grab the glass and handing it to you without so much as a glance.

You should be glad, looking into his eyes would only force you to engage in conversation with him and doing so could lead you down the path of honesty.  You’d for sure give up the surprise and you only needed to last one more day, you couldn’t fuck this up.  

“You okay?”  You question, hesitantly gripping the glass in your smaller hand.

“Mhm.”  He mumbles again, sliding the cocktail across the counter to its awaiting customer.

“You sure?”  You betray yourself, attempting to catch his gaze, no longer caring that there was a chance of spoiling the surprise.

“Mhm.”  

It was the third hum in a row.  It drove you crazy, he would usually say something snarky and act like the smartass he is by now.  He’s not and it worries you.  Maybe it’s not your place to worry but you do.  

“Eddie.”  

“I’m fine.”  He huffs, chest heaving.

A warning glance has you nodding, slowly stepping away to resume your original task.  It was humbling, one day bantering and somehow falling into conversation about each other’s deepest secrets and the next being treated like a stranger.  You obey his stare, his chocolatey eyes no longer displaying any trace of affection or depth, only pure hostility.  The spark that had threatened to ignite so many times had disappeared completely, only what appeared to be ash leftover from the small fire that once burned within him.

“What’s wrong with him?”  Jett announces himself next to you, breaking down a dirty table as you go to retrieve one of The Bourbon’s most expensive bottles of wine for a snobby customer.

“I, I don’t know.”  You whisper in despair.

The rest of the night, you’re met with spiteful glares from Eddie and lingering touches from Jett.

Wednesday Night

This was it, after tonight you wouldn’t need to be so avoidant of Eddie.  You wouldn’t have to lie to his face.  It was becoming apparent however, that he had become irate.  Every second of the day.  That morning you waved to him as you got the mail and he tinkered with his truck to which he practically snarled and went right back to work.  It was like you were back to square one with him, back to when he hated you and you had disturbed his precious, quaint, little life.

It could just be that he’s in a bad mood, it was early after all and maybe his truck had given out on him again.  It was reasonable enough, it would piss you off had you been in his shoes.  You weren’t entirely sure you’d take it out on everyone but it would sour your mood.

It was hard to keep a smile on your face while he glared at you from behind the bar just as he had done the previous night.  You were trying to be the bigger person, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.  He was just making it so difficult by purposely delivering daggers to you whenever he could.

“Hey!”  Jett greets you, emerging loudly from the kitchen.

You greet him back, a muttered ‘hi’, your eyes unable to tear themselves away from the man that seemed to suddenly hate you.  You were in no mood to be friendly anymore, not when Eddie was creating such a venomous atmosphere using only his face.

“Is everything pretty much in place for Friday?”  

“Uh huh.”  You don’t even so much as look at Jett, a head full of curls the only thing holding your attention at the moment.

“You going with anyone?”  He asks, pushing himself into your line of sight, much to your dismay.

It was as if you were trying to read Eddie’s mind from across the room and if you stared hard enough, you’d finally get through.  You had no such luck and it could potentially be because Jett kept pestering you with questions.

“I’m working.”  You state obviously, wiping down the table you had been clearing.

“Well–yeah…yeah me too.  I just—maybe after?  Once everyone’s cleared out, would you wanna…go out?” 

It takes you by surprise and for a second, you’re unsure if he’s asking you out as a friend or if he’s making a move.  As you evaluate the situation, you determine that it’s the latter with the way he shyly smiles and averts his eyes ever so slightly, his cheeks tinting a bright pink.  You’d done nothing to feed into his interest, even when you figured he was just being friendly, simply too busy working to engage in the conversation he continued to try and force.  Now it was just going to get awkward.

“I–I, Jett I’m sorry but…no, I’m not–I can’t.”  You choke out, the sheer humiliation of the situation for both parties dragging you down.

“Oh.”  Is all he says, disappointment evident in his eyes, gaze casting toward the floor as he twists a rag around in between his fingers.

“I just–we’re friends–”

“Yeah.”  He sighs bitterly, spinning on his heel to speed off toward a busy table.

There was no further conversation, he didn’t let you finish, didn’t even offer to talk privately.  It was just…done.  And now you feared you’d made an enemy simply by saying no to a date.  You were now the villain in his story.  It seemed you were becoming the villain in everyone’s story at this rate, what’s one more?

It was t-minus two hours until Eddie’s friends would be arriving to surprise him and you were already worn out.  If there was any hope of making a good impression at some point, there wasn’t a chance anymore.  They’d be met with a mess of a girl with smudged mascara and crazy hair, apron stained with melted cheese that you had leaned into earlier on one of the tables.  

They were going to hate you.

–

“Honey, what’s wrong?  You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”  Donnie ushers you toward the hallway leading to the back, only stopping just before going outside to talk in private.  

The whole night it seemed you were a brainless mess, messing up orders and forgetting in general how to do your job.  Donnie had been keeping an eye on the time, ensuring things were set up for when Eddie’s friends arrived all the while making sure he had no idea.  You’d helped set up the table for them and set aside the alcohol they liked but in all honesty you don’t even remember your entire shift.  You were right back to being a stupid girl that didn’t belong.

“I-I just–do you think Eddie is upset with me?”  Your lip wobbles pathetically.

“What!?”  Donnie gasps, as if it were the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard.  “Why would he be mad at you?  That boy likes you better than he likes me.  Better than he likes most of us.”

That was news to you, you’d never been the favorite.  And you doubted her words, no matter how sweet they were.

“I-I dunno.  He seems–he seems really on edge and I’m just…I’m really overwhelmed and–”  You whimper, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.”  She rubs your shoulder almost uncomfortably.  Physical affection was not her specialty.  “I’m gonna–I’m gonna go get him–”

“No!”

Before your protests reach her ears, she’s gone, rounding the corner straight to the bar.  You’re well aware that you should rush out the back door behind you right now, that you should just spare everyone your existence but before you can pick up your heavy feet from the ground, a mane of curls comes hurling at you, hands reaching out to grip your shoulders.  You look pathetic, tears beginning to trail down your cheeks, mascara more than likely following them, creating the most psychotic image.

“Bambi, what happened?”  He asks, sincerity creasing his forehead rather than irritation as you’d grown used to in the past day or so.

“Nothing.”  You attempt to brush past him, swallowing what pride you had left only to be firmly held in place.

“What happened.”  He demands.

Chocolatey irises refuse to look away from you, his mind made up as he pushes for an explanation.  Determination settles in his gaze, he wasn’t going to let you take the easy way out, much to your dismay.  

“It’s not like you care.”

Your words bite, pain spreading as you regard him with such fire in your eyes.  His hands remain on your shoulders, keeping you there while he continues his interrogation.  It’s all too much, everything is falling apart in a matter of seconds.  At least that’s how it feels in your mushy little brain.

“What?”  He scoffs, offense evident in his pinched eyebrows.

“You don’t need to sit here and pity me.  I’m sure you have better things to do like mad dog me all night. ”  

It’s childish, the way that you cross your arms and jut your hip out to make a statement, but you can’t help it, especially when he had been such an ass the past few days.  You’d done nothing to instigate–at least nothing you could think of and if you had, he wasn’t manning up to communicate the issue.  The ball was in his court as far as you were concerned.

“What the fuck has gotten into everyone?”  Eddie removes his hands from your shoulders to drop his arms heavily at his sides, almost as if he had given up.  You hate that you miss the tiniest bit of warmth from his hands.

“No, what the fuck has gotten into you?”  You counter meanly.

“Me!?”  He raises his voice in the slightest but it doesn’t startle you, no, it only aggravates you.

“Yeah, you!”  You match his volume.  “You’re acting like a giant baby, moping around all day!  We’re all just supposed to put up with it cause you own the place!?”  

Eddie bites his tongue…hard.  It’s useless when his stupid brain shoves his words out of his mouth, no longer a private thought that he could forget when he managed to calm down later.

“You’re the one who’s been ignoring me all week!  What, are you too busy dry humping Jett to engage in actual conversation these days?”

There are several people scattered throughout the bar but at this moment, only her and Eddie exist.  It’s not how she imagined in her daydreams.  In her daydreams they’re smiling, unable to take their eyes off each other, his eyes swallow her lovingly and his rough hands brush against her cheeks as they drink in each other’s existence.  They don’t fight, they don’t argue.  

It would be too good to be true and she knows that.  But she didn’t expect him to be like every other guy.  He wasn’t like every other guy…until now.  Until he reduced her to some other guy’s side piece the moment he disagreed with her.

“I–what?”  You breathe in disbelief.

“I didn’t mean that.”  He wishes he could turn back time and slap himself, take the words back, and apologize for his toddler-like behavior.  Real life doesn’t offer such luxuries.

“Just–”  Your words are lodged in your throat, unable to defend yourself as he pathetically dials back on his insult.

When he reaches out to place his hand on your shoulder as he had before, you wince painfully.  Because it was painful.  His touch would be enough to singe your skin except this time it would be out of malice.  You wanted nothing to do with whatever apology he was about to improvise, you just wanted him to get out of your sight so you could finish up the night, clock out and cry into your pillow at home.  

The progress you’d made with him seemed to have disintegrated like grains of sand passing through your fingers.  It was such a miniscule issue that had only become larger with each sentence exchanged, an escalating argument between immature adults who were emotionally stunted and stubborn.

“Where’s Munson!”  An unfamiliar voice calls from the front.

He ignores it, ducking his head down to catch your eyes only to be met with seething anger.  His brain was scrambling to find a solution, a quick fix to tide you over.  There wasn’t.  He made his bed and he had to lay in it.  He was in the dog house, if you even would be so kind as to provide him a dog house.  He wouldn’t blame you if you chucked him out in the freezing cold for his behavior.

“Bambi–”

“Don’t.”  You grit, pushing past him, his shoulder taking an impressive hit.

As you round the corner, it’s obvious that the four strangers lingering around the bar were Eddie’s friends.  Good.  They could be left to deal with his insufferable personality and rude comments.

“Eddie!”  One of them shouts.  He had to have been younger by a few years, maybe a college student.  His curls are tighter than Eddie’s and he has an adorable grin that you couldn’t frown at any longer as he briefly glances at you.  His attire was nerdy, some kind of polo decorated in graphics on his torso and khaki pants showcasing his unique style.  To top it off, a baseball cap with a university logo sat snugly on his head.

The others appeared to be older, their demeanor a tad more mature than the boy that had yelled for Eddie like a younger sibling.  To the right of him was a man with crazy voluminous hair, you notice how his pants fit quite tightly although it works for him.  He wore a yellow sweater that seemed so cozy, you were starting to grow jealous.  As you subtly look him over, you conclude that he has a handsome face, he was good looking, you weren’t gonna lie to yourself.  He definitely wasn’t your type but you had eyes and could admit that he was in fact cute.

To the handsome guy’s right, is a girl with striking blue eyes and freckles dotting across her face.  She sports a dirty blond bob with some messy bangs, a look that you knew would look horrendous on you but did her justice.  She wears a blue toned flannel and some blue jeans with a few tiny holes and some converse.  The grin on her face is contagious, though you really couldn’t find it in you to provide such a large smile in return, your ears still burning from your previous interaction with he who shall not be named.  

Lastly, next to flannel girl, was perhaps a supermodel?  If not she could certainly be one.  Her face was also adorned in softer freckles and her eyes were a piercing blue, but she had these brown curls that reached just the tops of her shoulders that looked so lucious and well taken care of.  Her outfit was a little bit quirky but it worked and she might as well be a trendsetter in your book.  Her skirt was plaid and pink while her sweater was lavender with several tiny flowers creating a pattern across the fabric.  She wore these boots that you’d die to have in your closet, truthfully.  

Together, as a group they were rather intimidating, especially considering you were the only individual who hadn’t met them yet.  So you idled near the bar, pretending to focus on cleaning a glass that had already been sparkling as all customers had already been served, Eddie tending to his surprise guests, leaving no room for you in the equation.

“What are you doing here?”  Eddie asks, seemingly less than happy.

Each of his friend’s faces fall, no doubt taken back by the fact that they weren’t met with an elated friend they hadn’t seen for a while, instead they were met with his wrath that was more than likely supposed to be reserved for you but happened to slip through the cracks and leak at their feet.  He didn’t have a right to be upset with you, he’s the one who took it too far.  No sympathy was spared for him in your eyes.

“To see you!”  Flannel girl exclaims, hands gesturing wildly in the air.

“Do we smell or somethin’?”  The handsome one asks playfully, a smirk displayed on his face as he pokes Eddie’s shoulder.  “What’s got you so bent outta shape?”  

Eddie sighs, visually huffing out a breath as he controls his irritation.  An apologetic expression crosses his face and you only wish he had the guts to offer you the same look moments ago.  Even if he did, it didn't fix anything.  He still practically insinuated that you had been slutting around with a coworker that you had not once even hugged.  At most, you’d awkwardly side-hugged him a few times.

“Sorry, ‘m sorry.  Just, uh, just under a lot of pressure.”  Eddie rubs the back of his neck.  “Hi, and what are you doing here?”  He asks, a tad more friendly.

“Do I get a hug?”  The younger one asks with a shit-eating grin.  You almost laugh, almost.

Eddie doesn’t hesitate, engulfing the boy in a bone-crushing hug, his palm smacking down on his back which only makes the boy grunt in protest.  Then, each of them receives a tight hug from him.

“It’s called a surprise, Munson.”  The supermodel chirps, her voice gentle and sincere.

At this, you don’t know why but you can feel your teeth grinding.  Your jaw tenses, fists balling up at your sides.  You don’t even try to pretend that you’re occupied with something, that you’re too busy to even notice the interaction.  And she notices.

“You must be Bambi.” 

You hate that she seems so kind, bright blue irises full of compassion tuning in on you.  How she knew the nickname Eddie had selected for you, you weren’t sure.  What you did know is that the name only felt right falling from his lips, no one else’s.  Politely correcting her with your actual name, you can only hope she picks up on the hint.

“Nancy Wheeler.”  She introduces herself, gingerly shaking a hand that you had extended toward her.

You could play nice.  Even as you will yourself to come down from your haze of rage, you can make nice.  These people had nothing to do with what Eddie had said minutes ago, they didn’t deserve to have your first impression of them tainted by the rotten words he spat at you.

“Steve.”  The handsome one brushes past Nancy, gracing you with warm eyes and a lopsided smile, shaking your hand gently.  You wouldn’t expect it from someone dressed so preppy.

It all becomes so overwhelming-

“I’m Robin!”  The other girl chirps in excitement, pushing Steve to the side to clasp her hand in yours.  She wore a handful of delicate rings, a contrast to the chunky ones you were used to Eddie sporting.

“Hey!”  Steve protests, offense written in every line of his face as he displays his disdain.

“Dustin Henderson!”  The younger boy shoves past both of them confidently, his hand shaking yours impressively.

“We have heard so much–”  Robin begins though she’s cut off by Steve lightly smacking a hand against her stomach.

So much personality bursts from each individual before you, not one of them the least bit shy as they continuously take over the conversation from one another.  Robin’s statement only begs the question…what have they heard?  Even further questions surface the more you think about it.  Had Eddie alerted them of your existence back when you first crashed into his peaceful life?  Maybe they’d heard all bad things, all things that painted you as some idiotic girl who cried at even the mention of a confrontation.

Among your silent panic, one question crawled to the forefront of your mind, clawing its way out of the millions of other haunting thoughts.  A question that you had no right to be asking, even if only in the solitude of your brain.

Was Nancy Eddie’s girlfriend?

~end~

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[lisenberry]

WIP Wednesday...

Just a tease in case anyone was wondering if I was ever going to get to the smut in this fic...

The Mountain is You

Ch. 3 snippet:

MDNI/18+/NSFW

CW: Dom/Sub dynamics; fem! inspection; spanking.

You sat back on your heels with your hands folded in your lap as he walked in.  His bootsteps seemed to vibrate across the wooden floor beneath your pillow.  A steady gait, with all of the suspense of a drum roll.

As you faced the high-backed chair, you could only make out the top of him until he made his way closer into view.  He was tall enough when you were standing up.  But on the ground at his feet, he eclipsed everything else around him.  There were no windows, no ceiling.  Just his thighs giving way to his waist, his arms and shoulders. 

Your head tipped back as far as it could just to take him all in, and even then, you came up short of meeting his eyes.

“Already off to a good start, I see.  You look lovely, sweetheart.”  He appraised you in a way that was both agonizingly slow and methodically brief, as he took off his jacket and slowly rolled up his sleeves

“Thank you, sir,” you answered, to the spot on his chest where his flannel shirt opened in a V.  It earned you a quick bob of his head in approval. 

He was starting you off easy.  That much was clear.  Like a teacher on the first day of school.  Throwing you softball questions to gauge how much of the summer reading you’d done over break.  How you responded determined how far he’d go, and which side of him you’d get.

Could he see the goosebumps spreading across your skin at the mere sound of his voice?      

“Next time, I want you to look at me when you say it.”  He bent down only slightly, aiding your efforts just enough that you could obey. 

His clear eyes glinted patiently between his dark lashes.  Dark brows, dark beard.  They were like signal fires along an unknown path.  No choice but to give yourself up and follow.

“Yes, sir.”  A slight smile pulled at the corner of your lips as the first flutter of heat worked its way from your cheeks down to the echoing emptiness in the cradle of your hips.

“Good.  I like to begin with an inspection.  To assess your readiness, and to make sure your healed from the previous session.”

“I’m ready,” you quickly admitted when his bare hand grazed against the side of your cheek.  You turned into it, starved for even the slightest touch of his roughened palm.

“And I like to take my time exploring what’s mine,” he rumbled, firmly snagging a hold of your chin.  A gesture that simultaneously chastised you for speaking out of turn, and possessively staked his claim. 

You let out a surprised breath, and he took the opening as an invitation to slip his fingers inside your parted mouth.  Two at first, and you instinctively flattened your tongue and closed around their impressive girth. 

“That’s it.”  A short hum of approval followed, as your eyes slipped closed while you sucked them deeper.  “Don’t overexert yourself just yet.  There’s plenty of time to show me how much you can take.”

He let you savor him a bit before he pulled out with a wet pop of skin and spit, and you nearly feel forward at the loss.  You licked at the salty trail his skin left behind on your lips.  

“Turn around and bend over the stool.”  He pushed a plushily upholstered ottoman closer behind you.  It was the perfect height to kneel and bend against as your arms fell over the other side. 

“Open your legs wider, don’t be shy.”  He folded up the hem of your skirt and brazenly pawed at the skin of your ass in wide circles.  You felt it stretch and pull at your exposed holes, and you wondered if his skin alone was abrasive enough to leave scratches behind. 

In the way his voice had already left etchings on your mind.

“Christ, you’re soaked.  Have you been touching yourself?”  It was barely even a question, the inflection missing from his even tone.

“Yes.”  He pulled his hands away at your answer, leaving a chill in its absence, intentionally.  “Sir,” you corrected.

“Good girl.”  A harsh clap to your backside was your reward.  It smarted with a sharpness that took you by surprise.  He wasn’t taking it easy anymore.  “What have you been thinking about when you play with my sweet little cunt?”  His hand returned between your legs, and with it, a probing forefinger glided along the split of your folds.

How long had it been since you'd been touched like this? Ghost had only ever let you use toys on yourself. Those were the rules, for your safety and his. Where were the rules now?

This is what you wanted...

“This, sir.”  Another slap, and you felt your muscles melt into the ottoman and your legs part wider to brace for the next impact. 

But it didn’t come.   Instead, he pulled back and cleaned off his slick smeared fingers along the side of your thigh.

“This, sweetheart, was just a warm-up.”

[sports-on-sundays]

prince not so charming / CL16 / PART 5

Warnings : Nausea, vomiting, mention of sex, nudity (not described much), giving birth (not described much), switching from second to third person once at the end

Summary : Charles x princess!reader - Charles and his princess face the possibility of a child.

Author's Note : This is the last part! Thank you to everyone who has enjoyed this, as this little series was my first bit of writings on tumblr ! If you enjoyed it, and are a fan of football or F1, I encourage you to check out my pinned post, because I do take requests ! But overall, special thanks from the bottom of my heart for everyone who read, liked, and reblogged this! And enjoyed it!

Here is the link to part 4, which contains a link to part 3, which contains a link to part 2, which contains a link to part 1.

Whoosh. Clip clop clip clop clop clickity clop clip. Fwoom. People chatter all around you, and some passionate individuals further from you scream out towards the track as the chariots go by.

All the noise and dust. You feel thankful for you umbrella, protecting yourself from the sun that could be beaming on you.

You're used to this. You've been to a few more of Charles' races since you married. It's something you're interested in watching. Not to mention that it's also supporting your husband of course.

So you're used to this.

So why, today, does it all seem to be to much? Why does the dust seem a little too hard to breathe, the sun a little too hot, and the sounds a little too loud?

You rub your head, trying to push the uncomfortable feeling out of your stomach. But there's nowhere for it to go.

Oh goodness. How much longer until this race ends?

You keep your mouth clamped shut as you feel anxiety sink in. You feel nauseous... And tired... So tired... And frankly, weak.

Please, Charles. Hurry up. I need this race to finish. I'm not feeling well.

The heat spins, making everything blend together into a mush of colors, and then your hand clamps over your mouth in panic. The umbrella drops from your shaking hand as you run out of the stands, tripping on your pink skirts multiple times. You don't care. You're sure they're now all dirty on bottom, but you just have to get out of here as fast as you can.

The moment you're out, you can no longer hold it back. In a corner, you vomit, tears coming from your eyes along with it, in shame of running out like that, and of throwing up in public like this, just on the ground.

You're glad your hair is tied up in a tight bun.

Finally, you finish, gasping. You stand there, feeling terrible, as your legs shake, your head spins, and your lip quivers. You breathe deeply, unsure of what to do, when suddenly your savior arrives.

Your savior also just happens to be your husband.

"Y/n!" he exclaims after taking in the scene. He runs to you, wrapping his arms around you.

"Charles, I don't want to get you sick..."

"It's okay," he says right away.

"How did you know where I was?"

"Someone told me you ran out so quickly right after I finished the race, so I came looking for you. Let's get going home, then, and get you in bed."

"Ch- Charles...?" you ask softly, glancing to Charles in the eyes, before looking back down at your fidgeting folded hands in your lap. You're sitting on you and your husband's bed in your nightgown as he finishes up getting ready for bed. "I need to... tell you something."

"Of course," he says, looking up in concern. "Anything, Y/n. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just... I think you should sit down for this."

Charles' eyebrows scrunch together as he sits down next to you, setting his hand on your thigh, giving it a little squeeze. "Yes?"

"I... I... Uh- hm, I think I might be... Charles... I think..." You exhale deeply, before finishing quickly, "I think I'm pregnant."

You must say it so suddenly, it takes Charles a moment to process. He sits, staring, eyes wide for a moment, before saying, a smile lighting up his eyes in excitement, throwing his arms around you, "Oh, my goodness... I don't know what to think... I-!" He squeezes you tighter, showering your cheeks with kisses, saying, "That's good! That's good, isn't it?!"

You nod slowly, feeling stress set in even further. "Y- Yeah..."

"How do you know you're pregnant?"

"Well, I don't know... But I should have gotten my period at least twice already, I think... And I haven't. And as you know, I haven't been feeling well... I don't know when I got pregnant, but... Maybe two months ago roughly?"

"We got married two months ago," Charles points out simply.

"Well, yeah, but... We slept together after the wedding."

"I suppose you're right... I think the midwives have ways if testing it, you know."

You shake you head 'no' slowly. "I think we should just watch it for now."

"Wait, turn around-" Charles suddenly says.

"Charles, it's not the time. I'm trying to get dressed. We're already going to be late, no?"

"It's okay. Just turn around. Please."

You sigh, doing so, and suddenly, his strong, big hands are on your stomach, feeling around. Then they cup a tiny little...

A little bump.

You exhale suddenly in surprise, your hands going to his shoulders.

"Oh, no... My goodness... You really think...?" you stutter softly.

"Yes, I do really think... I think? We should ask the castle's midwives. They have those tests."

You shake your head 'no', though. "We should wait and see if it grows into... well, if it grows into an obvious pregnant belly. I just... I just want to keep this between you and me for now."

"Of course. We'll just keep watching it."

Over the next weeks, the bump grows, until you're sure it must be what you thought it was from the beginning. Once you and Charles verbally decide this with each other, it's like he can't contain his excitement.

At every opportunity, he's kissing your tummy, placing his hands on it. When you cuddle in bed, it's the center of it all. Nonstop, he's talking about how excited he is, and how he can't wait. How he's going to take care of you and the baby. How he wonders if it's a boy or a girl. How he hopes he'll be a good father.

You keep telling him not to get too far ahead of himself, even though soon enough you know the secret of your pregnancy will have to get out. After all, something like that becomes hard to hide after a while.

You love the feeling of his warm hands and loving kisses on you, though. The fact that he has nothing but excitement calms some of your fears over the whole situation.

"May I speak for a moment, please?"

The table goes quiet as all eyes go on Charles. You know what he's about to do. You spoke it over. Regardless, you're still nervous about it for some unknown reason. You know there's really no reason to be...

Right?

But all those eyes on the two of you...

"Me and my beautiful wife are proud to announce that we're going to be having a child."

Those at the table are your family. Charles family, and your father. Both Charles' mother and your father's faces light up with pride. Lorenzo says, "Oh, Charles, that's wonderful!"

And of course Arthur's action is to lean forward (staining his royal white suit in his plate of food) to see if he can see your middle.

Lorenzo quickly orders the youngest Leclerc brother to have his seat and pay attention, because he got food all over his nice shirt.

You sigh of relief. You knew everyone would be very happy to learn of the news. But for some reason, you were still anxious. You're so glad it turned out.

You recline, eating some toast Charles brought to you after you complained about wanting some, licking the blue jam off your fingers, watching and listening as Charles sits at his piano, playing a nice little tune. A song he's apparently creating. He looks elegant and handsome there, sitting straight, his fingers moving over the keys so naturally, looking so relaxed.

King of like an angel, maybe.

But then it happens.

And you're reaction is to sit for a moment, eyes wide, before squealing, "Charles!"

Right away his fingers leave the keys of the piano, and he stands up, looking at you in concern. "Yes, my love? Is everything okay?"

You stare at him. "'My love...?'" you ask. Up until now, all he's called you is 'my wife', 'my princess', or simply, of course, just your name.

"Oh... I said that out loud?" he chuckles, after realising you're okay.

"Yes, you did!" you laugh, both hands resting on your pregnant tummy.

He smiles, sitting next to you. He pulls you onto his lap, placing both hands over yours. "That's how I think of you. I call you that in my head. Guess I've just never spoken it. I thought you would think it's too sappy. But I'm sure you already think I'm too sappy." He kisses your cheek from behind, before gently licking the edge of your ear.

"Oh, stop that!" you giggle

He huffs, but gently leans his chin on your shoulder with a nod. "Anyway, why did you call me over? Do you need something?" He leans back.

"No," you say, remembering with an excited smile. "But the baby moved, I think!"

Right away, Charles hands move under yours, and he sits there, just waiting, until suddenly he also feels it. "Y/n!" he gasps in excitement.

"I know!" You giggle softly again.

He hugs you tight, sighing in contentment.

From then on, every single night in bed, he takes to whispering. Whispering to the child inside of you, and rubbing your tummy. In the beginning, he whispers sweet-nothings in English, but soon enough, he's muttering in his own native language. You always love it when he speaks his language. It puts you right to sleep every night.

"Charles, I can't be going to a wedding!"

"But... we have to go. I know this person too much. If I don't go, that would look terrible. And it would look even worse if I went without you!" You can tell Charles is panicking (as much as he can panic. His panicking is like your moderate worrying) as he paces back and forth, and suddenly, guilt hits you.

"Charles," you sniff, stifling a sob as you look away. "I'm so sorry... I'll try more t-"

"Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa," he suddenly says, slipping down next to you, wrapping his arms around you. "It's okay. Sh, come on now, it's okay. I'll figure something out..."

"I'm so sorry... You're so stressed, and now I'm crying and you're trying to pretend this isn't bothering y-"

"Hey, it's all right. I just don't want you to cry, okay?"

But you can't help but cry more, "I'm sorry..."

He hugs you tighter. "You're dealing with a lot right now. It's hard carrying a baby. I know you're going through the effects of that."

"I've been aching so much lately..." you sniff.

"I know. It's a lot. I know. I could never be as strong as you are. I could never do that. It'd kill me. You're extremely strong, and I haven't told you that enough, but I'm very proud of you."

You sigh, snuggling into his warm body with a nod. "Thank you... Charles, I'm sorry for overreacting. I am only a little over halfway through this pregnancy. I can still go to a wedding with you. It's okay."

"Are you sure? The last thing I want to do is put you through discomfort."

"No, it's okay. I know I'll be with you. So I'll be okay."

He smiles softly at this comment, rubbing your lower back, where he knows you've been aching a lot. "Okay. Okay."

Lately you've just been staying around home (Charles worries about you going to his races, so you stopped until the baby is born), and mostly just wearing nightgowns or housecoats, so getting a dress to fit around your growing bump is a tiresome pain. Of course the servant girls gush over the baby soon to be born, which just drives you crazy. Only Charles is allowed to gush over it like that. (He does, too. Quite often.) And the chest area of your new dress has to be made larger, as well, of course.

While you're not excited about your growing chest and tummy as much, Charles definitely has been.

"Charles," you breathe, leaning your head on his shoulder. "I'm tired. Can we go? And itchy."

He kisses you and nods. "Of course."

The whole way home, you sleep on his shoulder.

"I had an idea," Charles claims, walking into the room.

"Be quieter," you mutter. Your hands are on your tummy, feeling as the baby inside you move. It still amazes you...

There is a baby growing inside of me.

Charles changes into more comfortable clothes and lays down next to you, putting his hand next to yours.

"What's your idea?" you ask him.

"I'm always touching your tummy. And you are too."

"Sure?" you ask, looking to him. You can't help but laugh softly when you see the little excited hope in his bright eyes. "You're adorable. What's your idea?"

For the past seven months, as you are now that far into your pregnancy, Charles has had that look. He's been so excited. Super protective over you and the child within your womb. He can't wait to be a daddy. And you're sure he'll be a very good one.

Probably a better parent than you'll ever be, anyway.

"I got this scented oil, and I thought it might feel good if I rubbed it on you."

You smile. "Sure. Why not?" You sit up a little, still reclining, as he sits up all the way. You're already wearing underclothes, your belly exposed.

Of course Charles (for no other reason but the desire in his eyes) decides that in order to do this, he must also remove your bra.

Okay, Charles.

But it feels good. It really does. He rubs all over your chest and tummy, and you lean back, letting him, inhaling the sweet scents of the oils.

You sit in the garden by yourself, rubbing your tummy.

The midwives say five weeks.

That number has hit you like the chariots Charles races in.

In five weeks or less, I'll be giving birth to our child.

A year ago, you would have never imagined being here.

You're terrified.

"Y/n?"

You sigh. Charles. How does he always seem to find you? He doesn't let you be upset. He's way too good at comforting.

He sits down next to you in the bench. It's chilly outside, but winter has passed, and you know spring is coming soon. You're wrapped in fur coats. He wraps an arm around your back. "Are you crying?"

You nod slowly.

"Oh, my love," he says, softly trying to wipe some of the tears away with his sleeve. "What's wrong?"

"I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"Giving birth. It's coming so soon."

"I know it is... Why are you scared of it, though?"

"Charles, I don't think you know this. But there's a reason why you've never seen my mother. She passed away years ago. She passed away giving birth to me..."

Charles hugs you tight.

"Sometimes, I wonder how she was. What kind of person was she? What kind of mother would she have been? Was she a proper lady? Did she like athletics? Did she mind a little bit of dirt? Did she have a good sense of humor? My father never talks about her. I always wonder and..." you sniff. "I don't want you to have to tell our baby how I was, or what kind of mother you thought I would've been."

Charles sniffs as well, although he's not crying. "It's... please do not worry about such things. That was twenty-five years ago. Our midwives are very good. Experienced, skilled, and they know what they're doing in order to keep you and our child safe. I would never let anything bad happen to you. Or the baby." He places a hand on your tummy. "I love you both too much."

"But, Charles, what if there's not anything you could do about it? What if no matter how much you love me, it still doesn't work out, and your heart is broken anyway? I'm sure my father told my mother the same kind of things you're telling me before I was born..."

"Y/n, please. Just stop. I know it will be okay. I know we will get through. I know that in five weeks, you'll be sitting with a healthy little newborn in your arms."

"But what if I'm not? What if you're sitting with a healthy newborn in your arms, c- cr- crying? Because I'm-"

"Stop!" Charles suddenly yells, pulling away from you.

You stare at him in awe.

This is the first time he's ever yelled at you.

He continues, voice still raised, "You'll be okay! So will the child, and so will I be! Everyone will be safe and healthy, and everything will go as planned! Okay?" He's on the edge of screaming, his hand gripping your shoulder too tightly. "So stop worrying about nothing!"

You swallow, nodding.

Maybe he's worried, too. And instead of crying about it...

He's yelling about it.

Maybe he's trying to convince not only you of his words, but also himself.

This makes you cry more.

Immediately Charles suddenly softens again, and practically whines, "Please stop crying..." He sighs. "Please..." His head drops onto resting on your pregnant belly, which is now very firm. He stays in his position, but says, suddenly his tone bright, "Let's talk about something else!"

You stare at the back of his head, with his light brown messy hair that's in need of a trim.

When did you start loving this man so much?

You let out a shaky sigh.

In the past minute, he went from comforting, to angry, to panicking, to in a cheery mood.

What?

He continues, "I think after the baby is born, and after your father can no longer rule, Lorenzo will allow us to move to your island, where we can rule together! Doesn't that sounds good, Y/n?"

You shrug and nod, wiping away a tear. "Yeah, that will be nice... That would be... nice. It's what I want. Thank you for working for that for me, Charles."

"Do you think it will be a boy or a girl?" he asks right away then.

You shrug. "I don't know. I'll be happy either way, I guess. I think you'll be a great father, Charles."

He smiles, and chuckles softly. "I hope so, my love. You will be a lovely mother. I can picture you with our baby, drinking from your breast... Your hair falling over your shoulders. Your skin shining golden. The love in your eyes. I'm quite attracted to the concept of you being a mother, Y/n."

You laugh softly. "Clearly. And I doubt my skin will be shining, but we'll see about that, I suppose."

"What are you thinking for names?"

You think a few seconds. "I don't know. Maybe if it's a boy, we could just name him after you. You know, Charles."

"I think our kid should have his or her own name. I don't want them to be named after either of us."

You nod. "Got any ideas, then?"

He shrugs, saying casually, sitting up finally, "For a boy, Jules might be okay."

"Why Jules?"

"My good friend and godfather. That was his name. Really the best man anyone ever met."

"Oh... I-"

"Anyone would be honored to be named after him. Either way, I don't know, though. You have to be okay with it too, and you idin't even know him. Got any ideas for a girl's name?"

You think for a few seconds. "For girls, I've always liked Eleanor. Ella would be a cute nickname. I also like Charlotte. And for boys, Jadon... or James. Something like that. But I don't know. We'll see when the baby comes, I suppose, no?"

He shrugs. "Yes, I suppose so, huh?

For the next weeks, because of Charles care about you, he always wants the midwives near you. Unless he's near you. He loves being alone with you, and gets excited at every single sign that the baby is just around the corner. At every sign, you get more anxious. When false labor starts, Charles stays with you whenever he can, and always makes sure midwives are close to help you in case...

Well, in case it's time.

The anxiety you feel is terrible, but you hide it from Charles.

Despite all the pain you feel as the days go on, and the heaviness of your large pregnant tummy, you prepare a bed for the baby with Charles, and other things your child will need.

You try to push out all your worries, but it's very difficult.

To hear his wife say the words, "It's now. I'm going to have the baby. Soon!"

That's kind of scary.

He gets the midwives right away, and she gets settled in the room they've prepared for her for the birthing process.

My nerves. Oh goodness, these nerves.

Charles' nerves could be cut with a knife.

"Charles, I'm scared."

"It's going to be okay. Just relax," are the words he manages.

Of course, he hates to hear those words, 'Charles, I'm scared,' come from his beloved's mouth. The wavering way it comes from her soft beautiful lips sends a sinking feeling into Charles' chest.

And then the process begins. The midwives try different positions with her, despite her wish to just lay down.

Charles keeps his hand in hers the whole time. It's like as if time stops in that little room, until Charles sees the sun rising outside the window.

How long has it been?

Please. Please, I need this baby to be born soon. She needs this baby to be born soon.

"Keep pushing."

Charles swallows as his wife cries, squeezing his hand tight and continues to moan in pain.

Oh God. Oh goodness, love.

Please... Please... Please make it.

You gasp when you hear the crying of your baby. Charles hand slips out of yours, and you watch as he walks across the room to the midwives. You're so tired, you don't understand what's happening.

You get a sudden sinking feeling.

"Is the- Is the baby okay? A- Alive?" you ask in panic, gripping the bed.

But the tiny little baby is placed into your arms. "Say hello to your baby boy, Princess Y/n."

You feel a tear slip from you eye as you look at the tiny little baby in your arms.

That you and Charles made.

You know, the one that's been causing you problems for the past nine months.

This little guy.

You've grown so much in these past nine months.

You feel Charles arm come around your back.

I can never let anything happen to this little beautiful, innocent, perfect child. I will never let anything happen to him. I can't. I love him too much.

Charles kisses the side of your head.

You sit, rocking the child slowly, for who knows how long, before he starts feeding from your breast. Charles rubs your back softly. "It feels funny," you softly giggle.

Charles laughs softly, too, taking your hand and gently rubbing it. "What did I tell you? I told you it would all turn out, didn't I?"

"Yes," you sigh. "Yes, you did. It was hard, and now I'm so tired I feel like I could pass out, but we made it. All three of us made it."

"You don't have to tell me how hard it was. I was here the whole time," Charles teases, but his smile becomes slightly more faint as he mutters with such love, "I'm so proud of you... It was terrible to watch you in such pain... I knew the least I could do was stay with you no matter what."

"It was hard. One time, you left to go to the bathroom, and I got worried. You know, I begged for you. The midwives told me you'd be back soon. And everything turned out, Charles, didn't it?"

"Oh, my love," he breathes in the sappiest tone. He kisses your cheek again, and you can feel the emotions radiating off of him- excitement, relief, pride, tiredness, desire, but most of all, love. "You should have believed me when I said everything would be okay."

"Yeah, I know..."

"Because here we are. Three of us. All safe and sound."

"Yeah... Three," you smile at the child in your arms.

After quite a long time, you hand your son to his father. Charles holds him, rocking him back and forth. Such contentment.

The way he holds him with that little smile down at the tiny little being. So much love and protection. So much fatherly love.

"I love you," Charles whispers softly, and you know he's talking to both of you.

[mvrdermeharder]

Kaiser-goal analysis Part 3: Magnus

This is the final part of my analysis that started out with me trying to make sense of the Kaiser’s goal celebrations, and why they differ from other strikers’. I highly recommend you to read part 1 and part 2 before reading this. Or, at least checking out part 1, if you don’t have that much time

[Tagging u again @pixie05love and @fyeahkainess]

The leadup:

I had left it off with how Kaiser is utterly irrational now, emotions clouding his judgement. This has never occurred to this extreme before, even though he’s been fixating on Isagi for a while now. What I find interesting is that Ness actually comments on Kaiser’s strange and irrational play, and how it doesn’t benefit him. I think this is the first time that Ness has dared to propose an idea or tried to take control in any way.

Kaiser does not give a shit about Ness’ suggestions however: because of his miskick, his offer from real is on the line too. He is feeling it more than ever, the threat of having nothing to his name, of becoming inhuman again. So then he throws it all away, and accepts that he is a “piece of shit”. Discovers his one true ego, his one true desire: to be loved.

(I’m sorry, I’m aware this was me re-narrating the story and what everyone already knows, but it’s very important to be on the same page for the continuation)

Another small thing that I just can’t fit anywhere else: now that Kaiser is playing with cool rationality again, it’s Ness who makes emotional, and desperate plays. But Kaiser now sees that unless the conditions are met for his weapon, it is not worth risking another failure.

Symbolism for love: the moon, the ball, the goal

There is a strong visual connection between Kaiser’s confession to the moon about how he wishes to be loved, and the ball, which will help him accomplish this desire. Look at the placement of the moon and the ball: they are in the same place in their respected panels, and they are (almost) of the same size as well.

And in the panel above, it looks like the ball in motion doesn’t have any details. It resembles the moon. The thing that Kaiser reaches up to, as if it could help him accomplish his desire to be loved. It looks like the “moon” is the ball, but it is not stationary anymore, it’s moving towards the goal, helping Kaiser accomplish his wish.

The act of scoring a goal is aiming for love and receiving it. For now, it’s the only way Kaiser thinks he can be loved, as it is said out loud later on in ch 279.

Celebration

There is an astronomical difference here: directly contrasting the first goal celebration, instead of Kaiser leaning down into the shadows, he is engulfed by light. This light comes from upwards, and ONLY illuminates Kaiser, the background is black otherwise -> darkness ~ night, light ~ moonlight.

He is reaching up for the moon again. Just like in his childhood, he’s reaching up for love.

And he has acquired it for now with this goal. He closes his fist here, he has gotten a grab of the moon, of the love, all thanks to this goal. He looks much more uncomposed in this pose than he ever has so far. It’s cathartic, full of satisfaction and self-fulfillment as he’d acquired his one true wish in that moment.

He’s also not looking for the other players’ reaction. Causing pain and taking pleasure in it doesn’t matter anymore, it’s not the root of his ego. He does not celebrate with sadism any longer, instead he is totally focused on himself, head tipped towards the ground, standing in a pose that is simultaneously solitary and beautiful.

And he doesn’t even face us, the readers either. Nomura and Kaneshiro are indicating that the celebration is solely for Kaiser to have: no one else can get close to observe his celebration, his expressions, and his emotions.

Vines and Ego

Another thing that solidifies how he has found his true ego are the vines. Prior to this, they had been colored white (or green or whatever) … the point is that they are now darker. They look solid, unbreakable. Before - just like his glass chain on the cover for volume 19 – the white vines appear snappable, like you could cut right through them if you tried hard enough: visually indicating his fragile ego. Now they look thornier than ever, stronger, more resistant. Like no one could break his desire to aim for love, his newfound ego.

But what I find interesting is that the black vines do not appear when he’s first changing his playstyle and throwing himself into restriction. They are still white, which clearly indicate that this new mentality is not the right one either: him perceiving himself as a piece of shit who can only live in restriction, is just as a fragile of a mentality is as the one he’d had before (his desire live on as a scar inside others). Even when he prepares to shoot the ball the vines stay white.

They only turn black AS he kicks the ball and as he remembers what he longs for the most = love. After the flashback we can literally see the vines turn gradually darker and stronger.

After his goal, as he revels in “attaining a bit of love”, so the vines stay black for a while.

However, in ch 279, as Kaiser gets the foundation of his existence wrong again (“I can only live by hurting others”) the vines are white as he’s aiming to shoot. They are only dark when the ball is not in his control anymore: when it’s on its own way to the goal = on its way to fulfill Kaiser’s wish for love.

And in ch 283 they are white again… and I’ll be honest, it’s quite difficult to figure out what it could mean. Maybe that after ch 279 Kaiser is pushing himself into the wrong mentality again…? This masochistic view of himself, about how he’s a piece of shit who can never be loved and can only hurt others… how he always SHOULD yearn for love when trying to score a goal, but he can never gain love outside of football.

(At least this is how I personally interpret the inconsistent coloring of the vines…)

Also, a sidenote: as I’ve tried to analyze how the moon symbolizes stuff and how it holds so much importance regarding Kaiser’s story… plus how he wants to gain love through scoring but doesn’t view himself as someone deserving of it outside the pitch… yk what this reminded me of? MICK MOON’S STORY

Yeah…

If you follow me, you will never escape the “Kaiser might end up like Mick Moon” theory.

Interactions with Ness

So, Ness did not assist for the Magnus goal, however he is still happy for Kaiser (“at some point his dreams became mine” + kaiser’s manipulative love-bombing after the goals). So he approaches him, even though Kaiser is keeping his back to him again, instead of being affectionate.

So when Kaiser turns to him over his shoulder we can get a brief look at his eyes: and to me, they look full of pity and sadness…

After that though, he directly turns to Ness to acknowledge him but ultimately breaks things off. And this is important: Ness has a clear view of his face, of his eyes, emotions, all of that. But we readers do not. We can’t see his expressions because it doesn’t matter what Kaiser is feeling while speaking and cutting Ness off. It doesn’t matter whether his face is emotionless, sad, pitying, full of regret…

Because it doesn’t fucking matter FOR NESS. Only the outcome, the words, the results of Kaiser’s words does: that Ness is not needed anymore.

Which implies that this scene's protagonist is NOT Kaiser. It’s Ness. So, it’s fair to assume that he’s going to get a lot of development eventually, because of how this scene’s been constructed specifically around Ness.

And later on, we’re still seeing Ness chasing after the affection that Kaiser usually gives him as a reward, really just confirming my theory about Kaiser love-bombing him intentionally. Ness has been treated this way FOR YEARS, his only connection is Kaiser, his dreams literally depend on him… of course he isn’t just going to give up all that. Of course he still tries to stick to Kaiser, as he does not know how to play football otherwise (and how to exist otherwise…).

(I’ve always found it a bit strange that some ppl were just expecting Ness to immediately side with Isagi, get revenge on Kaiser, or to just get over him during this match… Ness had been manipulated to stay by Kaiser’s side for a looooong while, there is no way he can realistically find himself again that quickly)

Interactions with Isagi

Directly contrasting his break-up with Ness, we see Kaiser’s face more clearly than ever: it is not covered by his hair, as he’s intentionally pushing it out of the way to FULLY face Isagi, and his eyes are totally open here instead of his usual half-lidded look (I’m referring to panel to the right).

And this scene not only contrasts with how he interacts with Ness, but it’s also a 180 when we consider his past interactions with Isagi. In my first part, I’ve mentioned how he has either kept his back to him (only turning to belittle), or how after the bicycle kick goal, he looks at Isagi from afar, not bothering to talk to him. He looks at him from underneath his fringe, as he’s trying to cover his frustrations and expressions with his hair.

But now he acknowledges, respects and understands Isagi’s strengths. After all, it is the thing that has catapulted his evolution to score the Magnus.

This respect shows in the way that he doesn’t actually touch Isagi during this new confrontation, they are finally standing eye to eye, challenging each other without trying to belittle through physical contact.

And on a larger scheme, this indicates how he’s able to face a challenge head on now: with respect for his opponents, and the will to aim higher than he is now.

. . .

Whew okay, i'm finally done.

First of all, I'm very sorry that I'm posting this so much later than I had promised. Truth is, I was kind of afraid to start writing this, bc there are already a lot of great posts analyzing this goal specifically... So idk if I could add anything that hasn't been said already xd

But if you've read down this far, i truly love you in the least parasocial way possible. Honestly.