#which to me had been glaringly obvious from the start

[scootersscooter]

Don't think I'll ever forget how y'all bitches villified Camila Noceda and made her out to be an abusive parent for literally no reason other than racism

[pathologicalreid]

buried alive | S.R.

in which the BAU races against the clock to rescue you from a killer team

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category: angsty

content warnings: kidnapping, case stuff (murder yk), suffocation, being buried alive, hospitals, blood, nausea, CPR, funerals, use of pet names, guns, and drugs. i think that's all.

word count: 2.9k

a/n: okay, so i've been reading so much spencer fanfic and i started writing it and yesterday i realized i have 20 fics written and they're doing no one any good just sitting on my computer. i decided to finally try posting one. i wrote fanfic in high school (so like seven years ago) but this is my first time writing for a TV show. i've also never really posted on tumblr so please bear with me while i try to figure out formatting. tysm for checking out my post.

part two part three

You walked into the conference room and dropped the file on the table, allowing it to land on the wood with a satisfying splat. “The unsub’s burying them alive,” you said, letting the rest of the team know the conclusion you had come to with the medical examiner. “The M.E. found metal shavings and satin threads under the nails of our last victim. The most common materials to make up a casket.”

“There’s no way someone could bury someone alive in a casket alone, we’ve got to be dealing with a team, at least three people,” Emily concluded, standing in front of the evidence board.

It was the team’s third day on a case in Nebraska, four women had been discovered dead. Asphyxiation by hypoxia. Carbon dioxide poisoning.

“Approximately 420 people in the United States die from accidental carbon dioxide poisoning every year,” Spencer said, grabbing the file off of the table and flipping through it, taking a few seconds to read through it.

Rossi looked over Reid’s shoulder to look at the file, “but there’s nothing accidental about these deaths. Who would have access to these caskets?”

You shook your head, placing a hand on the back of Spencer’s chair, “A funeral director seems most likely.” You looked around at the Omaha field office, different agents running about in an attempt to solve these very murders. “They’d have the most access, write it off as displays. It could be hard to match the materials since they’re so common.”

Hotch leaned over the table and pressed the conference phone, “What can I do you for?” Garcia’s bright voice rang through the speaker.

“Garcia, I need you to look into funeral homes within the comfort zone. Look for a director who’s ordered more caskets than they’ve had funerals. Find anything, nothing is too small.” He told her.

“Absolutely, I’ll hit you back when I’ve got something,” she said, hanging up the phone.

There ended up being four funeral homes in the unsub’s comfort zone, so the team split up. You went with two locals to a family-owned business, Garcia had sent you all of the files you’d need on the location. “It looks like the Varn family has been in the funeral business since the seventeenth century,” you read aloud to the two agents you were in the car with.

“Does it mean they’re more or less likely to be the killers if they’ve been in business for so long?” One of the agents asked you, a younger man named Harrison.

You pursed your lips as you continued to look over the files, “I’m not seeing any glaringly obvious stressors before the murders started, but over the years I’ve learned that’s no reason to write someone off. Psychopaths can be tipped off by the slightest thing. Things none of us would bat an eye at.”

Harrison nodded in the passenger seat, looking over to his partner Jimmy, “You and your guy sure do make an interesting pair.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment, so thank you.” You and Spencer never explicitly stated to the field office that you were dating, but you walked into the precinct this morning holding hands. The agents must have drawn their own conclusions.

The younger officer cleared his throat, “It is a compliment, ma’am. The two of you are very impressive, your whole team is.”

You smiled, “Thank you, Harrison.”

The funeral home was run by a mother and her two sons, you held up your credentials for the mother when you knocked on the door. “Are you Sheila Varn?” You asked her, raising your eyebrows.

“Yes, what’s this about?” She inquired. She didn’t really look the part of a serial killer, a middle-aged woman who was running her family business.

Pocketing your credentials, you spoke, “We’re investigating the recent murders in the area and we were wondering if you had samples of the materials your caskets are made out of. Might we be able to come in?” You asked, adding a charming smile for effect.

Something flashed across her face before she returned your smile, opening the door and welcoming the three of you inside. “Hold on, let me get my boys up here. They’re so much more versed in the goings on of the town than I am,” she said, opening the door and calling for her sons. Felix and Joss came up the stairs from the basement, now they definitely had the physique to load dead women into caskets and bury them alive.

“Why don’t you two men come with me? I’ll get you those samples,” Sheila said, motioning for the agents you were with to follow her. To your horror, they followed her around the corner. “Felix, Joss, show this young lady what you know,” she instructed.

You took a deep breath before you looked up at the two men.

They were tall, maybe Spencer’s height, but they were built like wrestlers. There was no way you could physically subdue them on your own.

You passed out before you even had the chance to pull your gun.

Hotch was in full Unit Chief mode, Spencer watched from the corner of the room as he separated people into groups and gave them specific instructions. JJ and Morgan walked into the precinct, “What’s going on?” JJ asked looking around the room.

“The Varn Family is the team; two agents were found drugged on the side of the road and when we went to the funeral home Y/N was missing. Her badge, gun, and phone were all there, covered in blood,” Spencer said morosely, watching as Hotch finished giving orders and called the rest of the team over.

Your picture was up on the evidence board with the word “missing” written in bold letters beneath it. All of your belongings had been put into evidence for the time being. “Reid?” Hotch said his name, causing his head to snap up. “Are you okay to keep working?”

Spencer nodded affirmatively, “Yes.”

“Good, I need you to estimate how much time we have, I want a clock on these screens,” he ordered.

Morgan turned to Reid, “What do you think she has, kid?”

“The tidal volume for the average adult is point five at rest. That ends up being about six liters per minute. The average casket is approximately 886 liters in total volume and the average volume of the human body is 66 liters, leaving 820 liters to be filled with air for her to breathe. If she’s been gone for half an hour already, I’d estimate she has less than five hours of breathable air left.” Spencer explained, doing all of the math in his head while Emily put a timer on the screen next to the evidence board.

After a moment, Hotch continued, “Rossi, JJ, go back to the funeral home. Tear it apart, there has to be something there we haven’t found yet. The rest of us will split the list of cemeteries in the comfort zone and search them.”

“That’s a lot of ground to cover, we don’t have anything else to go on?” Morgan asked, looking at the list of burial sites he had been handed.

Hotch looked at Spencer, but Spencer stayed silent. “That’s all we have right now,” Hotch responded, “hopefully we’ll come across leads as we go.”

It smelled like a garden around you. The memory reminded you of spring with your mother, tending to the vegetable garden.

The only difference was that instead of the sun beaming down on you, it was pitch black. The space surrounding you was so dark that you weren’t totally sure your eyes were open.

Your head was throbbing just above your right temple, and you observed your surroundings. Slowly, you lifted your arm until it hit a ceiling.

Not a ceiling. A lid. You were in a casket. You pressed one hand to your chest and tried to slow your breathing. Chances were that the casket was already buried beneath the surface of the earth, trying to open it could be catastrophic. You patted the pockets of your jeans, only to find your phone missing, so the team wouldn’t be able to trace the location.

Even if you had it, there likely wouldn’t be service six feet under.

Your team would find you. They had to find you.

They found Spencer, they found Emily, and they would find you.

Spencer shifted in the passenger seat of the SUV, “You know, carbon dioxide poisoning is a rather peaceful way to die.”

“Reid,” Morgan said, turning the vehicle onto the main road, they had just finished scouring over another cemetery with still no sign of you.

He sighed and stared at his hands, “No, it’s good. We see so many people killed in so many different ways that it’s good that she won’t be in pain when she runs out of air.” He tried to convince himself.

Morgan cleared his throat, “We aren’t out of time yet, kid. We can still find her. Y/N’s smart, I’m sure she found a way to make more air or something.”

But they were running out of time, less than an hour remained on the timer set on all of their phones.

They pulled into the next cemetery, “There’s some fresh dirt over there, what are the names on the graves of people who were actually recently buried?”

Spencer starts to recite the names, and the two of them start to comb through the cemetery.

You had done enough research on this case to understand what was going on. The light-headed feeling had started not long ago, but now you felt like you were spinning, despite the knowledge that you were stuck in place.

It was a high. Not unlike the good kids high. Except instead of trying to chase a feeling, you were dying.

The timer went off when they were still scouring graves, shovels in hand. Derek stopped in his tracks, but Spencer kept going.

“Wait,” Spencer called out, reading the name on the card next to the fresh grave he was standing at, he moved to start digging. “Essie Dunbar was a thirty-year-old woman who was mistakenly buried alive in 1915,” he said, digging. “This has to be it.”

Derek called Hotch, putting the call on speakerphone so he could help Spencer dig. “Hotch, we got her, but she’s buried.”

“We’re on our way, Omaha police have one of the brothers in custody,” Hotch told Emily to have an ambulance dispatched.

What Reid knew that Derek didn’t was that it could take four hours to dig a grave by hand. The soil had been overturned, so maybe call it three. Your odds were still negligible. He didn’t stop, he didn’t stop when a caretaker came running at them, and he didn’t stop when Derek told him to get his digging equipment out here now.

Derek flashed his FBI badge to get what they needed. He had to physically pull Spencer back from the grave so the backhoe could dig, only going until there was less than a foot between them and the casket.

Spencer crudely attached a chain to the casket and the caretaker's vehicle. Carefully, the caretaker dragged the white container out of the earth and up a slant they had dug. It was locked shut, “Reid, move,” Derek ordered.

He leaned back and Derek fired at the lock, taking it off and opening the casket. Spencer gasped, there was blood on the side of your head, dried and raked through your hair. He was vaguely aware of Hotch and Emily arriving as they pulled you out of your satin prison. You had no pulse, but you were still warm. Immediately, Spencer started CPR.

“Reid let me do it,” Derek insisted.

What he was trying to say is that he shouldn’t have to be the one to try to save your life.

Morgan repeated himself and Spencer pulled away, allowing the other agent to immediately take over. There was a siren in the background, an ambulance. More people showed up, Spencer heard their voices, but he just kept watching you. CPR was effective if it was done shortly after your heart stopped, and even then, permanent brain damage was likely.

It had been eight minutes since they pulled you out of the ground. Clinically, you were dead for eight minutes before you gasped.

Spencer smoothed your hair back, away from your face, while you desperately tried to catch your breath. You weren’t moving, and Spencer started running through symptoms of hypoxia. His biggest fear was brain damage, that they had done more harm to you in bringing you back than they would have had you died.

The EMTs came running over to where everyone had gathered, dispersing the crowd, and placing an oxygen mask over your face. As they were loading you on the stretcher, you started trying to talk, reaching your arm out to your side. “Wait, what’s she saying?” JJ asked.

“Sometimes it’s hard to talk after CPR,” the male EMT said as they moved you closer to the ambulance. He listened to what you were saying, “It’s not coherent.”

Spencer didn’t move, all of the adrenaline that had been coursing through his body all day was leaving.

Aphasia. They were saying the lack of oxygen to your brain was causing aphasia. “No,” Emily said, realization dawning on her features as she strained to listen to you. You were whispering, rasping the same word over and over again. “She’s saying ‘Spence.’”

He stood quickly and looked at you, sure enough, you were reaching out your hand and whispering, “Spence, Spence.” Your voice no more than a whisper.

Grabbing your hand, Spencer squeezed it, “I’m here,” he answered. “It’s okay, it’s over,” he told you, moving your hair out of your face. Spencer secured your oxygen mask over your face as you tried to take it off, “You have to keep this on, angel.”

To his relief, you squeezed his hand back.

You had been instructed to get some rest, but you couldn’t close your eyes. You asked Spencer to go back to the hotel and change his clothes because he smelled like dirt, and it made you nauseous. Your head had been bandaged, you’d been run through an MRI, and you did an EEG, so far, the only brain damage that had been incurred seemed temporary.

According to the doctors, the nausea and fatigue should wear off, but they hadn’t been able to fully assess if any permanent damage was done. At this point, the worst of your injuries had been caused by being given CPR, resulting in cracked ribs.

Despite your headache, you kept most of the lights on in your hospital room, not quite ready to be left in the darkness again. “Hey,” a voice called from your doorway, Spencer stood, waiting to be invited in. He was wearing different clothes, a button-up with a green cardigan thrown over it, and clean pants. “How are you feeling?”

A nasal cannula slightly restricted your movement, but you were sat up in the hospital bed, “Better than I was, but not perfect.”

He shook his head, walking in and taking a seat next to you, “No one expects you to be perfect right now.” Gently, he reached out and took your hand, skimming the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. “They found the mother and the other son, and all three of them are going to go away for a long time,” he told you, speaking in the kind of hushed, reverent tones that are reserved for hospitals.

You sighed and tilted your head back, “Good,” you maundered. “That’s uh, good,” your voice was barely audible.

“So why do you look so worried?” He asked, leaning in closer to you.

In an attempt to dismiss his concern, you joked, “I think I owe Morgan some sort of life debt now.”

Spencer offered you a soft smile, “The two of you tend to trade those off, I’m sure you’ll find some way to make it up to him.” He inclined his head towards you as if to silently say, So what is it really?

You swallowed thickly, “I’m scared to close my eyes, Spence.”

His shoulders dropped, “oh, Angel,” he breathed. “Is there anything I can do for you?” He asked, looping a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “Wait, what are you doing?” He asked, watching you as you lifted yourself, so you were on one side of the bed.

Shyly, you patted the new empty half of the bed, inviting him to sit next to you.

He had no choice but to comply, he had the hardest time saying no to you. Leaning the bed back slightly, Spencer kicked off his shoes before he laid down next to you, wrapping an arm around you as you set your cheek on his shoulder.

Your body relaxed into his and you sighed, “Spence?” You murmured.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, “Yes, angel?” He whispered back to you.

“Thanks for coming to save me,” you mumbled, slowly relaxing enough to fall asleep.

Spencer exhaled, “I’m always going to come to save you.”

part two

[chithereader]

you and me / aaron hotchner

word count: 1.9k

pairing: aaron hotchner x singer!reader , aaron hotchner x f!reader

genre: fluff, a little angst

cw: a lot of conversation, i went a little crazy i just love interviews like zane lowe’s!!! and soft aaron

a/n: this photo just makes me think of aaron waiting backstage for popstar!reader / singer!reader

and requests are open!! would love to know what you guys want to read ◡̈

You requested that the set-up of the interview be comfortable. You knew you’d be talking about your albums which are notoriously packed with stories and emotions, personal and imagined. Now what is more comfortable than your own home? 

When you were designing your home, you knew from the start you wanted a conversation pit. You’ve always dreamed of a house that screamed cozy and comfortable, warm and inviting. Even if it cost millions to make, you had no regrets. 

But aside from the occasional family dinners, your sunken living room was only ever used when Aaron and Jack sleep over, and you had a movie marathon night. You'd throw in duvets and pillows on the pit and bunch together whether it was cold or not.

So you thought this interview is perfect to justify your design choice. To use the conversation pit for actual conversation. Which brings you to now, sat across your good friend and favorite interviewer Zane Lowe, your previous and latest album being the topic of conversation. 

“Your previous album was– you know, I mean, it was–” Zane appears to struggle for a word to encapsulate one of the lowest points in your life. Fractured was definitely an emotional album to make and an even sadder one to listen to.  

“Depressing?” you jokingly say. Talking has always been so easy with Zane. He just has this air to him that lets you know he truly just wants to know you. You sit on the couch sideways, facing Zane. Leaning on the back rest with your elbow, head resting on your hand while your other hand fidgets with the tassels on the pillow. 

He laughs, “Well, you were definitely at a low point in your life romantically.” fiddling with his chin, thinking of his next words, “You just– I think you perfectly captured in your songs that sort of loss and tangible grief that comes with letting go of a person- not because there weren’t any love anymore but more because love just wasn’t enough to keep it going.” 

Remembering what had happened– the air felt thinner. Like it was getting harder to breathe. You had to remember that that point of your life was over. You felt such real pain that time, so much so that you struggled to function in your daily life. That void. That ringing emptiness. 

You’re brought back to reality by Zane’s voice, “Could you touch on how that came about?” 

You breathe out a small sigh and with a gentle smile you recall, “Yeah, uhm.. I was in this relationship.. which in hindsight, I’m so lucky to have been in. It taught me so much and truly made me so much more mindful I guess. I mean like, smarter? More conscious definitely of what goes into making a relationship work, and what makes it strong.” 

“But like you said, it ended because as much as we both wanted it to work, as much as we loved each other, it just wasn’t happening. And it was a vicious cycle that was tiring us out. We just knew it wasn’t supposed to be like that.” You pause for a bit, reflecting. 

Flashes of you and Aaron driving home in silence after a dinner at Rossi’s play in your head. You didn’t talk the whole night. Not when you were dressing up. Not in the car ride on the way there. Not when you sat down together. And definitely not when each of you were across the room, busy in separate conversations ignoring the glaringly obvious. 

Looking down at the decorative pillow in your lap, you start, “And I think that in my experience, that’s a lot more painful. I think that break-ups that happen when one hurts the other is somehow better because you get to hold on to I deserve better or like– there’s just thing like anger that drives you to move on.”

You’re taken back to that night. Coming home and feeling the weight of it fall on both your shoulders. You sat for hours in silence, holding each other. Knowing that when the sun rises, he’ll go to work, you’ll go on tour, and your little world will be put to rest. 

“But having that overflowing love for a person who is just not meant for you– I mean how do you tell yourself to let go? How can you even try to convince yourself ? Because people say so often that as long as you love someone there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for them and that’s true. I’ve been there, and even everything wasn’t enough. And that was something we really struggled with.” 

“Just admitting that we had to love each other from afar before we turned into strangers together.” 

It just didn’t make sense. The love you had for each other was real. It was deep and true, and neither of you had any doubt of what you meant to each other. There was no question of loyalty or trust. 

But the traveling, the conflict in schedules, the missed calls and messages left on read. You just became both so busy, you were worlds apart. It even reached the point that you haven’t talked for days and neither of you noticed. Or minded. You thought of each other, yeah. But there wasn’t that urge to reach out anymore. There was just… longing. 

–

“Which brings us to now. Your latest album Leftover Love– it’s a lot more hopeful isn’t it? I mean I’d even go as far as saying that it’s about falling in love all over again.” Zane sips on the tea you made him. Leaning over the makeshift coffee table to add more milk in there. 

You straighten a little. Mood instantly lifting at the mention of your favorite album to date. Images of the inspiration behind the album filling your head. 

Zane puts down his tea to gesture generously, “And hearing it live, you could just feel it in the crowd– this kind of electricity. And because there’s no other way to put it– your songs in this album feel a lot like jumping and dancing with a partner in a room full of people and everything is just in slow motion. It’s like this sort of alignment or clicking into place, finding that one person that makes those small moments feel so.. big.” 

He put it perfectly into words. You had really hoped to relay through your songs the recent turn of events in your life. People who have supported you and loved you when you were at low points in your life got you through that, and you felt so strongly that they deserved to know and feel even a fraction of the happiness that you’re feeling right now through your new songs. 

“Definitely, I mean I’m so proud to say that these songs, even if they’re a touch fictional or exaggerated or romanticized– they are based on truths, on real things that have happened or are happening in my life.” You’re getting excited. Pulling the sleeves of your sweater to cover your hands until only your fingertips are visible– you place both hands down on the pillow as if bracing yourself for the climax of a rollercoaster ride. 

“The song Blindly for example, it’s about that feeling or like moment of realization that you’re just so crazy in love you’d follow this person anywhere blindly. I love that the sound’s so grunge-y and messy– insane. Because that’s literally how it feels to be in that whirlwind.” 

Zane picks up on your excitement, nodding at your explanation. He relaxes more into his seat and gestures to you, “It’s a good thing you mentioned that because I actually wanted to ask you why that song slows down at the end. I think that was such a unique and beautiful thing to do to the song and it works so well. But I just want to know what made you do that–” You’re biting your lip smiling, so proud that it was recognized as a conscious choice as a musician and artist.

Zane continues, “It goes from crazy drums and guitar, and the bass– then slows down into this almost hypnotic music box sound that transitions by the end into just this beat like a pulse.” 

Your smile grows bigger which Zane mirrors, “I’m so happy you picked up on that. I have to say that’s actually one of the songs I’m most proud of because it’s one of the first songs that I was heavily involved in the engineering of the sound.”

“But yeah I guess ultimately I just wanted it to mimic that transition from being in crazy love, tornado-esque to it literally settling into this beautifully calm and serene kind of love.” 

Zane listens intently, nodding and humming in agreement and knowing. Finally understanding the point of view from which the sound was created. He has this gentle smile on his face, almost of encouragement knowing you had more to say, 

“Like you go from all these dates and the honeymoon phase, and your heart’s just beating crazy fast all the time and then it turns into that steady murmur of your fridge in the null of the night when you’re baking muffins together in silence.”

You take a deep breath, chewing on the inside of your lip. Hopelessly trying to minimize the smile fighting its way on your face, “It’s just that process of someone becoming your home.” 

-

You're ushering out the last of the production people. Walking alongside Zane who’s the last to step out your front door, you give him a big hug which he returns warmly. 

“I’m so happy you’re happy,” he murmurs into your ear. 

You bury your face into his shoulder and breathe out a laugh, “Thank you.. Really.” 

You separate and smile at each other. Waving goodbye as he walks backwards to his car. You stand by your front door until they pull out of your driveway.

Once you see that your driveway is empty, you turn to your door and see him leaning against the doorframe with a smug, knowing smirk. 

Rolling your eyes playfully as you pass by him into your home, he chuckles. You hear his footsteps behind you and you know he’s following you around while you tidy up the dishes you and Zane used, “Aaron, take out the trash please.” 

This man just listened to you talk about him for hours. With headphones and a monitor set up in the other room– Aaron just got his ego inflated to a size so immeasurable he can’t hide his smile from the strangers beside him controlling lights and volumes. He has got to be humbled.

“Oh so I’m back to Aaron now?” He catches up to you, halting your movements from behind as he takes hold of your arms so you can put down whatever was in them. Then he turns you around by your shoulders so you’re facing him, grinning that smile that makes you go Fuck and then blank in your head.

“And here I was thinking I was home.” Aaron pulls you close, sliding an arm around your waist only to settle on your back as the other holds your hand against his chest, in between you. He starts swaying you both slowly as he buries his nose into the side of your head, humming a familiar tune. 

Kiss me once, then kiss me twice

Then kiss me once again

It's been a long, long time

Haven't felt like this, my dear

Since I can't remember when

It's been a long, long time

You'll never know how many dreams

I've dreamed about you

While he was listening to you go on about how you loved him all throughout your rocky start and even more well into the present– he became overwhelmed with the realization that for once in his life, there was absolutely no doubt in his mind that he is loved. Truly, deeply, and steadily loved. And that filled him with something that nothing and no one could ever define or measure. 

[barleyo]

Heiress.

Father! Sukuna X Daughter! Reader (smut)

A/N: i got this idea in the middle of the night and i had to write it. the thought of it gave me so many damn ideas, a lot of which i couldn't include in this particular work!! obviously i don't condone what is written. obviously ^_^

Tags: incest (father-daughter), misogyny/sexism, heian era sukuna, p in v, creampie, breeding

Wordcount: 1.7k

!!! DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT/DARK CONTENT !!!

Sukuna may have been a very, very proud man, but he was no fool. He knew that eventually both his name and power would need to be passed down. An heir, he would need. A suitable, strong, merciless heir to take his place. The strategist he was, he decided to start sooner rather than later. 

He had the finest women taken from the surrounding villages. Vetted for imperfections, all of them. Those who were not up to his scathing standards were promptly discarded. Those who passed his tests, which were few, were used as his concubines. 

Women from far and wide were gathered. He would call them into his private quarters, one after the other, every so often. It was a race, of sorts, to see who took first. One woman was lucky and fell pregnant quickly. The baby, however, was not so lucky and was never born. Another had successfully given birth, but the child had physical imperfections. Not suitable.

Damned women, he had often thought, with their cursed, weak bodies. What good were they to him? Residing on his land, getting fat off of his food, coaxing weak, unsatisfactory orgasms from him. Yet none could do him the justice— the service— he deserved of providing a successor?

Yet again, another whore of his fell pregnant. His hopes were never quite high, but he was less than optimistic this time around. For good reason, it seemed, for you were the product that came from your mother. 

A female. 

Bless the poor servant who delivered the baby. They were met with a cold, scornful face when Sukuna heard the news. 

A female.

He scoffed, watching your mother hold you in her arms. The room reeked of tinny blood and afterbirth. 

What good was a female? What would that leave him with? An heiress? The thought was laughable, though hardly humorous. A daughter. Pathetic. Leeching. A daughter could not carry forth her father's legacy. A daughter had no place in a strong lineage.

A daughter had no right to bear his name. 

He felt betrayed that his seed could produce anything but a powerful, fierce warrior. Left with a delicate, shivering babe of the inferior sex, he fell into deep thought. 

A female. What good could you be, indeed? You were born healthy. No defects or deformities. Your heart was in your chest. You had only two eyes and one nose, thankfully not some other ungodly combination. 

"What shall we do with her?" a servant asked, kneeling beside your mother. 

"Leave the child. Dispose of the woman. No use in keeping two of them around, is there?"

Weak as a woman may be, Sukuna would be damned if something usable didn't earn its keep. He would find something worthwhile about you.

You had cursed yourself many times for not being the son your father always wanted. It was glaringly obvious, he scolded you often for your gender. 

"What am I to do with you, girl? Weakness is not something you got from me. Your whore mother must have—"

A constant degrading voice in your ear. Ever present was your father. You could never resent him for it. He was right, after all. His harshness did not take away from his truth. You were female. You were weak. Delicate. Gentle.

And in a stroke of good luck, beautiful. 

There were times where you held value to your father. You rationalized that those times were why he kept you around. 

You spoke well of him. You were a treat for an already conceited man's ego. You were subservient. No task asked of you was denied. Most importantly, you grew into your body well. 

Sukuna hadn't much interest in you, wether positive or negative, until you had matured a bit. The birthday when you had received your first suggestion of curves was when you first remember him paying you any mind. He had asked you what you had wished for on your day. You said that you had everything you wanted. Your answer pleased him.

When you grew taller, he had less room to look down on you. The year you had grown a woman's face, his eyes started to linger onto your lips when you spoke. 

When you hit full maturity, your year of eighteen, you felt a rush of what was as close to approval as you would ever get from your father. 

"Your weakness dishonors me," had slowly changed into "your figure will fetch a decent husband." Slowly. 

"The lord sends for you," Uraume said blankly, standing ramrod straight at your door. 

Odd. Your father had never once sent for you. Even in his best of moods, he had no desire to see you more than necessary. In the home, you were akin to a piece of furniture. Not expected to move and used as pleased. Nobody sought out a sofa, it was a permanent fixture. Not thought of for longer than a few regarding seconds. 

You passed Uraume with a stiff nod and padded down the cold, wooden floors below your feet. Your father, as usual, was in his quarters, silently looming. 

"Father." A simple greeting. He was not one for niceties, you knew that well. 

Sukuna shot his eyes over to you. Not bothering to turn his head, he let his eyes trail you. He examined you like a microbe under a scope. 

He finally spoke. "Woman."

He had taken to calling you that recently. You weren't quite yet a woman, yet not a girl either. You were teetering two lines precariously, and he decided to push you over to one side. Not one for indecisiveness, either.

"Yes, father?"

"You are no heir of mine," he said. "You are not fit to succeed me. Ever. The family name should sooner die with me than travel to the incapable hand of a female."

You braced yourself for another deep-cutting spiel of how you would never take over in his place. Of how a woman's job was to submit. Of how your very birth was a disappointment. 

"However, I do find a certain value in you. You will prove yourself to me, indeed."

"How?"

Sukuna rose to his full height, straightening his back as he glided towards you. He yanked at the outer sash of his robe. 

"What other womb more better suited to give me the perfect heir," he started, silk sliding down his arms as he discarded the kimono that had draped his form, "than that I sired myself?"

"I have planned this out for a long time," Sukuna said, pushing your legs to your chest. "I have no doubt that this will be fruitful."

You had hoped the same. If you could not be what your father wanted, would giving him the solution not be the next best thing? Truly, you were relieved that he had found purpose for you. Perhaps this would save you from marriage to an unbecoming man of lesser means and power than your father. Perhaps this was a saving call being made. 

You had listened to many attempts made by your father to bring about a son. The concubines were tired, certainly, of the nonstop, pointless breeding. The walls were only so thick, and your father was never quiet.

They weren't getting any younger— the women. Their youth had faded, right along with their chances of children. Young women were hard to come by nowadays. 

Just another downside of the sex, your father would likely say, they've got a clear expiration date.

"Quiet now. The pain will fade." 

The stretch of his cock would be uncomfortable enough, naturally, but the first time brought about a special type of stretch. A virgin cunt being broken in. An old wive's tale said that a young girl was the most fertile during her first go-about. Something about the blood from a punctured hymen carrying seed upwards. 

To you, it felt as though the blood slicked you up more. Maybe the old wives knew a thing or two. Red smeared over your inner thighs, but the way it coated your walls helped you hold the weight of Sukuna's cock. An equal trade off, for the most part. 

"I was right to keep you," he continued, slotting himself into you with measured strokes. "I knew that eventually I'd find use for you. Look at you."

Look at yourself, you did. Your surroundings, your bloodied legs. Where you and Sukuna met, somewhere in the middle. Connected by thin, gooey ropes of slick and crimson. 

It didn't feel nearly as clinical as you knew it did for the other women. The thought stirred a bit of pride in your chest. Father tried with you. Other women seemed to be pump and dump. And rough. Though "gentle" was not a word you would use to describe what was happening, it surely was not anywhere close to "rough." There was a touch of passion. What felt like love. Father had even kissed you once, twice. His lips were chapped and he bit yours, but not hard enough for blood to peek through. 

You tried for another, with great success. You leaned your head forward, eyes glazed with tears, and pressed your lips against his. From pleasure and pain, you surmised. A fair mixture, since Sukuna seemed to hit spots you couldn't place your finger one, and since the pinch of your hole accommodating his size was still stinging. 

"I have raised such a greedy thing," he mused, huffing a breath through his nose as he complied and gave you another kiss, this time with tongue, as you had silently demanded with your own weak tongue trying to force his mouth open. 

"Oh, gods," you groaned in a hushed tone. 

You felt a coil snap in your body, and suddenly the heat of a thousand suns crashed through you, starting at your melted brain, and leaking down to your cunt. Whatever essence that managed to slip from the suction you had around Sukuna's length soon mixed with his own cum. 

Milkiness dripped down, a visual confirmation of a successful mating attempt. Sukuna's head tilted back triumphantly. Now it would take, he knew it, and the results would be as he hoped.

"I do not know why I hadn't thought of this sooner," he said, keeping you plugged with his cockhead. "My seed belongs in only the purest of wombs. Yours."

[amuyyi]

unfiltered y/n .

synopsis; two drabbles of y/n being the oldest of newjeans, yet arguably the most chaotic and childish. 21 year old y/n who's very gen z coded and borderline chronically online from a young age.

trope; platonic! newjeans x f!reader, just danielle + hyein bc im lazy

wc; 1.9k

cw; n/a

a/n; guys i think i fr forgot how to write erm so sorry this is dookie but i needed to write something lighthearted to keep my sanity even tho writers block is real rn thumbs up emoji ... also y/n is just me again LMFAO

Humming, your eyes glaze over the Phoning chat. You and Danielle sat comfortably within your practice room, the younger girl joining shortly after seeing you had started a livestream. There was no particular reason for this stream, you simply felt like entertaining your fans for the day. Throughout the livestream, you and Danielle simply talked, being some of the most social and extroverted members of Newjeans, it wasn’t hard for you two to popcorn different topics from one another.

“Did you ever read Warriors?”

“What, that book series about the emo cats?”

“They’re not emo– well…. Actually…”

Both you and Danielle burst into a fit of giggles as you tried to explain the lore of the Warrior Cats series, which then went into you making a powerpoint on why your company should allow you to have a cat in the dorms, which then went into a conversation about how you guys wanted to decorate your ideal home…

When you and Danielle were put into a room together, it almost seemed like you two fueled each other's energy in a never ending cycle. Still, as your laughter dies down, the pair of you decide to just chill, even for a moment. Your attention gets drawn back to the comments whilst Danielle aimlessly scrolled on her phone for a bit.

“y/n, who are your favorite kpop artists??” You read out loud.

Your eyes light up at this question. Before becoming a trainee, you were a die hard fan of many groups back when you were younger. Honestly.. You were a bit of a chronically online kid, despite your social tendencies. Back in the day, you ran a kpop stan twitter, and are well versed in the new vocabulary of online meme culture… as embarrassing as it was to admit the more you thought about it. 

After reading the comment, the mischievous and playful glint in your eye was impossible to ignore, and Dani seemed to pick up on the shift in energy. Shooting you a suspicious glance, you decide to speak up.

“Ah there are so many groups I love… But.. I’d have to say Red Velvet and LOONA...!”

It was an innocent enough answer at a glance, but to some, the underlying message behind it was glaringly obvious.

Almost immediately after speaking, in the most obvious and not discreet fashion, you freeze, arching a brow making a curious looking expression at the camera as you pucker your lips. It was undeniable that you were referencing an all too familiar meme within the LGBTQ community.

Honestly, you were never one to shy away from your sexuality. You were lucky enough to know who you were from a young age. (All of your odd childhood crushes practically spoke for themselves. Rain from the movie Spirit, for example. The horse.) 

It wasn’t long before the girls caught onto you, and they have been nothing but supportive since. Oftentimes they would tease you over your clinginess with your other members, or how you’d very publicly fawn over other female idols, while nearly all of the light drained from your eyes when approached by a man. 

In hindsight, it was a surprise that they didn’t catch on sooner. The way you acted so stiff around male idols when forced to do Tiktoks with them, or how you never entertained their advances. However, it seemed like Some fans did seem to notice faster than your own members, and deemed you “Irene's daughter” as a result— a title in which you wear with pride, might you add! 

That wasn't to say you didn't have your own hardships and struggles with your sexuality at the same time, though. Of course, being a part of one of the biggest kpop groups of your generation, you couldn’t express your sexuality publically. Not yet. It was too risky. A large chunk of your fan base consisted of straight men anyways… Potential backlash would be detrimental. You didn’t want to drag the others down with you. Not when you guys have so much ahead together.

So you keep your head low, put on your best smile, and focus on your members.

….Until moments like these, of course.

Eyes practically boggling out of her head, Danielle bursts into laughter, shoving your shoulder with one hand while she covers her face with her sweater sleeve.

“Unnie…!” she scream-whispers, baffled by your words. Of course she knew what you were hinting at, she didn’t live under a rock her whole life.

Seeing Danielles reaction only seems to egg you on though. What? You weren’t saying anything explicitly queer. Only the people that mattered would know. Worst case scenario, you’d be in some odd rumor or speculation that had no real evidence to back you up. Maybe you’d be seen as an ally. Humming once again, you pretend to think.

“Though if you want to know about male artists….” You take a significantly longer time to answer this as Danielle is left a giggling mess next to you. She seemed almost a little distressed through the laughter, but she trusted you.

“I would probably say I like EXO and Shinee the most.”

Once again, you make that damn face, and Danielle throws her head back in hysterical laughter. She grabs your shoulder and shakes you around, whispering quiet scoldings into your ear as you snicker, feigning an innocent look as the chat practically blows up.

[cha3wonz] – HELLO???? [kaheii] – y/n blow a kiss if u like women [luv__newjeans] – okay ally

Unsurprisingly, clips of your shared live with Danielle went viral. Many stan accounts on twitter began to speculate that you were queer, whilst others fully embraced it. Your favorite posts were the edits of you with the rainbow flag followed up by a question mark. It was all too good.

Honestly, you didn’t even think it was a big deal. You didn’t pay much attention to other male groups– you never did, really, but when you looked at the new incoming generation of boy group members… They practically had the whole pride parade following them. 

There were a few minor articles about you here and there, but you were mostly off the hook.

Danielle lay sprawled across your back whilst you lay on her bed, scrolling through Twitter aimlessly as she laughs at the comments on your recent instagram post.

“It seems that your fangirls can't get enough of you, lovergirl,” she teases lightheartedly as you wiggle beneath her weight, giggling.

Maybe one day you’ll share the news to your fans, and maybe one day they won’t even be surprised. But you’re glad to have what you have now. Just you, your girls, and your ever growing folder of queer y/n memes off of Twitter.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Hyein was in the middle of a solo livestream within her bedroom, lying comfortably in her bed as she showcased various articles of clothing she had bought with Hanni the day prior.

The livestream was going well, peaceful as Hyein makes her way through several t shirts, sweaters, pants, and skirts of all colors and styles.

Right when Hyein was about to reveal her favorite article of clothing from the haul, loud, almost desperate banging rings throughout the room. An almost pathetic sounding yelp of surprise erupts from the girl before she curiously glances at the livestream. 

Leaning forward, she whispers to the camera, “I think… I think there's a creep trying to break in…” 

Suddenly, the door bursts open, with a very flustered and irritated y/n tumbling in shortly after. iPad in hand, you collapse into the bed next to Hyein

“Guys, guy, GUYS. The theme was scene!!! What the hell is this?! Look at THIS versus MY outfit!” You exclaim almost a little too loudly as you shove the ipad in front of the camera. Failing to focus on your screen properly, the viewers simply saw a bright white square as you groaned.

Baffled and still a bit in shock, Hyein speaks up, “Unnie, it's really not that serio–”

“This is bullsh–” You cut yourself off as Hyein snorts loudly at your near slip up. Clearing your throat, you grip your ipad a little tighter than needed, trying to calm down.

“This is unfair. And you know what's worse? Its probably some nine year old with their friends voting for them behind the screen!” You whine out dramatically. With how upset you were getting, it wouldn't be surprising if this genuinely was the one determining factor that would either make or break your night.

Hyein couldn't bite back the amused laugh at your seriousness. 

You took your games pretty seriously. Even if it was roblox. There was something familiar and comforting about it all, really. Lighthearted games like this  played a major part in your childhood— which was, of course, abruptly cut short once you became a trainee at age 14. Now that you were an adult with a job as an idol, you could buy your own robux, buy your own gamepasses and items… and most importantly, stomp on little kids in-game. You were here first, after all.

“Unnie, aren't you like, 21 years old? Don't you think you’re a little too old to—“

“And aren't you like— what, 12?!” You shoot back without even missing a beat.

A brief, yet suffocating silence passes as the both of you stare at each other, wide eyed. Never in your years of knowing the younger girl have you ever been so.. sassy to her. You were the oldest, after all. It was your job to take care of her.

Almost instantly, you drop your ipad and tackle the younger girl in a hug, crying out, “BABY HYEIN!!! IM SORRY…!!!”

Hyein on the other hand, was not as reciprocal to your attempts at apologizing. Upon being tackled, half of the air in her lungs practically got knocked out of her, and she finds herself tumbling backwards into the blankets below. Instead of accepting your obviously very real and very distressed apology, she began struggling to wriggle out of your grasp as she yelled out, “NO! LET ME GO UNNIE!! LET ME GOOO!!!”

Though the youngest towered over you by over half a foot, your grip on her was borderline deadly. Squeezing your arms tightly around her neck in an attempt at being soothing and sweet (you werent) you scream at yourself, rocking her back and forth. 

“I'm so STUPID im SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY I JUST WANTED YOU TO PLAY WITH ME.”

Incoherent screams and movement was seen from the livestream for about 5 minutes before Hyein tapped your arm, giving in.

“Fine, fine..! I forgive you unnie, just let me go…!”

The moments following Hyein’s acceptance of her fate seemed to actually go by pretty smoothly compared to the chaos that had just ensued a few minutes prior.

Laying in bed together, the two of you played dress to impress while on the live, occasionally interacting with the viewers, but mostly focusing on winning the game. A comfortable silence passes, the only sound being nails against iPad screens.

The pair of you would proudly showcase your creations to the camera, and shared mutual frustration when neither of you would even place despite the immense efforts you put into your outfits.

“I swear to god Hyein, I’m gonna buy both of us VIP and we’re gonna leave these girls in the dust…”

As you prepare to go up for your final round of the night, Hyein suddenly perks up.

“Oh look, unnie! This outfit is actually pretty good…”

“Huh? Oh!! You're right! This is super pretty…”

“…”

“…”

“Two stars?”

“Two stars.”

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR NINETEEN

in which everything changes.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, smut (p in v), almost shower sex, talk of male masturbation, oral (f receiving), upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 7.7k+

→ a/n: big shout out to @myosotisa for beta-reading this chapter so that for once, it's not unedited, and it's not just between me and god.

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

19:00 ─────────────ㅇ── 24:00

DINGUS: so either these two are getting along REALLY well or they truly still hate each other’s guts

NANCE: Why do you say that?

DINGUS: when i called to make sure they weren’t dead, it sounded like they were arguing over the line. 

BIRDIE: woah woah woah, hold on. dingus. are you telling me you just SPIED on the lovebirds? or did this ‘fight’ happen during your conversation?

DINGUS: it wasn’t spying! eddie answered and rushed off the line, but it sounded like he forgot to hang up. i was just… curious.

NANCE: No, you were SPYING on them. 

ARGYLE 😎: what did they say, dude? 

BIRDIE: yeah let’s drop the morality bullshit – what’d you hear, my lovely oblivious spy? 

DINGUS: @BIRDIE NOT A SPY. 

DINGUS: but it just sounded like eddie asking her if she was, and i quote, “fucking kidding him”. He sounded weird when he was talking to me, too.

BIRDIE: the most romantic words to ever be spoken. truly. 

NANCE: Was that all you heard?

DINGUS: yeah, i hung up after that. why?

ARGYLE 😎: should’ve stayed on the line.

BIRDIE: what he said.

JOHNNY BOY: Do you people have no morals? 

HOUR NINETEEN – 10:00 AM

It becomes glaringly obvious to you that your comment had been a little too spot on after several minutes of waiting for Eddie to return. 

You hadn’t expected him to really leave you high and dry after that, to just go and take care of himself rather than include you in that process. Honestly, you thought the two of you were finally past hiding behind closed doors. But clearly, you had been wrong. Very, very wrong. And now, the consequences of your own actions were mocking you; there was an insistent, uncomfortable, unignorable burn in the pit of your stomach, and every shift of your thighs that had your underwear grazing your clit had you desperate, nearly mewling and arching your back. The longer you laid on that couch and realized what Eddie was currently doing, the more hot and bothered you grew. 

Fuck him. You’re about ten seconds away from taking care of your own problem right here, right now, on this god forsaken couch. 

Your ears perk involuntarily for any and all noises that may come from the hallway, but five minutes of silence tells you that Eddie had learned his lesson. He wasn’t going to be loud again. 

Fuck him. 

At least if he was falling apart by his own hand, he should have the decency to let you hear such, obviously. If he was going to finish what the two of you started alone with just him and his hand and the polished porcelain of his bathroom, you would have at least appreciated something to get you going, to urge your imagination to roam free through a conglomeration of both fantasies and memories. But, no – the man was so silent, you were beginning to fear he might be dead. 

Maybe he was dead. Death by blue balls. Good. Fuck him.

Your thighs squeeze together once more of their own free will, and you throw your head back violently to groan at the persistent throbbing. You couldn’t even be angry at him, not in a genuine sense, because you had insisted on talking rather than continuing whatever Deftones had started. What a dumb, idiotic, catastrophic decision. What a painful hill to die on. What a shit move on your part. 

It doesn’t take long before you make the choice to stop laying there, wallowing in your misery. If you weren’t going to take care of your problem, and if you were regretting your choices so desperately, you were an adult. He was down the hall, he was here for now, and there was nothing stopping you from just marching up to the door. This wasn’t anything like the beginning hours – the man had seen you bare before him far too many times for you to be shy. He had just been dry humping you like some teenager on his couch. 

No, you didn’t need to have shame right now. At least, not for these last five hours. 

You get up quick enough to make yourself dizzy, swinging your legs and making the soles of your feet connect with the living room floor with resounding slaps. A bit aggressive, and it might startle whoever had the displeasure of living below Eddie, but you don’t care. You have a one track mind, and you force your body into action before you can chicken out. 

You have him. At some wild capacity, the man behind the bathroom door is yours. Whether it be temporary, whether it had started before this night or would last beyond this experience, it was still a matter of fact. You have him – God, you have him so tightly that you don’t even doubt you’re the one on his mind right now as he does what you’re sure he’s doing behind this door – and it was time to accept that he has you. 

He has had you for a while, you realize a few steps away from the bathroom. The moment he had you laughing at his side in some smokey bar all those moons ago, he had first caught you in his web. You hate that it took this long, that it took this moment that should be laced with embarrassment, to let it all settle into acceptance. Like rubble of a destroyed building, the dust is clearing and all you can see is him. Him, with his stupid fucking dimples. Him, with his wide shoulders. Him, with all his twisted words and confusing actions. He’s had you in his grasp – it’s the only way anyone would have been able to get under your skin like he has this past year. 

“Eddie?” you call out as you rap your knuckles on that wooden door, a few too many times for good measure. Your ears strain now that you’re closer, thinking you might catch subtle sounds out of him. Heavy breaths, slick skin, mute whimpers. Anything.

You get nothing for a solid ten seconds.

And then, you hear him clearing his throat, obnoxiously so, before answering, “Y-Yeah?” 

Unsure. He’s stuttering, and the footing of his words is unstable. You were fucking right. 

“Are you…” you start, pinching your eyes shut, shooing away that internal wave of heat as your mind runs wild and imagines him behind the door. The way he’d be naked, the way his fist would curl around the base of his cock, the way his tip has never failed to be the exact same shade of pink as his lips- “Are you still alive in there?” 

Because I’m certainly not out here. 

“Oh, me?” he chuckles nervously, “Yeah, I-I’m good. Sorry, just got distracted!” 

By what? you nearly call in response, your dick in your hands? 

You don’t say it outloud. You have some restraint. 

“That’s fine…” you trail off, unsure of what exactly you should say all while biting your tongue. 

Your mind is still reeling for a possible ending for that thought when Eddie calls out, “I’m gonna take a shower, ‘s all. You cool with that?” 

No. No, I’m not fucking cool with that. 

“Oh!” you squeak out instead, “Yeah, yeah. That’s… that’s fine. Sorry, I’ll just…”

You trail off again as you begin to take a few steps back from the door, making your way back to the living room painstakingly slowly. You’ve hardly moved an inch when you hear the shower turn on inside the bathroom, stuttering a few times as the water begins its flow, static rising from the way it splatters into the tub. 

And then it turns off. Mere seconds later, as quickly as the flow of water had begun, the creaking in the pipes cease. You take another step back until your back bumps into the wall of the hallway, across and veered away from the bathroom door – the throbbing between your thighs still irritating and your confusion even more palpable. 

Wasn’t he going to take a shower? Did he just turn it on to get you to walk away? Were you hallucinating just how quickly the seconds were passin-

The bathroom door is suddenly thrown open with Eddie in the middle of calling out your name, those pajama pants hanging dangerously low on his hips. The moment his eyes land on your, his beckoning for you dies in his throat before he has to clear it. “Oh. Uh, hey.” 

Why were you both being so fucking awkward? 

“Hi,” you breathe out, pressing further into the wall. You felt like a child being caught doing wrong, as if he hadn’t been aware of your proximity to the door just moments before. 

Maybe he was going to find it creepy that you had lingered for so long, and were still so close. You don’t know – you can’t think clearly as you look at the bare skin of his chest and try to decipher whether the moisture gathered there is sweat or condensation from the steam of the shower. 

“Sorry, I just-” he cuts himself off this time before a hand reaches up to his hair, now down and unfurled around his shoulders. His palm presses back his bangs and you can see the moment that all the tension of awkwardness finally snaps, “Oh, fuck this. Do you want to shower with me?” 

Once it snaps for him, you feel your own clinging to it release. It slips from between your fingers slowly, and you come to the realization that there’s no heat emitting from the bathroom behind him – that moisture wasn’t from steam, he didn’t even have the water on long enough for it to get that hot. You should have realized that immediately, but your mind was working slowly through the fog. 

“You don’t have to,” you hadn’t answered him fast enough, and you’re watching him backpedal right before your eyes. 

A quick shake of your head and the smile that splits your lips stops all of his backwards movements, makes his head tilt to the side and a smirk graces his features when you finally reply, “I thought you’d never ask.” 

He shifts to the side of the doorway naturally, leaving just enough room for you to brush past him and let your shoulder knock slightly against his chest once you push off the wall eagerly. 

There’s still a puddle of water at the base of the tub, circling the drain as Eddie closes the door behind your entrance. It’s a bit redundant considering you’re the only two here, but you don’t say a word. You just let your eyes trace over the droplets of water racing down his shower curtain, properly focus in on his toothbrush on the sink and the tube of toothpaste beside it curled up over half the length. 

It hits you all at once, how this game of tension is so ridiculous. “We’re so stupid.”

Eddie is shocked by your snort, “Excuse me?” 

“We’re stupid,” you repeat yourself, “Why are we acting like middle schoolers who just held hands? You’ve seen me naked, for fucks sake. We’ve-” you cut off and turn to him abruptly, waving your hands wildly in the space between you two, “We’ve already crossed this line a million times, Eddie. And we just… it’s like, we keep putting one foot on the other side of it, dip our toes into it, and then take it back when it’s all said and done.” 

A boring dance. The two of you were taking part in the most boring dance of tension the world had ever seen, and only the four walls of Eddie’s apartment had the pleasure of being audience to it. 

You expect his laughter to come out in a bark, but it’s subtle instead, face relaxing in realization at what you mean, “Jesus. I- I mean, you’re right. But does that make us stupid? I think it’s kinda cute, personally.”

“Cute?” you lurch forward ever so slightly, grinning with your teeth. Eddie’s eyes squint up a bit from how widely he grins in return at your amusement, “What about this is cute?” 

“The way you keep getting so nervous around me,” Eddie shrugs, killing off the distance between you as he moves in front of you. You straighten up quickly, and he’s fast to tuck the loose strands of your hair behind your ear, “The way I keep getting so nervous around you.” 

“That’s not cute, that’s just… stupid.” 

“Same thing.”

“It definitely isn’t.” 

You’re close enough to kiss him. And you realize easily that this may be your favorite place in the world, toe-to-toe with him and nearly brushing noses, feeling each breath like a huff of wind on the highs of your cheekbones. 

“Agree to disagree,” he whispers before his lips duck down to yours. The hand that had tucked away your strands of hair had never left your face, you realize, palm now cupping your cheek as he tugs you closer to him. 

Warmth spreads across your chest, brings spring to all the vines you’ve been catering to for a year now. Being able to step back and call this for what it was, ridiculous, makes it all a bit easier to bear. 

It’s just his lips against yours, the shower not even running yet, the gasps that emit from both of you serving as a white noise instead. 

“Is this,” he breaks away from you, only pulling back his lips and leaving his forehead resting against yours with his hand still curled on your cheek, “still stupid?” 

“Even more so,” you nod and he moves his head with yours, almost making you laugh more, “So, so stupid.”

More kisses are exchanged, wandering hands trying to find new curves on the other’s body, before Eddie goes through the motions of turning his shower back on. You notice that from the looks of it, he does turn it on as hot as it can get. It occurs to you that these are small details you’d like to know – how hot he prefers his showers, whether he prefers to take them in the morning or at night, what scent of body wash he swears by – and that you only had so much time to learn the answer to not even half of your curiosities. 

Time. Time was not on your side. 

“You know,” you drawl as Eddie finally kicks off his pants, you soon following his lead as if this was nothing. Because it wasn’t. The two of you had been naked before each other. You weren’t two middle schoolers who had just shared a first kiss or held hands – you were two adults who had had sex, who had admitted to being attracted to each other if nothing more, “You never did say what you’re actually doing with the money.” 

“Again with that conversation?” Eddie asks, pausing with his thumbs hooked in the band of his boxers. 

“Again,” you affirm, tossing your shirt into the same corner that his pants had been discarded, “Can you blame me for being curious? Aren’t you curious what I’m doing with my money?” 

He thinks for a second as you strip off your underwear, leaving you completely naked first. “I mean, I sort of am.”

“College,” you supply easily. You don’t even wait for him to properly ask. He purses his lips and you catch the way his eyes sweep over your nude body quickly before he yanks off his last article of clothing, “College, and then all my debt. Then maybe I can start saving like a real adult. Move to some fancy city once I graduate. Make a…” you pause and make a conscious effort to not let your eyes wander as his had, “Make a real life for myself, I guess.”

“You sound so excited.” 

He’s being sarcastic, you know it, but it begs the question – were you excited about the prospective? All you had ever known was school. Your entire personality has been built thus far on being a student.

So what comes next? Settling into some boring nine to five job that hardly satisfies the dreams that were born of your major? Getting underpaid, getting bored with monotony but telling yourself you were satisfied? 

And that doesn’t even scratch the surface of the bigger questions of the future. You haven’t even spared a thought to kids, to getting married, to life past the next two years. 

“I mean… I am,” you shrug and step into the shower first, Eddie following close behind you and listening intently, “It’ll be nice to finally have the damn piece of paper to say ‘hey! I did it!’” 

“But?” he presses, scooting the two of you around in the small space so that he was standing directly beneath the spray of water. His curls flatten against his head immediately. 

“No buts,” you insist. As if you’re trying to convince yourself more of it than him. 

“So that’s all? You just want to get out of here?” he isn’t looking at you as he reaches for a bottle of shampoo, blinking water out of his eyes. 

This conversation is going surprisingly well. 

“Not here specifically,” you clarify. Your chest aches at the thought of just leaving behind all the friends you’d made, the life you had started in this city. The thought of already beginning to preemptively tear it down was enough to dampen your mood worse than the steam of the shower was doing to your hair, “I don’t know. Who cares about the future? What are you doing with your money?” 

He’s about to squirt some of the shampoo into the palm of his hand when you suddenly snatch it from him, holding up a finger and twirling it in a demanding manner. He’s shocked, but he turns for you regardless, even bending his knees as he gets the message. 

He doesn’t question the fact that you’re about to wash his hair. No protests towards something so domestic between previously sworn enemies. 

“I wasn’t lying earlier,” he starts just as you have lathered up your palms and set aside the shampoo on the shower ledge, fingertips digging right into his scalp. Even with the slight bend in his posture, your arms have to stretch to reach the crown of his head, “A new bike or guitar would be nice but– Oh,” a particular scratch of your nails has him faltering in his words, throwing his head back a bit more and humming. The throb, the ache, the burn returns. “Oh, that’s nice.” 

“Keep talking, pretty boy,” you murmur as he hums even louder. 

“Well, I… It’s not a lot of money, y’know? I mean, it is. But it also isn’t. Am I making any sense? Fuck, that feels good,” he stumbles across his point as your fingers continue small circles, and you already know without looking that his eyes have fluttered shut. 

The pit of your stomach can only rally, twisting and tumbling at his satisfaction. Something so domestic and something you had started with sweet intentions was quickly derailing, but you couldn’t be bothered to care. 

You have him. But you don’t have him. The same type of conundrum he faces with the amount of money promised to the both of you if you were to survive these hours. 

“You’re making sense,” you promise with a shy grin you know he can’t see, “Like, I know the money won’t pay off all my debts or college tuition, but it’s a good start. Anyways, as you were saying?” 

Both of you struggle to focus as he continues on, melting even further into your touch, “I dunno. Maybe if I have anything leftover, I’ll send it to my uncle.” 

His voice is strained as he’s occupied with the feeling of your hands against his scalp, and you know it’s a throwaway sentence, but the small detail of his life you’ve been awarded doesn’t go unnoticed.

Uncle? Why uncle? 

“You in debt to your uncle over a bad night of gambling or somethin’?” you try to joke as you finally release your fingertips from his scalp. Your palms come down on his shoulders as you spin him slowly, encouraging him to keep his head tipped back as he lets the water wash away the suds produced. 

Surprisingly, his shampoo doesn’t smell like boy. It’s akin to green apples, maybe something smoother beneath it all like coconut. Something sweet and something innocent. 

Maybe that’s what has him being so open to you as he explains, “I’ll always be in debt to him, but not for gambling. He raised me. My folks… weren’t the best. I owe everything to that man.” 

There are no good words to respond with. You suddenly feel selfish for pushing him to admit it, and for making that joke to begin with. 

But he only cracks open his eyes as the suds are mostly gone, looking at you through squinty eyes as he grins, “Guess I’m the boner killer now, huh?” 

You snort again (fuck, had he always been this funny?) and shake your head, finally glimpsing below his hips. 

Ironic of him to say that he was a boner killer when there he was, harder than ever for you, tip pink and glistening in a taunt towards you. 

You were both going to Hell. You were standing in his shower, talking about his uncle, both far too horny for the topic of conversation. 

“Modern day Bonnie and Clyde, but make it horny,” you manage to get out, still staring at him and resisting the urge to reach out and start something you didn’t know how to finish, “Does talking about money always get you this hard?” 

“Bonnie and Clyde were robbers, not killers,” he corrects you, “And why, yes. How did you know? Do you plan to use this lethal information against me again later?” 

A cavern in your chest screams out, when is later? Later within the next four hours, or later within the next year? Will you ever even give me a chance to use this against you again? 

You laugh along with his joke instead. 

“Absolutely. Also, who the fuck knows that much about Bonnie and Clyde?” 

You make him turn around again, and repeat a similar process with the conditioner. The entire time, you try to not think about the awareness that the same burn in your own gut is alight in him. 

He shrugs a little, bends a little more to encourage your fingertips back to his scalp. It doesn’t work — you’re focusing the conditioner on the drier ends of his curls. “I do.”

“Well, that’s just weird.” 

You work in silence as you finish threading the conditioner through and detangling his hair with just your fingers. You don’t immediately have him rinse it out, and he takes the opportunity to reward you with the same care, the same domesticity. And just as he hadn’t questioned you, you don’t protest when he manhandles you to spin and face your back to him. You let him indulge you in the same massaging motions that you had just pampered him with, let suds of that sweetness surround you as your eyes shut delicately and you lean your head back into his deliberate touches.

Same care, same domesticity, same sensuality. You never thought washing someone’s hair could be something so intimate until his knuckles are between your locks and your back is brushing up against his chest due to limited space.

“It’s not about the money,” he randomly announces to you once the shampoo has been rinsed out and the conditioner takes its place. “I mean, I figured you knew that, but… still thought I’d say.” 

“Figured as much.”

“I also wasn’t pissing,” he continues to overshare, “I know you figured as much there too.” 

Biting your bottom lip to hold back a grin, you keep the rest of your face relaxed as you nonchalantly ask, “No? What distracted you, then?” 

You can feel every deep breath he takes. The expansion of his chest only presses the two of you closer. Soon, you should both rinse out the conditioner. You should stop wasting water. The two of you should get out of this damn confining space and sleep, do something useful, make the most of the final four hours. 

Instead, you’re letting yourself get lost in billows of steam, and teasing him. And maybe that’s something useful for you. 

“You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you?” 

You can hear his grin. God, you can hear his grin and those stupid dimples making an appearance without needing to see his face.

“Say what?” you ploy faux innocence. His fingers are still in your hair. He has no reason to continue to comb them through, but they remain there, grazing your scalp and brushing the back of your neck.

His chin meets your shoulder suddenly, his breath on your ear. “What did you call this earlier, sweetheart? I believe you called it… stupid.” 

Right. Stupid. 

Stupid was the ache that resided inside you for him. Stupid was the way your thighs shook from how hard they pressed together from each soft caress of his breath on the shell of your ear. Stupid was the urge to reach your arm around your back and grab onto him, any part of him, and try to pull him as closely as humanly possible — and then some. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

You’re a bad liar. And he loves it.

“Right,” he draws out the single syllable, hands leaving your hair, drifting at sea as they find comfort on your biceps, touch feather light, “You have no idea what I was doing in here. You weren’t staying by the door to see if you could hear me, trying to get a free show.” 

So you had been right in calling the two of you stupid. Neither of you had been very conspicuous. 

“A free show to what?” you keep up the act of innocence and swallow down the delighted hun when his hands move down your arms. You’re fully flush to his chest now, almost to the point of leaning your weight back against him.

“To me touching myself to you,” bold, crass words leave his lips, “To me fucking my fist to the thought of you. Squeezing my fist around my cock, trying to make it feel like that sweet pussy.” 

Your knees nearly buckle. You try to play it cool, “Oh? Is that what you were doing?”

His playful chuckle is the final straw, and his hands now on your waist are the only thing keeping you upright.

“I was.”

“And were you successful?”

How you kept your tone so steady, so even, was lost on you. 

“I wasn’t.”

One hand stays planted on your waist firmly, as if he knows he’s the only thing keeping you from collapsing in this heat between the two of you. The other dares to round to the front of your stomach, fingers splayed and fingertips almost tickling you as he lets them run down the center of your navel. He’s taking his time. Slowly, painfully, his hand travels. Down, down, down. Until his fingertips are grazing right over that fire he built inside you, mere inches from where you need him to touch you most. He has you right where he wants you, and he knows it.

And so he stops. Inches, maybe less, from where your cunt is throbbing for him. 

“Didn’t you say you were good with your fingers?” you’re trying to keep up a cool facade, but it’s becoming useless at this point. Your voice comes out a whine, and your hips subtly buck against empty air to try to encourage his touch lower.

“I did,” he hums directly into your ear. The hand on your waist becomes an arm fully wrapped around your front, and the press of your back to his chest becomes far more intentional. All of it to hold you in place as he moves his hand right over where you want him. He avoids your body’s pleas, and jumps straight to teasing his fingertips over the tops of your thighs. “Wouldn’t you agree?” 

It’s almost funny to remember how flustered he was when he’d first made the comment, how quick he had been to defend it against being something dirtier, only to now be using it against you in anything but an innocent context.

“Please,” the beg falls from your lip as you give up on the game.

It’s a combination of all his gentle touches, the feeling of his curls between your knuckles, the steam that is smothering the two of you without notice, the way you can still feel every damn breath of his. Both through his mouth now softly kissing at the lobe of your ear, and his chest that only presses more tightly to you. That tightening arm around your waist, and the subtle change of position of his knee.

You aren’t expecting it, and your feet slide apart quickly, nearly dropping onto his sweetly placed leg between yours. 

“Please what, sweetheart?” 

You can’t even recall the feeling of hatred you used to get at the nickname. Now, in its place, is something buzzing, something buttery, something contradictory. You’re dizzy with satisfaction from the way he murmurs it directly into your ear. 

“Please touch me,” you gasp when his knee brushes upwards, not quite reaching where you need him. You swear there’s a pulse now, a throbbing cry that would do just about anything to feel those hands on you, “Please, please.” 

You’re losing focus as your thoughts start to fuzz at the edges, suddenly only able to manage the words please and his name.

And it isn’t lost on him. “Look at you. I haven’t even touched you yet, and you’re already going so dumb for me, aren’t you?” 

Your stomach churns, everything in you tightens, and your pride isn’t above dropping yourself down properly onto his knee and grinding. You would if you could — his fucking arm won’t let you.

When you glance down, you realize just how tight his grip is. You can trace each vein along his forearm, catch the white of his knuckles as they curl against you.

He’s holding onto you for dear life, and yet his death grip doesn’t so much as hurt. You only feel safe, you only feel wanted. 

“Please just touch me, Eddie,” you whimper out, not caring about how desperate you sound anymore. You have no shame, no pride, no careful calculations left for the man behind you. 

His hands stop their dance across the apex of your thighs. One moment, you can barely feel his fingertips running over their softness, and the next, it vanishes completely. 

You open your mouth to protest, but all that comes out is a gasp as his fingers are suddenly on your cunt, spreading you apart at a leisurely pace. You move to grab onto his forearm for leverage but he suddenly tsks and stops all of his movements. 

“You can either have me touch you, or you touch me. But you can’t have both, sweetheart. Not right now.” 

Through the haze, you’re unable to use your words to answer, instead cracking your eyes back open and trying to crane your neck to see Eddie properly. But he’s only chuckling into your ear again, arm around your waist tightening. 

“C’mon, baby. Use your words. Which would you rather have?” he taunts, tilting his chin down and letting his nose nuzzle against the peak of your shoulder, lips barely brushing the skin. 

You would have expected to not even catch the subtle feeling of plushness on you right now between your ever-growing frustration and the water still raining down on both of you. But you do; your body is growing acutely aware of every single point of contact between the two of you as the minutes go on. Every inch of your skin is tuned into his touch and where it flows, where it leaves you, where it presses deeper. 

You open your mouth to respond to him, but you can’t. You can’t explain it: there isn’t a tightness in your throat, a pain grasp on your chest, a fear that is swallowing the words whole. It’s the opposite. All of your taut strings have gone slack, waves of surrendering to him having overcome all of your deepest anxieties. In this moment, amongst the white noise of a shitty apartment shower, all that there exists is him. The time limit slips away, the bet is a thing of the past, and the road taken to bring you both here is completely forgotten. 

His touch is able to remain light when he decides to turn you in his arm, the grip once around your waist now pressing into your lower back as you face him. You’re completely malleable for him to do as he wishes. 

Facing him, you watch all of the amusement and cockiness melt away from his features. His smirk goes soft and his face falls in awe, mouth parted as he takes in that look in your eyes. He knows. He knows that in this moment, you are completely defenseless and utterly his. 

You watch all the air leave his lungs, and feel the consequential breath that releases hit the bridge of your nose due to the proximity. “You really are cock drunk for me right now, aren’t you? I haven’t even given it to you yet and you’re just… gone.” 

If you weren’t completely under his spell at this moment, you would have burned with embarrassment down to the bone. 

You just nod. 

With this revelation, his grip on you completely transforms. It’s not just a matter of keeping you upright, but a matter of keeping you tethered to him. As if he’s afraid that the moment he lets go, he loses you. 

If you could find the words, you’d assure him that he wouldn’t. You weren’t something so fleeting, so passing. 

Without words, all you can do is show him. So you press up onto your tip-toes and kiss him. Hard, then soft. Fervently, then patiently. Achingly, and then assuredly. Every flash of contradiction between the two of you and all that has accumulated goes into the kiss as you let him find his breath again, solely by stealing yours. 

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs against your lips, before his nose rubs against the tip of yours as it begins a journey. Across your cheek, down your jaw, into the crook of your neck. You feel spouts of warm water trickle over his collarbones and against your own. 

This time, you do have the words for him. Or rather, the word for him.

“You.”

There’s no other way to put it. You just want him. 

He pulls back and stares directly into your eyes, his own brown ones swarming with varied emotions. You’re finally able to start deciphering some of them – lust, want, surprise – but not quite all of them yet. 

Before you realize what’s happening, he’s sinking to his knees. Somehow, he’s twisted you so that your back meets the cool tile of the wall, careful in watching the way it supports you during the entirety of his descent. 

He doesn’t say a word, his eyes doing all the talking necessary through wet lashes as he guides you to balance a foot on the edge of the tub and hook your knee onto his shoulder. Just as you realize what he’s doing, his mouth is on your hot cunt. 

For all the talk and thoughts about just how good his fingers were, you seemed to have forgotten just how good his mouth was. 

His tongue works away at your clit, tracing patterns before alternating to suck it sharply between his lips. He seems to have forgotten about his earlier threat, or maybe he’s just feeling merciful, as your hands instinctively reach down and wind into the roots of his wet hair. Curls matt in your grasp instantly. A harsh tug, and he’s moving his attention elsewhere, nose now nudging your clit as he circles around your entrance, pulling whines from deep within you at the teasing. 

“Eddie,” you throw your head back hard enough that you’re sure that there will be an ache to feel once all is said and done, “Fuck. Right there.”

“I see someone’s found their words,” his voice is muffled and you can feel his smirk rather than see it. 

It’s a damn pretty sight. Him, on his knees, wet curls plastering down his shoulders and back as his face is buried between your thighs. 

You can trace over each indent of muscle across his skin through half-lidded eyes, memorize the way it looks dazzling with the moisture, watch as water pools where his fingers dig into your thighs to keep you balanced. 

When his tongue finally slips inside of you, slow and stretching as the tip of his nose digs deeper into your clit, you swear you’re seeing stars. You were going to snarkily reply, but you don’t have the capacity to reply with anything other than chants of his name. Mixtures of praying to him and praying to God fall from your lips alongside curses. All muddled, all strings of whimpers and moans as he continues to bring you closer to your edge. When he finally resorts to bringing his hand back into the mix, sinking two fingers into your cunt with little warning as he returns to lazy work on your clit, you gasp out – your body lurches forward as your curl into him and your back leaves the now sticky, warm wall. 

The arm that was wrapped around your lifted leg to help you balance is quick to throw over your hips, keeping half your body still pressed to the wall. “Careful, princess.” 

Each word reverberates through you, both physically and somewhere deep in your mind, sending you even further reeling as your fingers grab onto him deeper and try to press him impossibly close. 

Princess. Somewhere along crossing all these lines, you have ventured into new territory. A territory where the nicknames get under your skin in a brand new way, slipping into your subconscious for the better rather than arising any irritation. 

Baby, princess, sweetheart. 

You’ll take whatever you can get from him. 

“Wouldn’t want you slipping and falling,” he murmurs as he pulls back, face now slick with you rather than the steam or water, “Can’t have you ruining that pretty face, getting blood all over my bathroom, now can we?” 

He’s right. God, you fucking hate when he’s right. As much as every part of your body is screaming for him to take you right here against the shower wall, you know it’s not a good idea. And you’ve really, really succumbed to enough bad ideas in these last nineteen hours. 

“Bed,” you manage to gasp out, quick to detangle your fingers from his hair and try to grab onto his shoulders without purchase due to the water still tumbling down, “Bed, now.” 

He gets the message. Rises to his feet and lets your leg fall back down, shaking as he turns to cut the shower abruptly. Without asking, he’s the one to exit into the fierce cold of the apartment first, grabbing at the flesh of your hips and guiding you out along with him. He doesn’t even bother with towels – once he has you out of that potential death trap of a tub, his lips are on yours, nipping and passionate as you breathe him in. He’s the one that maneuvers the two of you out of the bathroom, you don’t even notice when he reaches behind himself to open the door, impressively never tripping as he walks backwards and keeps your lips on his. 

It occurs to you that this is how you two work best. No overshadow of being honest with each other, no clouds of feelings getting in the way. And yet, somehow, it’s the most vulnerable you’ve managed to feel with him yet. 

You don’t want it to only be this easy when both your clothes are off. You want it to be this easy in the early mornings that you wake him up for work, you want it this easy over late night take-out and horror movie marathons. You want more cigarettes at sunset with him, soft confessionals over a rising sun. 

You can’t keep pretending that nothing has changed. You simply can’t. The fierce promise of his protection, the way his eyes stay trained on you even in the busiest of rooms. Nothing could ever erase the blooms left from him hooking his pinky with yours at the parking garage. 

All of the night is flashing through your mind, and even in the trance he has you under, you’re seeing with perfect clarity. 

It’s why just as the backs of your knees connect with his mattress, before he can throw you down and continue what was started in the shower, you’re pushing your palms against his wet chest and forcing him to look into your eyes. 

“If we do this,” you shakily begin, watching his chest rise and fall in sync with yours. Once you say these words, you can’t take them back. You’re vividly aware of it before you continue to force your voice to come out the most steadily it has the entire night, “It changes everything.” 

He blinks, eyes owlish. Once, twice. More of that emotion you finally can single out but never identify swirls like storm clouds in his vision. You wait for him to run, for him to take it all back. You wait for it all to be over – for him to deliver the final blow and leave you to collect the rubble and blood money so you can pretend this night never happened. 

“Okay.” 

Those aren’t the words of a fatal blow. You think they might send you reeling even worse, though. 

“Okay?” you clarify. If your tongue wasn’t so heavy, you’d say more. Remind him of what exactly it means to change everything. 

It seems he already knows as he parrots back, “Okay.” 

Lips meet again, and this time, they’re charged with everything. With a promise of change and a promise that maybe there isn’t a ridiculous time limit here. There is no doomsday clock between the two of you. When the clock strikes 3 PM, neither of you will vanish into thin air. 

You let him throw you back onto the bed. Your bare back meets the surprisingly soft sheets, and they erupt in the scent of Eddie. Cigarettes, a hint of weed, whatever cologne he seems to douse himself in. You can even pinpoint his shampoo amongst the fragrance now. 

It’s no longer the smell of boy that you once ran from. His hand is behind your back, but not trapped. It’s there willingly and it is caressing every inch of you that he can find, tracing out any dimples in your back he can discover as he lets your legs curl up onto his hips, kisses dappling your neck, jaw, and lips alike. 

Your vines stretch high and proud, and drink in his waves with every passing of his breath on your skin that raises goosebumps. 

You want to live here forever. In the feel of him pausing right before his cock presses into you, in the way his face scrunches up and his mouth falls agape, the haze now spreading from your mind and across both of you. Nameless chants and pleads for what was already both in the palm of your hands before you even knew what to do with it. The roll of his hips and the way his wet skin sticks to your own. Your heels digging into him, bringing him in closer, closer, closer.

Every time, it has felt this way. Something beneath the surface that has you surrendering over yourself. He has hurt you, time and time again, and you’ve let your knives be just as sharp – but the wounds scab over now when it’s just the two of you like this. 

You’re best like this for a reason. Because for once, neither of you are overthinking it. You are vulnerable and you are bare, not just physically but emotionally. Honesty isn’t a request; it is a given. You don’t just have him, you know him. Across oceans and across gardens, across midnight skies and across soft morning light. 

You have him. You know him. 

It’s enough. 

Smokey bars. His protection. Slamming doors and the clicking of locks released. The night air surrounding you and the warmth of his back as you cling to him on a motorcycle that seems to be going faster than light in your memories. That parking garage, and that hook of his pinky – a way to get closer, but also a whisper of a promise. 

He’s bled for you. He’s bled from you. 

This changes everything. 

When his hips movements become sloppy, when the knot in your stomach tightens one last time, when your nails dig into his back and leave their mark, you know it to be true. 

Everything, everything, changes. 

Eddie never really hated you, never really could, and you realize now that the feeling is mutual. 

—

You hadn’t considered exactly what the aftermath would be when Eddie first dragged you out of the shower, but you surely never could have imagined the scene now playing out. 

Him, on his back, content and humming a song you’re too tired to ask him about. His fingers are trailing mindlessly up and down your spine as you splay out across his chest. You both probably need another shower, but neither of you are willing to leave his bed for it. 

It’s not you who remembers the photo. No, you’re tired, one foot already in the door of sleep as you curl yourself tighter into his side. 

He doesn’t use your phone this time. You didn’t even realize his outdated flip phone had a camera on it. You’re not even sure if you dreamt the soft click that sounds like a camera as you nuzzle deeper into his chest.

“Everything,” he whispers, just as the edges of your consciousness begin to blacken, “Yeah, this changes everything.”

Your last thought is a curious one; will he send the photo he just took? 

Would he dare to admit to everyone how everything has changed?

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taglist is now closed.

[mulletmitsuya]

Tokyo Revengers Groupchat (final timeline)

Warnings: suggestive, swearing, mentions of grooming (it's not serious), the word "pedophile"

Desc: a discussion about pride month takes a detour

Kazutora: what does pride month mean?

Kazutora: like is everyone supposed to be gay for the month or?

Mikey: yeah exactly

Mikey: basically we all have to kiss each other

Kazutora: oh

Baji: we can do a circle jerk session to start off pride

Mitsuya: Kazutora, don't ask just google it

Kazutora: what's a circle jerk session

Mitsuya: 😒

Mikey: i don't think it's necessary to go that far, Baji

Smiley: some of us, are in relationships

Baji: why did you say that as if you're the one in a relationship?

Smiley: just defending my guy Draken

Mikey: Ken-chin will you still be at pride even if you have a girlfriend

Draken: i mean, i guess.

Baji: does Emma even know you like boys

Baji: nvm she probably does. she did have to compete with Mikey for your attention so idk maybe it's obvious

Chifuyu: are you guys actually going to the pride parade? it's gonna be on tv i'm pretty sure

Chifuyu: which means people from school would see us

Chifuyu: or work

Mikey: we haven't been in school for years?

Baji: are you scared to be found out Chifuyu

Baji: bcs everyone knew in school

Baji: you made it glaringly obvious

Baji: closet made of glass and whatnot

Chifuyu: does it count as actually being gay if it's one guy tho

Chifuyu: like if i cook one time, am i chef?

Chifuyu: something to think about

Mikey: dude you're in a relationship with him, what are you talking about🤨

Takemitchy: Mikey-kun you're actually pretty famous so a lot of people would recognize you

Mikey: i'm pretty sure people know that i've tasted the rainbow

Mikey: people make edits of me and Ken-chin

Mikey: they're pretty cute

Mikey: people also write fanfiction about me

Mikey: guys do i look like a daddy dom

Mikey: serious question

Mikey: could i pull it off

Draken: what are edits?

Mikey: don't worry about it

Draken: no no, Emma was bugging me about it earlier and i had no idea what she was talking about so just tell me

Baji: search "Doramai edits"

Baji: don't know how Emma's dealing with all that

Mikey: Takemitchy are you and Hina coming

Takemitchy: can allies come?

Baji: "ally"

Baji: that's all you are??

Baji: sure

Takemitchy: ?

Draken: what the fuck is this shit

Draken: how do you report this

Draken: this is all taken out of context

Draken: Mikey you need to release a statement about this. what the fuck

Draken: i have a wife

Kazutora: guys i'm still confused

Izana: can you guys please use your own private little groupchat

Izana: no one, of the 15+ people on this group talk, but you 6

Mikey: are you and Kakucho coming to pride

Izana: stop ignoring what i just said

Mikey: do you and Kakucho explore each others bodies?

Baji: who tops?

Baji: nvm, wrong question. who doms?

Ran: if Kakucho and Izana were to be together romantically it would count as grooming

Ran: just putting that out there

Mikey: so what i'm hearing is that Izana is a PEDOPHILE🤔

Mikey: interesting

Mikey: i'm telling Shin

Izana: oh you're telling Shin? i'm so fucking scared

Izana: kill yourself

Mikey: please don't try me. i WILL do it🙏

Draken: wait are you guys actually together? cause that's an actual problem i'm pretty sure

Draken: wasn't he 14 while you were 18

Ran: i'm sorry Izana, that's my bad, didn't mean to make this a thing

Ran: and in his defense, that was 10 years ago

Rindou: 10 years of grooming

Rindou: sorry, i wanted in on the joke but it just looks bad

Mikey: Izana why aren't you defending yourself

Izana: because Kakucho and i aren't in a romantic relationship? i don't know what the fuck you guys are on about

Hakkai: didn't the Haitani's go look for Emma at her middle school when she was 13 and they were 17 because they heard rumours about Mikey's "hot" younger sister

Ran: we didn't know she was 13 😐

Rindou: she was 12, actually

Baji: why did you double down

Ran: jesus christ

Ran: 12??

Ran: we still didn't know

Chifuyu: literally all pedophiles say that

Mikey: i beg your pardon

Mikey: why were you guys looking for Emma

Rindou: people said she was hot

Rindou: those people were definitely pedophiles, yeah

Rindou: which we aren't, btw

Rindou: we saw her coming out of the sixth grade classes and realized we'd didn't get enough information

Rindou: our bad

Baji: what would Ran be doing with Emma anyway

Baji: aren't you gay

Ran: no?

Baji:

Mikey: why would you add that question mark Ran

Mikey: why are you acting suprised that people think you're gay when you act like that

Rindou: sorry Ran i can't defend you on this one

Ran: is it cause i'm flamboyant?

Draken: who describes themselves like that man

Ran: Koko's flamboyant

Ran: do you guys accuse him of homosexuality?

Ran: nvm

Chifuyu: i was about to say

Koko: well actually

Koko: i am a bisexual man

Koko: i like men and women

Koko: the man i like is inupi

Koko: we are in a relationship

Inupi: you didn't have to do all of that dude

Inupi: but thanks 👍❤

Koko: i am out and proud

Smiley: i know this is supposed to be sweet but this isn't the place to do this shit😭

Draken: are you guys going to therapy? good on you guys

Ran: didn't you like his sister?

Rindou: she died

Rindou: keeping it in the family i see. i respect it Koko

Ran: that doesn't mean what you think it means

Takemitchy: Rindou why would you say that

Smiley: the Haitani's are weird as fuck

Smiley: can we kick them out

Ran: at least we're not ugly

Rindou: and we aren't even weird

Smikey: i'm fucking adorable, don't play with me

Inupi: Akane isn't dead. what are you talking about

Rindou: the fire

Mikey: what fire😐

Mikey: the fire never happened. i made sure of it

Inupi: what?

Rindou: nvm y'all, i'm tripping

Rindou: i suddenly got a vision of Inupi with a huge scar on his face

Rindou: and his sister being dead

Ran: i told you to stop spending time with Sanzu

Ran: he's schizophrenic

Rindou: schizophrenia isn't contagious🤨?

Rindou: and i don't think he's schizophrenic i think he has autism or some shit

Ran: 2 very different mental illnesses??

Rindou: he has the evil kind

Ran: what?

Rindou: evil autism

Rindou: like he weaponizes it

Ran: that literally doesn't make sense

Rindou: it makes perfect sense, fym

Sanzu: i'm not schizophrenic?

Sanzu: or autistic?

Rindou: sure buddy

Mikey: IT'S AUTISM

Mikey: BAJI, IT'S AUTISM

Baji: what's autism?

Mikey: what's up with Haruchiyo!!

Baji: isn't he just gay?

Ran: why is that your conclusion to everything?

Ran: i'm starting to think you're the gay one

Baji: i've never denied that🤨?

Ran: oh

[storiesforallfandoms]

the ice cream girl ~ mike schmidt;five nights at freddy's

word count: 2144

request?: no

description: in which his regular ice cream spot in the mall hires a new girl

pairing: mike schmidt x female!reader

warnings: use of y/n

masterlist (one, two, three)

Mike's routine at the mall was a constant: clock in, do two laps around the mall, go for lunch with whoever else was on with him - usually Jeremiah - another few laps around the mall where he'd stop to talk to some of the store managers, then clock out and go home. The only deviations to his routine were the occasional birthday parties he'd be tasked with watching over, and whenever there was someone who needed to be handled by security.

Until he met a new worker at the mall.

He was in line for the ice cream place he would occasionally go to for a dessert after his lunch. They saw him so frequently that his order was usually ready before he even got to the counter - another usual in his routine.

But on this day, when he walked up to the counter, a new face was smiling at him.

"Welcome to Ice Cream Parties," she said. "What can I get for you?"

Mike opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by Cindy, one of the usual workers, saying, "We have his order, (Y/N). He's a regular."

(Y/N)'s eyes flickered to Mike's security uniform. "Well, that does make sense. Sorry, today's my first day."

"No, that's alright," Mike said. He desperately tried to think of something else to say, but found himself staring blankly at her instead. He was sure she thought he was crazy, and that thought made his face start to heat up.

Cindy came up to the counter with Mike's usual in hand. She passed it over to him with a smile before going back to work. Mike realized then that he hadn't paid yet. As he started taking his wallet from his pocket, (Y/N) said, "On the house."

"Are you sure?" Mike asked.

She nodded. "Consider it a kind gesture for a regular."

"Well...thanks."

"No problem. It's nice to meet you, Mike."

He was about to ask how she knew his name, but she nodded to his name tag before he could.

Right, that would make sense.

"Nice to meet you, too, (Y/N)."

After that, visits to Ice Cream Parties became part of Mike's routine. The first few visits were under the guise of actually getting ice cream for himself and Jeremiah. If it wasn't too busy, he was able to have brief conversations with (Y/N) while his order was being made. That excuse didn't last very long, though, as eventually Jeremiah put an end to the almost daily ice cream runs.

"Man, I'm going to gain like 10 pounds a week if you keep getting ice cream for us," he had said.

Mike had to admit, he was getting sick of eating ice cream so much, too. Seeing (Y/N) so often had made it worth it at first, but there was only so much of the frozen treat he could take before it became too much. He thought he'd have to come up with a new excuse to see her all the time, but she took him by surprise by doing it for him.

He was doing his rounds during a shift when he saw (Y/N) walking towards him. She had a smile on her face and she waved when he spotted her.

"Hey!" she said. "I've been looking for you?"

"You have?" Mike asked.

"Yeah! I haven't seen you in a bit. I was worried you quit or something."

"God, no, that's not happening. This is probably the easiest job I could have. I've just...been taking a break from ice cream."

"I don't blame you. You've had so much of it lately, I'm surprised you're not just a walking ice cream cone at this point." She playfully bumped his shoulder as she added, "You know, if you wanted to talk to me, you didn't need an excuse."

Mike was shocked into silence. Had it really been that obvious? He had tried to play it cool when he went, but maybe he hadn't been cool enough. Maybe it had been glaringly obvious every time he walked up to the counter and ordered whatever new flavor she recommended that he was desperately trying to figure out a way to ask her on a date.

But then she smiled and laughed, and Mike felt a weight being lifted from his chest.

"I'm joking," she said. "Mostly. If you wanna talk to me, you don't need to come buy ice cream. Just come talk to me."

"Noted," Mike said with a nod. "Well...what are you doing this evening?"

"I'm working the closing shift."

Mike tried not to let his disappointment show. "Oh. I, uh, I'm off in about an hour."

"I clock in in about an hour."

"Not meant to be, I guess."

(Y/N) shrugged. "I guess not. I have to run a quick errand before work, but I mean what I said - don't be a stranger, Mike."

Mike nodded. Once (Y/N) had turned and walked away, he let himself deflate. It wasn't a "no" because she wasn't interested, but it was still disheartening. It was definitely going to take time to build up his courage to ask her again, but at least now he knew she welcomed his company.

A week or so later, Mike found himself at the mall again on his day off. He usually hated to be there when he wasn't working, but Abby started school the next week and she needed new clothes. She had been begging him for weeks to take her shopping, but he kept putting it off until he had no choice but to take her. On the plus side, Abby was extremely easy to shop with because she knew what she wanted, and she knew where to get it. It would be a quick in and out and he could be away from the mall within an hour and a half tops.

But, after leaving Abby's favorite store with the intent on going home, Abby stopped Mike and said, "I'm hungry."

"We have food at home," he reminded her.

"I don't want actual food. I want a snack."

"We have snacks at home."

"We don't have ice cream at home."

That was enough to shut him up and get him to agree. He had no idea if (Y/N) was working that day, but he wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to see her.

As luck would have it, she was working. She was at the counter in her stripped apron and white paper hat. She was passing the customer in front of them an ice cream, her customer service smile plastered on her face. Mike had come to learn the difference between her customer service smile and her real smile, because when she would look at him the dull smile would brighten just a little.

When the customer stepped away, he got to see her face light up at the sight of him.

"Oh, hey Mike!" she said. "I thought you were off today."

"I am. I had to take my sister back to school shopping," Mike said, gesturing to Abby.

(Y/N) looked down at Abby and offered her a warm smile. "Well hey there. I had no idea Mike had a sister."

"This is Abby. Abby, this is (Y/N)."

"It's nice to meet you, Abby."

"You too," Abby said. To Mike she added, "Is she the one you always talk to Max about?"

Mike's ears were on fire as (Y/N) looked back up at him. Abby always knew how to say the right things to embarrass him.

"Just tell her what you want," he muttered, suddenly no longer in the mood for ice cream.

Abby ordered for herself and (Y/N) went to make it. Cindy took over at the cash while (Y/N) stepped away, which disappointed Mike. Usually Cindy was the one making the orders while (Y/N) was at the cash, and they'd have their small conversations while Mike waited. He really hoped what Abby had said hadn't scared (Y/N) off completely.

She came back and handed Abby her ice cream.

"Are you guys sticking around much longer?" she asked Mike.

"We weren't really planning on it. Abby just wanted ice cream before we went home."

"I'm off in, like, 10 minutes. If you guys don't mind a third, I mean."

Mike agreed without consulting Abby. Not like the younger girl really cared either way. She was already deep into her ice cream and ignoring the whole conversation.

Mike and Abby sat at a nearby table to wait for (Y/N). Abby finished her ice cream in record time, giving herself a brain freeze. Mike couldn't help but laugh as his sister scrunched up her face in pain.

"That's why you don't eat cold foods that fast," he said.

"Do you like (Y/N)?" Abby asked through the brain freeze pain.

The quick change in topic startled Mike. "I mean...yeah. She's my friend."

"But you like her," Abby said. "You always talk about her, and I saw the way you look at her."

Mike shrugged, trying not to give Abby any other ideas. He didn't need her blurting something else out and embarrassing him again. "She's a friend, Abby. Friends talk about friends."

"Friends don't look at other friends like they want to kiss them, though."

Mike chuckled. "Some do."

Abby gave him a look. He sighed and said, "Maybe I do, but that doesn't give you permission to say stuff to her about it, okay? For now, we're just friends."

"You should ask her out. I think she'd say yes."

"It's not that easy, Abs."

"What's not that easy?"

Mike jumped at the sound of (Y/N)'s voice behind him. When he looked at her, she was already changed out of her work uniform. "Nothing. Abby and I were just talking."

He shot Abby a look to tell her not to say anything. (Y/N) looked between the two of them with a skeptical look on her face.

"Do you have a ride home?" Mike asked.

"If you're offering, then yes. I was supposed to wait around for my roommate to get me, but I'd much rather hang out with you guys and get out of here."

The three of them walked to Mike's car. Abby filled most of the silence by talking to (Y/N) about whatever came to her little mind. (Y/N) just smiled and responded as Abby spoke. Mike would sneak glances at her and smile to himself.

Abby got into the car first, and as Mike was reaching for the door handle to get in himself, (Y/N) said, "Wait."

He paused and looked up at her, confused.

"Why haven't you asked me out yet, Mike?"

The question took him completely by surprise, but that seemed to be her specialty at this point. He opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was some stuttered nonsense.

"I mean, if you don't like me then that's fine, I get it," she continued. "But I thought that maybe we had a connection, and I keep thinking you're going to ask me out and then you don't, and I'll be honest, I'm losing my mind a little bit."

"Whoa, whoa," Mike said. "Slow down. I'm sorry that's how you're feeling, but I've been trying to ask you out. I did ask you out a few weeks ago!"

"That wasn't asking me out! You asked what I was doing and I said working. You didn't even follow up to try and figure out a different day we could've went out instead!"

"I didn't know I was supposed to do that!"

They both paused and, after a moment, they started to laugh.

"I'm clueless with this stuff," Mike admitted. "I haven't dated since high school."

"Well, here's a tip: if you like a girl, ask her out. Her liking you back is more likely than you'd think."

Mike smiled. "Do you want to come over for dinner? I'm sure it's not exactly the date you're thinking of, but Abby wants spaghetti and meatballs tonight, and I do make a mean spaghetti and meatballs."

(Y/N) smiled back. It was brighter than her real smile. It was what Mike decided to dub her "Mike smile".

"I'd love to," she said. "I love spaghetti and meatballs."

Abby opened her car door then and looked between the two of them. "What's taking you so long?"

"Hey Abs, would it be okay if (Y/N) joined us for dinner?" Mike asked, although he already knew the answer.

Abby lit up with excitement and vigorously nodded her head. Mike and (Y/N) finally got into the car and they made their way back to Mike's place. The entire car ride he couldn't wipe the smile from his face.

[muddyorbsblr]

a proper fit

'one look and they'll know' collection masterlist See my full list of works here!

Placement: married era; a week after 'come on, england'

Summary: You return to the Soccer Aid training grounds to prep for this year's game and promotional events, having to spend a day away from your husband.

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Brynne (blech this bitch is back); language; steamy married blorbos moments [let me know if I missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: yearning married babeys in the first scene; shifting POVs

The briefing room was already filled with the sounds of reunions and multiple conversations of catching up when you walked through the doors. Before you walked in further in to the commotion, you whipped out your phone, shooting off a text to Tom.

I'm at the training grounds. Looks a bit fancier than last year.

Before you could even make it two steps into the room, your phone sounded with a new message.

I know you've only been away two hours tops, but I already miss you terribly.

You had to take a breath, doing your best to not let your shoulders slump. Was it crazy that after nearly a decade together, you two still behaved like this whenever you had to be apart? To most people, definitely. But you and Tom weren't most people, and reading that text had you instinctively running your thumb along the rings on your left hand.

I miss you, too, sweetie. I know we'll see each other tomorrow but sleeping alone tonight is gonna fucking suck.

Right as you were about to put your phone away, one more message came through from your husband, making you pause again and take a moment to compose yourself before you started acting like a giddy teenage girl. Already counting the hours, goddess. Though I suspect we won't be getting much sleep tomorrow night, either. With a goddamn smirking emoji at the end.

"Ohh my god, Y/N!" A smile pulled at your face catching sight of the owner of the voice. Lilly, waving frantically next to Simone, your roommates for a day last year. They pulled you into a hug the second you made your way over to them, already asking questions on what life had been like for the last year.

"I was looking for your name in the credits for the second season of Loki but I couldn't find it, what happened? You didn't come back for--"

"Ohh no I'm there," you answered Simone. "It's just my name doesn't display on there as Y/N Y/L/N anymore, but Y/N H."

"Hang on a bloody second there, sweetie are you saying--"

"Wait no, why did you print a player name on a staff badge?" you heard Johanna question one of the other staff members at the registration table. "Find a blank one we'll just have to write hers down by hand."

You had a feeling you knew which name she was pertaining to. Yours. But before you could make your way over to the table and clear it up yourself, another voice called for your attention. Bitched for it, actually.

"Well well, Y/L/N, shoulda known you were going to be here again this year. We all know by now that you're so paranoid you have to tail your boyfriend everywhere he bloody goes. Tell me, do you follow him to the loo as well?"

Ohh this is gonna be particularly delicious, you thought to yourself as you turned around to face Brynne with the widest most plastic looking smile you could muster up. "And hello to you, too, Brynne."

"What do you mean which player name, it's glaringly obvious which one. That one. The one with 'Hiddleston' printed on it. He's a player, not staff, dearie."

Lilly and Simone audibly gasped hearing Johanna's words before you kept answering back to Brynne. "Let me correct you right now, so you don't get it confused for the rest of the week. First, it's not boyfriend, it's husband." Her snarky smile dropped at the word. "And second, you may call me Mrs Hiddleston." Right as her jaw dropped, you turned around to call out to Johanna, "That's not a mistake! That's mine."

A wide grin spread across the older woman's face at the new information. "So Tom finally put a ring on you, huh?" She gave you a brief hug when you made your way to the table. "Congratulations, dear."

"Multiple rings, actually," you clarified, Lilly and Simone joining in to look over the pieces of jewelry on your hands that were definitely not there last year. You pointed at the heart-shaped amethyst on your right middle finger. "He gave me this one two years ago, but…the reason I wasn't wearing it last time y'all saw me is a long winded story for another day." They all pouted from your cutting the story short before it even began. "Or maybe later tonight when we're all done for the day."

"I'll have to remember to stop by your room later because this is not something I'd want to miss," Johanna said with a giggle, pointing over at your left hand. "Hang on, dear. Is that that ring I've been seeing people getting into tiffs over in the forums?"

"Ohh the Darry ring? Yeah, we got matching sets for our engagement and our wedding rings. Signed off each of our one and only transaction with them." Your smile grew wider looking at the stacked rings on your left ring finger. "They're not gonna hear any complaints from us about not being able to make another purchase down the line, we're sure. We've had more than half a decade to be sure."

"Well then, shall I hand you over your husband's room key, then?" She rifled through a booklet containing the key cards to the players' rooms, taking two out and handing them over to you. "I had an extra made for you already when you agreed to come back this year and help out."

There was a spring in Tom's step the closer he got to the entryway for the training grounds, the weight sitting heavy in his heart since you left the house last night already lifting knowing that just behind those massive double doors, you were somewhere inside. And you would be back in his arms in a few short minutes. Even if it was just for a short while until you two properly reunited later tonight.

He wouldn't admit it out loud, but his anticipation of seeing you again had him a touch out of focus with the initial arrival interview for the players that he opted to instead tag along with one of the other players on the England team so he could bounce his answers off of them. He wasn't even sure if he spoke a full coherent sentence in that interview.

All he knew for sure was that as soon as the interviewer thanked them for their time he was off to walk through the main entrance. With the singular objective of finding you.

It wasn't long until he crossed paths with the woman in charge of the committee last year, and from the looks of it, this year as well. "Tom! You're here early we all expected the players to be spending some time out in the field, getting a lay of the land, just leaving their luggage here to be brought to their rooms later. Getting your uniforms?"

"Right right…" he mumbled, feeling a bit sheepish now that he was getting a firm grasp on how disoriented he truly had been for the past day. "I was hoping to see Y/N though before I got started on all that--"

"Oh, say no more, dearie. She's in the main ballroom, I believe. Been lending a hand to most anyone that needs it so they can all collectively finish with the day's tasks sooner. She's been blazing through her assignments since she got here. Seems she's motivated to have every bit of free time she can manage." The elder woman gave him a knowing smile, pointing at the hallway leading to the ballroom in question. "I also took the liberty of giving your wife the keycards to your room. Oh, and before I forget, congratulations. You two make an impeccable pair."

Tom couldn't help the grin that stretched across his face. He never could whenever anyone at all referred to you as his wife. Even more so when he or anyone else would refer to himself as your husband. Much as it had been a long and winding road to finally get to where you two were now, he wouldn't change a single day.

He made sure to utter a 'thank you' toward Johanna before taking off down the hall, walking much faster than he usually did, his heart already beating faster when he could already pick up your voice in the flurry of the conversation going on inside. You were all talking about the complimentary Theraguns being given to the players. He couldn't prevent the chuckle that escaped him when he heard you talking about how you two had already driven one to the ground and were well on your way to bringing that count up to two with how often either of you had needed it over the years. And how it was good that now you already had a third one on standby.

The young man standing guard outside the ballroom straightened his stance immediately once he clocked Tom approaching. "Oh…I'm really sorry, Mr. Hiddleston, but players generally aren't allowed in this area."

"That's quite alright, I actually just stopped by to see if I could steal Y/N away? I was told she's here assisting."

"Oh…certainly, Sir. I'll go ahead and call for her now."

"God these smell so good!" Simone sighed, taking a sniff of the luxury bath products that you two were placing into the self-care packages that the players would receive later tonight. "I hope we end up having a bit of surplus."

"Well if we do, just ask Johanna nicely I'm sure she'll be happy to give away whatever's left," you told her, taking a sniff for yourself and couldn't help but break out into a grin when the scent that hit you resembled Tom's cologne.

Before she could ask you what had you in such lighter spirits, another one of the staff members, Allen, called out into the room. "Hiddleston!"

It took you a second before you processed that he was calling for you. Still haven't gotten used to that, you silently tsk'd yourself. "Oop, that's me. What's up?"

"God rub it in a little more, why don't you? I don't think the rats in the walls know yet," you heard Brynne grumble from her corner of the ballroom.

You tried to fight the urge to sass her back. But you weren't that evolved. Not yet. And for people like her, maybe not ever. "What was that? There's rats in the walls?" you said loudly, visibly startling the redhead. She glared at you, pursing her lips before returning to her task, and you turned back to address Allen. "So…what's up?"

"There's someone here for you." You had to fight back a squeal when he opened the door wider and revealed your husband on the other side, an ear to ear grin on his face when your eyes met. The urge to run across the room and straight into his arms, however, was a fight that you lost all too quickly. He dropped his duffle bag when you got close so he could wrap his arms around you and lift you into the air once you closed the distance.

"You're here early," you said, giggling when he pressed his lips to yours. "We weren't expecting the players inside until later tonight."

"I couldn't wait that long to see you again, sweetheart." He gave you a kiss on the cheek before setting you back down on your feet, raising a hand to wave at your friends who were now swooning from watching you two reunite. "When the other guys mentioned someone else's name at the desk for claiming our uniforms I set off to find you."

"Ohh…right. They didn't assign me for that this year since I'm not the new girl anymore. Gave the girl assigned there my little hand fan though. Hopefully it helped."

"Yeah there's nothing new about you, old boring bitch," Brynne grumbled again. You could feel Tom tense up as he held you, no doubt seeing how your entire mood shifted once you heard her words.

You took a deep breath, letting your voice settle into its natural timbre that you seldom used anymore. Outside your home, that is. "Sorry Brynne, but you're gonna have to speak up a bit." She flinched in her spot, eyes widened as she looked up at you, so obviously indignant that you called her out for the second time in the last few minutes. "You know, since my old boring ears can't really hear you all that well."

"Fuck dammit you heard--It's-it's nothing, Y/N, I wasn't saying anything--"

"You don't get to call me that," you cut her off, making her neck twitch more erratically the more your voice settled into its natural state. "You don't get to disrespect me at every turn since the day you met me a whole ass year ago and get away with calling me by the same name my friends and family get to call me. Now…you seem to be confused again, Brynne. Would you like me to remind you what you may call me?"

Her nostrils flared as she shook, the embarrassment and the indignation of having to address you 'properly' rolling off her in waves. "No. No you don't. It won't happen again--" She sucked her teeth audibly, making it increasingly obvious she had such a visceral reaction to even uttering her next words. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hiddleston."

You slowly looked her over, a tiny sadistic part of you struggling not to smirk seeing her fidget in place while waiting for your response. After a few seconds you gave a bored shrug. "Your fake sincerity needs work, Saunderson. But I'll let it slide. For the last time."

All the other staff members in the ballroom had their jaws on the ground at what they just witnessed, most of them looking silently satisfied that the audacious woman was finally put in her place and finally chose to face off against someone that returned the energy that she was putting out tenfold. Lilly and Simone broke the silence clapping and whooping for you, the rest joining in slowly.

You gave them all a little salute before turning back to face Tom, lacing your fingers through his. The two of you walked toward the claiming room for the uniforms but barely made it halfway down the hall before he led you into a narrow corridor off to the side, pressing you against the wall and slanting his mouth over yours.

He threaded his fingers through your hair, groaning into your mouth as your tongues met.

"You know what that voice does to me, goddess," he groaned the second he pulled away and his lips latched on to the crook of your neck. "I've missed you." He rested his forehead against yours, trying to steady his breathing, his hand firmly grasping your thigh as your leg wrapped around his. "Do you have any other tasks before the training proper starts?"

"I don't," you breathed out, crossing your hands behind his neck to pull him into another kiss. "I finished everything Johanna sent my way from this morning."

"Then I very much want you to come with me to claim my uniforms."

"Say less, sweetie." You let out a giggle as he stole another kiss before setting your leg down and threading your fingers together so you could lead him to the claiming area for the players' uniforms.

When you walked through the door, the girl assigned to your task last year, Penny, looked visibly flustered once she caught sight of Tom. "O-Ohh…Mr and Mrs Hiddleston--" She started scrambling at the packages, not clocking the way you and your husband looked at each other, giving each other a tiny smirk at how you two were addressed now.

You indulged yourself in reminiscing on how you and Tom were around this time last year, keeping things so private that his fellow players and your fellow staff members knew nothing about your relationship. And your husband making a whole show of trying on the uniforms that you registered one size too small, with him giving you a damn near striptease almost exactly where the two of you stood right now.

"Here we are…" Penny trailed off, fishing a parcel out of the pile of uniforms with a "6" drawn on with a wide marker. "We got some changing areas outside if you want to make sure your training jerseys fit alright."

"Oh wow they actually have proper changing rooms this year," you chuckled, pointing over to the corner of the room. "Last year they just had a curtain in the corner over there."

Tom approached the table, ready to sign. "There's no need to try them on, I trust my wife inputted the right size this year." He gave you a playful pointed look, which in turn had you giving him a small pout.

"I put medium this year, sweetie, I promise."

"Hold on…last year's--?"

"I put Small on his registration form last year," you answered Penny, her jaw dropping to the ground as she made her way around the table to shake your hand vigorously.

"Thank you for your service," she said with a hushed tone. "The group chat went wild last year over those pictures."

"I'll do it again in a heartbeat when I get the chance," you whispered back conspiratorially, giving the young girl a little wink.

"I can hear you, sweetheart."

"Next time I'm not gonna bother pretending it was a mistake, though." You scrunched your nose at your husband when he turned around to face you again. He took your hand in his and led you out the room, both of you shooting a 'thank you' Penny's way before exiting the room.

What you didn't expect for him to do next was lead you into one of the designated changing areas, his expression full of more than transparent intent. Especially when he locked the door and started untucking his shirt from his pants at a deliberately slow pace. He kept his gaze locked on you as he approached you, making you so weak in the knees that you had to prop yourself against the wall just to stay upright.

"Sweetie…what're you doing?"

Once he closed the distance, he crowded you, working his thigh between your legs and capturing your lips in a tender but heated kiss that stole your breath away. "I need to change and get ready for training, sweetheart," he said softly, murmuring against your lips as he guided your hand to the buttons of his shirt. "And even though we'll see each other again for much longer later tonight, I've very much missed my wife's touch."

You took in a shaky breath, letting out a whimper when he slid his free hand underneath your shirt. "I missed you, too," you whispered, both of you smiling into the kiss when you began to undo the buttons of his shirt.

Later that night, you left the dining hall long before dinner was finished, readying your room for when Tom would get there. You barely had enough time to transfer the welcome package from the bed to the table and change into a sleeveless nightgown before you heard the door unlock. He scanned the room, a lustful knowing grin on his face when he caught sight of you, eyes darkening as they hungrily roamed your body covered by the luxe satin fabric.

"Hi. I'm Y/N I'll be your roommate for the week," you told him, letting out a stream of giggles when he made his way to you and lifted you by the backs of your thighs.

"I didn't realize the players were to be assigned a roommate," he said playfully, wasting no time and kissing along the neckline of your nightgown.

"Some budget cuts had to be made," you joked, squealing when your back hit the bed with a soft thud and your husband now hovered over you, giving you a little smirk before proceeding to kiss his way down your neck.

He worked his hands underneath your nightgown, groaning into your skin as he grasped at your legs for a moment before working the fabric up and off your body. "You should know by now, goddess, that there are rules you must adhere to if you're going to room with me." He let out a contented sigh once he completely removed the garment off of you, baring your body to him. "No clothing," he rasped, his eyes not leaving yours as he whipped his own jersey up and over his head before sliding his arm under you and lifting you off the mattress, pressing your chests together. "I don't want any barriers between us."

Your joint moans filled the room as you kissed each other in a desperate, starved tangle of lips and tongues. Like you were separated for months. He shuffled his shorts down his legs until he could kick them off of him and wrap your legs around his waist as he carried you to the shower.

And you both knew that as much as it sucked being apart even for the shortest, fleeting amount of time, oh how delicious it was when you both were finally home with each other again.

A/N: There's a whole bunch of stories that are banging the walls for my attention but I honestly can't help it, OLTK blorbos keep getting a hold of me 😂 I'm gonna try and cool it with these two though and work on some other projects…starting with…

OOP-- 😳👀

Also I had to fade to black their steamy moments here because honestly if I didn't it'd have taken longer to get this done 🥴🫡

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist

[propheticclown]

As much as I love Homestuck and praise it for the character writing. I have to say... (TW: rant) (Spoilers for Homestuck Act 5 Act 2 and beyond) FUCK YOU HUSSIE WHAT THE FUCK WAS THIS FOR YOU PIECE OF SHIT HE DID NOT DESERVE THAT YOU MOTHERFUCKER

NEVER IN MY LIFE HAVE I EVER SEEN A CHARACTER WITH SUCH AMAZING POTENTIAL GET WIPED AWAY SIMPLY BECAUSE YOU CONSIDERED HIM A "JOKE CHARACTER" WHAT THE FUUUUUUCK!?!??!!??!??! DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE LIMITLESS CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT POTENTIAL EQUIUS HAD YOU HALF-BAKED OVER SEASONED FUCK OF AN AUTHOR?!!?!?!? DO YOU EVEN HAVE THE COGNITIVE ABILITY TO UNDERSTAND HOW GREATLY YOU FUMBLED THIS BAG!?!?!?!? DOES YOUR KITCHEN SHELF-LEVEL IQ EVEN COMPREHEND THE MISTAKE YOU MADE WHEN YOU DECIDED TO DO THIS?!?!!? EQUIUS' STORY COULD'VE BEEN FUCKING AWESOME!!! DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW INTERESTING HE WAS!?!?!? HE COULD'VE LEARNED THAT THE HEMOSPECTRUM IS BULL AND FULLY APPRECIATED THE PEOPLE AROUND HIM?!!?!!? HE EVEN COULD'VE BEEN ANOTHER POTENTIALLY INCREDIBLE VOID PLAYER!!! ESPECIALLY CONSIDERING HE'S A FUCKING HEIR OF VOID!!! "HOW DOES HE INHERIT VOID?!?!?! GREAT QUESTION!!! TOO BAD YOU'LL NEVER FIND OUT BECAUSE HE ONLY HAS TWO BIG PARTS OF THE STORY AND ONE OF THEM IS HIS LITERAL FUCKING DEATH!!!" I COULD EXCUSE IT IF IT GAVE WAY FOR SOME CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT BUT GUESS FUCKING WHAT?! YOU FUMBLED THE BAG TWICE!!!

BECAUSE YOU KILLED THE ONE PERSON THAT WOULD'VE ACTIVALLY BEEN AFFECTED BY EQUIUS' DEATH YOU UTTER NINCOMPOOP!!! IT'S LIKE YOU GOT POSSESSED BY A FUCKING TROGLODYTE THE SECOND YOU STARTED WRITING THIS PART!!! NEPETA COULD'VE GONE THROUGH A SERIOUSLY AMAZING ARC ABOUT EQUIUS' DEATH AND WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A ROUGE OF HEART!!! IT WAS RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU AND YOU MUST HAVE WORSE EYESIGHT THAN I DO BECAUSE YOU COULDN'T SEE IT!!! AND YOU KNOW WHAT'S FUCKING CRAZIER?!?!?! THE THIRD AND FINAL FUMBLE!!!

YOU GAVE JOHN THE ABILITY TO LITERALLY BRING PEOPLE BACK FROM THE DEAD!!! AND YOU ONLY BROUGHT BACK VRISKA?!?!?!??! THE ONLY TROLL THAT ACTIVALLY HAS BEEN SHOWN TO BE A PROBLEM?!?!?! YOU DIDN'T BRING BACK FEFERI, EVEN THOUGH A STRIFE BETWEEN HER AND THE CONDENSE WOULD'VE BEEN PERFECT!!! YOU DIDN'T BRING BACK ERIDAN, EVEN THOUGH IT WAS FORSHADOWED THAT HE WAS GOING TO DEFEAT LORD ENGLISH, AS WELL AS HAVE BE MOIRAILS WITH KARKAT AND MATESPRITS WITH ROXY!!! YOU DIDN'T BRING BACK TAVROS, EVEN THOUGH HALF OF GAMZEE'S PROBLEMS WOULDN'T EVEN EXIST AND IT WOULD'VE MADE FOR A GREAT CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT FOR BOTH OF THEM!!! AND YOU DIDN'T BRING BACK THE TWO CHARACTERS WHO WOULD'VE HAD SOME OF THE BEST POTENTIAL DEVELOPMENT IN THE ENTIRE SERIES, EQUIUS AND NEPETA!!!! AAHGHGHGH!!! ACT 6 WAS SUCH A GIANT BALL DROP ON EVERYTHING YOU SET UP FOR THE TROLLS!!! SO MUCH NOTHING HAPPENED!!! IT'S LIKE YOU ONLY CARE ABOUT VRISKA, WHICH IS PROBABLY THE CASE CONSIDERING YOUR SELF-INSERT TRIES TO GET WITH HER MULTIPLE TIMES, EVEN THOUGH SHE WAS DEAD AND LITERALLY FUCKING 13 YEARS OLD?!!?!?! I HAVE NEVER IN MY LIFE BEEN THIS LIVID OVER SOMETHING SO GLARINGLY OBVIOUS!!! IT'S LIKE YOU'RE BEING WILLINGLY OBTUSE!!! UUUUUGHGHGHUGHHGG!!!!!!! I SWEAR STUFF LIKE THIS MAKES ME FEEL LIKE A LIGHT PLAYER!!!

[ximiiixx]

seducing your neighbor 101.

in which cove is an open book, and you have always known what he likes. fortunately for you, you're also well aware of what you want.

♡ nsfw, no au, gn + afab or amab reader ♡ sub / service top cove + gentle dom bottom reader ♡ pre-established relationship, oral sex (reader receiving), mostly vanilla save for cove's anklet fixation bleeding into brief foot worship(?)

you are many, many things - but you aren't stupid.

perhaps it was because you saw a bit of yourself in the way your neighbor and closest friend acted around you, but you've known cove has had a crush on you for quite a while. of course, you'd never want to pressure him into anything without a bit of delicacy, and so you resigned to wait for him to tell you instead at the ripe age of 13.

it's been about seven years since then. he still hasn't told you. even after you moved in together, got pets together, started sharing a bed - he has not told you.

and you are many, many things - but you aren't completely patient, either.

as fun as all the sneaky glances and playful banter that this cat-and-mouse game has granted you are, you're not about to pretend that this is all you want. and you've known cove long enough to know when he wants something too - especially when it's something he feels like he can't have.

so thus begins your grand plan to let him know that you're something - someone - that he is very allowed to have.

from leaving your nicest underwear in plainest view in the wash during his laundry days to spending your mornings in practically nothing when you're on breakfast duty, every hint you hurl at him couldn't be more glaringly obvious. you're sure he knows that you're up to something - after all, it's not like he's stupid either although you're working on changing that.

but, stubborn as ever, he still refuses to make a move.

and with how impatient you can be, you're getting sick of playing the long game with him. therefore, you've decided that you won't play at all - you'll just have to set up the stage for him to reap the rewards himself.

so here you find yourself, curled up in your shared bed - he really has gotten better at that - with...

...a vibrator pressed against your clit.

...your fingers wrapped around your cock.

short breaths punch out from your lungs as you shiver, feeling another lightning-bolt shock of pleasure lap against your nerves. shifting your legs to spread open further draws a high whimper out of you as your head turns, face pressed into cove's pillow as you steadily work yourself to climax.

"ohh f- fuck, cove-" you whine, teeth aching to dig into more than just his pillowcase. the little lace number you'd done yourself up in today clings to your sweat-damp skin, and your chest heaves against the thin straps with every curl of pleasure that digs into your core. "c'mon, fuck, fffuck- yyeah, mhm, mhm mhm-"

magma flows through your blood as you arch up and cry out, a rambled covecovecove spilling from parted lips as you cum. you collapse against the sheets, flushed and fucked out, riding out your orgasm in soft squelches of sweat and cum against trembling fingers.

your timing couldn't have been more perfect. footsteps are padding up the stairs, and the door creaks open with a high shriek that easily snaps you out of your reverie.

and there cove holden stands, face cherry-red and grip on the doorknob white-knuckled. you feign a drowsy blink, sitting up and letting the blanket fall from your shoulders.

cove swallows, hard. "uh- hey. so you, you're busy, and- and i walked in at a really bad time, and so i'm just gonna go soyoucanpretendyouneversawm-"

"cove," you interrupt, voice a breathless sigh as you put on your best pleading face. "please."

a crinkle of your brow, a whine in your tone. "fuck me."

an unintelligible sound leaves him, followed by a tiny, "...okay."

there's little that could delight you more than watching his eyes finally, finally pour over your body as if he'd been holding back, drinking in all of you without so much as a detail spared. his steps as he wobbles towards you are unsteady in gait, not so much as a breath leaving him as he reaches out to you.

"did-" he starts, running his tongue over dry lips before he continues. "did you want me to, um-?"

"yes," you groan, partially out of relief that he finally got the hint and partially out of the need to have this man on you. "please, cove. you've- we've been at this long enough. i don't wanna wait anymore."

as you speak, your feet push off the blanket still draped over your legs. under the dim light of your bedroom, the thin band of silver secured around your ankle glints playfully.

and he notices. he doesn't say anything, but you know he saw it because the shudder that convulses through him is a delicious sight. without a word, he pushes the rest of the blanket aside and lifts the back of your calf with one hand, the other keeping him balanced on the bed as he gazes at the anklet with no little amount of pure want.

"can- can i?" he asks, voice suddenly hoarse. you nod, perhaps a little too enthusiastically, but if cove notices then he doesn't mention it as he presses a kiss to the side of your leg, just shy of the jewelry as his lips quiver against your skin.

then his hand finds its way under your foot, pushing your leg back against you just so as he kisses the top of your feet almost reverently. the sight of it sends a shiver through you,

your pussy clenching around nothing as you whine.

your cock throbbing as your fingers curl into the sheets.

watching him at your feet, at your mercy, is almost enough to make you cum on the spot. thankfully, you're able to show a bit of restraint as you remember how to breathe again.

"cove," you murmur, and he blinks up almost lazily at you from where his gaze was once fixed on your jewelry.

"mm?"

"quit making me wait." your voice hardens into something just a little firmer, a slight indicator that you're done playing these games, and you watch him gulp as he nods stiffly.

"okay," he replies, a dry rasp. "can i- um. can i taste you-?"

there we go, your mind practically cries as you nod eagerly, parting your legs in invitation. cove's gaze fixes on your cunt / cock, and you watch as his eyes blow wide. there's the slightest tick in his cheek; his jaw clenching, then unclenching as he draws in an unsteady breath.

"okay," he repeats. "okay."

his head dips low, eyes suddenly fixing on you like a red dot, and his breath ghosts against your inner thighs as he whispers, "are you sure-?"

"cove, for god's sake," you mutter as one hand goes to wind through his hair in a startling show of confidence, "if your mouth isn't on me in the next five seconds, i'm going to fucking ruin you."

cove shivers at that.

"oh- okay, yup, got it, no more talking," he rambles as his hands migrate to lift under your thighs, providing the perfect position for him to eat you out / suck you off. for a moment, he sits there, eyes unmoving from your aching sex, and you begin to wonder if he really isn't going to do anything again after all.

then the flat of his tongue presses against you, dead center, and you choke back a loud moan as your fingers go rigid, fisting into his hair with little of the restraint you used to be so good at.

"ohhhh, fuck- yeah, yeah-" you cry, a guttural sound that leaves him whimpering between your thighs. "more, cove, more, jus' like that-"

cove's tongue wastes no time in diving between your puffy folds, fucking into your soaking cunt with no abandon. loud, unbidden moans vibrate against your clit as his nose presses against it, your juices spilling into his eager mouth without so much as a warning.

cove's mouth, warm and wet and so needy, wraps around the tip of your cock and sinks down onto you, tongue laving over your length as his throat tightens around you. obscene slurping noises fill the somewhat-silence as his nose bumps against your navel.

it takes everything in you not to cum right then and there, one hand tugging at his hair as you grind your sex into his willing mouth. his moans send pulses of need tightening in your stomach, eyes fluttering back as you lose sight of him in favor of the blinding white that bursts in spots behind your eyelids.

"cove, cove, covecovecove-" you sob, fucking into his mouth as your moans break off into high whimpers. "fffffuck, fuck- 'm gonna cum, 'm g'nna- fuck, fuckfuck-"

"mmf- plea'e-" cove mumbles, muffled and hot against your cunt / cock. "cum f'r me, plea- f'ck, please-"

you nod in a frenzy, letting the pleasure consume all your senses as you wail out a loud moan, your orgasm ramming into you like a freight train.

you can't help it - your pussy flutters around his tongue as you squirt down his throat.

your cock slams down his throat without warning as your cum shoots down his mouth.

cove's loud whine is muffled by the press of your sex into his mouth, effectively shutting him up and leaving the room to be filled by your sounds. your hips twitch as you slowly come down from your climax, still canting up into his mouth even as your grip on his hair loosens.

his tongue runs over your cunt / cock as he cleans you up, quiet hums vibrating against you as he slowly pulls back. a hoarse gasp leaves him once he fully tugs himself away from you, brow beading with sweat as he gazes up at you.

"that- was that- did i do...good?" he pants softly, tongue running over his lips. all you can do is nod, feeling the delicious warmth beginning to ebb in favor of reality seeping in.

slowly, you begin to sit up. cove's quick to guide you up, hand splayed against the small of your back as he frets over you. despite the way your heart flutters at the gesture, your mind is focused on something else.

"did you want me to...?" you trail off, eyes glancing down to his pants. cove's face blooms in a pretty flush as he shakes his head.

"i, um- i already..." he mumbles, looking away from your face as the tips of his ears burn. recognition slowly sets in as your eyes widen, and you can't help but laugh as you pull him into you by the shoulders.

"you are so cute," you giggle breathlessly, tucking your face into his shoulder. you feel him relax as his head slumps against you, chest heaving against yours.

"does this, um," he starts, lashes fluttering against your skin as his exhale brushes against the lace on your shoulder. "does this- did this mean anything to...i- i just mean that- did you want to-"

"yes, cove," you murmur, voice buoyed by the sudden warmth that's filled your ribs. "if you'd want to, then i'd like to be more than this. with you."

cove lets out a sound between a sob and a laugh as his arms wrap around you, palms flat against you as he pulls you in close. dampness finds your skin, and you don't have to look at him to know he's crying. your arms wrap around him, cheek pressed against the side of his neck as you beam and murmur to him that you two should probably get cleaned up.

so the saying goes, patience is a virtue; so is ambition.

[muzzlemouths]

I JSUT SAW THE DIR CUT THING EXPLODES okay okay i have so much i wanna ask(mostly related to the polls im sorry its so interesting of a mechanic) . ! - FIRST did you originally plan on the fic to be poll based or was it a later decision? - did we as a collective ever make any/a ddecision you were genuinely surprised about? any big things you had/(have? 👀) in mind only for us to totally dash your hopes and dreams? - are any of the counselors ones you're sad died? who has been the most disappointing for you so far? (who were you hoping would survive?) - if you could give us a rating 1-10 or so, how well would you say we've done so far? (personally id give it a B ish..) - Aside from Chet, could we have saved everyone? (also because im a sucker for feels, were any of the kids who died personal hits for sun/moon? any close bonds that were cut?)

⭐️ Director's Cut ask game

Did you originally plan on the fic to be poll based or was it a later decision?

I wanted it to be poll based from the start! I first came up with the idea last October, but I was originally going to do it similar to OWRF. Within that year, however, I realized that using polls would streamline the process and make it much easier on me, which is fantastic, because writing OWRF with the initial Choose Your Own Story mechanic I'd been using felt like trying to control a derailing train at all times.

Did we as a collective ever make any/a ddecision you were genuinely surprised about? any big things you had/(have? 👀) in mind only for us to totally dash your hopes and dreams?

All of them. I need y'all to understand I had to sit down and rewrite a solid chunk of my outline because I had set it up/started writing certain scenes under the assumption that that's the route/decision we'd be pursuing, but time and time again, everyone surprised me.

I wasn't expecting y'all to save Dolly (much less be so passionate about turning this into an Everyone Lives run), I wasn't expecting you to trust Moon (though in hindsight, I should have known. This is their fandom we're in after all), and I definitely wasn't expecting this last decision to be such a tight race.

Complete transparency here, I had fully anticipated that the majority vote would be to Agree(lie), and I had to scramble to rearrange some pieces of the outline when it became glaringly obvious that lying was the last thing any of you wanted to do. I'm grateful for it, though.

I said it before and I'll say it again: the y/n of this story changes with each decision made. They have some set personality traits, sure, but most of it is entirely determined by you, the readers. Seeing the votes flood in — with lying as the least popular opinion — not only surprised me but gave me a much needed reality check on where our y/n stands, which in turn allowed me to scrap the original first page of what happened next in favor of writing something that is reflective of the decision, and I am much happier with it now. Proud of you guys.

Are any of the counselors ones you're sad died? who has been the most disappointing for you so far? (who were you hoping would survive?)

Man. Man. Had you asked me my opinion on Chet at the beginning of writing this fic I'd have read the guy to filth. But now? Regretfully I am beginning to like him. I'm almost upset that I'd made the decision to make his death inevitable, but so much hinges on it, so it was a necessary sacrifice. (Also, I'm supposed to remain unbiased about these things, but if you guys get Oscar killed I will cry and cry)

If you could give us a rating 1-10 or so, how well would you say we've done so far? (personally id give it a B ish..)

Considering we're currently on what I consider the best route? I'd say you're doing pretty damn well! There hasn't been a single vote thus far that leads to the bad route, and the results of the most recent poll have officially locked us out of the bad route entirely. I am clapping and cheering for you!!!! congrats!!! 🎉

Aside from Chet, could we have saved everyone?

You could, and you still can! But Oscar isn't the only life you will need to save.

[squeezil]

I don't usually write, let alone share fan fics, but I've been on a DEEP Httyd hyperfixation lately and it's been particularly inspiring, and I'm a slut for a good Hiccupxreader so have this lil piece I wrote, I plan on writing more and if people like it who knows maybe it'll be more than just a collection of one shots 🤷🏼‍♀

This Changes Everything...

Hiccup x Fem!Reader

This takes place between Rtte and Httyd2 when Hiccup is working on his map and trying to find the part of himself he thinks is missing, little does he know he’s going to find something else along the way that he really didn’t expect.

Y/N = your name

D/N = your dragon’s name

H/C = your hair color

E/C = your eye color

F/C = your favorite color

Chapter 1

It was late afternoon on a beautiful midsummer day, the sun was shining bright over the calm seas, the steady waves sparkling in the warm light. "What better time for an exploratory flight around the the archipelago?" Hiccup thought, ignoring the other glaringly obvious reason being that once again his father had tried to talk to him about taking over as chief soon. That wasn't something he wanted to talk or think about right now. There was still far too much he hadn't discovered yet, about the world, and more importantly, about himself. 

He and Toothless had been soaring around the neighboring islands for what seemed like hours at this point, noticing nothing new or out of the ordinary, much to Hiccup's disappointment. He leaned forward to place his hand on Toothless' neck and opened his mouth to tell him to turn back towards home when the Night Fury's ears shot up in eager curiosity, and began sniffing excitedly at the air. 

"What is it, bud?" Hiccup asked, curious himself now. 

Before he knew it, Toothless dove towards a nearby island with such speed he nearly fell backwards from the sheer force. "Thank Thor for this harness!" He thought. 

"Whoooa, bud! What's gotten into you?" Said Hiccup, as they plummeted faster. 

They landed so abruptly that Hiccup lurched forward and tumbled off of Toothless' back. With a quick glance back at his best friend to make sure he wasn't hurt and an impatient bark, Toothless set off into the woods, eagerly bounding through the trees to find the source of his interest. 

"Toothless, wait! Where are you going?!" Hiccup called, getting up as quick as he could to run after his wayward dragon. Try as he might, he couldn't quite keep up with Toothless and soon lost him in the brush. 

"Toothless? Toothless! Toothless, where are you?!" He screamed, praying to the Gods that there weren't dragon hunters on this island. In the near distance he heard the distinct roar of a Night Fury and quickened his pace.

Eventually he came to a small clearing nestled in a thick canopy of trees, which blocked out most of the sunlight, making it difficult to see well. He saw a large, dark creature moving in the shadows and squinted for a moment before letting out a sigh of relief. It was definitely a Night Fury.

"There you are! What in Thor’s name was so important that you couldn't wait for me, huh bud?" He said, a twinge of annoyance in his voice, despite trying to maintain a calm tone.

The dragon shifted quickly and whipped it's head around, letting out a low warning growl as it did so. 

"Wh-Hey, hey bud, it's me, it's Hiccup, what are you-" he stopped cold as the dragon moved into a small streak of light peaking through the trees, illuminating it's deep violet eyes that were angrily boring into his startled green ones. 

Shock, then dawning comprehension, and finally fear spread across Hiccup's face as he realized Toothless had green eyes, this was not his dragon. He had somehow managed to find another Night Fury…and they were mad. 

"Ohh my Gods…Wow, another Night Fury! And look at your eyes, I've only ever seen Razorwhips with purple eyes before, incredible!" He started, his fascination getting the better of him for a moment before remembering that this dragon was not friendly, yet. "Uhh, whooa-okay, easy, I-I'm not gonna hurt you, it's okay." He said gently, his hands up in attempt to show he wasn't a threat. 

The wild Night Fury growled louder, and narrowed it's eyes, clearly not believing his assurances. He backed up slowly until he was backed up against a tree and suddenly, from a branch above him Hiccup heard a woman shout, 

"You're damn right you won't hurt her!" 

The next thing he knew, he was face down on the ground with a knee pressed between his shoulder blades, pinning him in place and the distinct sound of a dagger being unsheathed above him. He shifted nervously under her weight and tried to speak through the dirt and grass he was currently being shoved into.

"Look, ugh, I don't know who you are, but I really don't mean either of you any harm, I would never hurt a dragon, especially not a Night Fury!"  

"Uh huh, sure, just like the last guy we caught sneaking up on us. You hunters are all the same! Why can't you just leave her alone?!" She said, angrily digging her knee harder into his back.

"Argh…Hey, could you ease up a bit? I'm telling you the truth, I'm not a hunter, I'm a dragon rider!" He said in a strained voice.

"Well that's a new one, huh D/N?" The Night Fury made a disdainful huff of agreement beside her, "but I'm still not buyin' it, I know you were just here for same thing they all come for, the last Night Fury in the world. Well, if you want her, you have to go through me!" She said, raising her arm to strike, but before she could bring down her dagger a purple plasma blast came out from the bushes, disarming her. She looked up at D/N in confusion, and the dragon simply gave her an equally confused look in return.

Toothless sprang out of the bushes, growling and baring his teeth as he slowly advanced on the young woman holding his friend hostage. With his captor sufficiently distracted, Hiccup managed to push her off of him and swipe a foot under her, knocking her to the ground.

"Look, we don't want to fight you, please just listen to me." He said, getting to his feet and once again putting his hands up in a gesture of peace. 

She stared, dumbfounded at Toothless, who had positioned himself in between them to protect Hiccup, "I can't believe it" she uttered under her breath. She turned back to Hiccup with a suspicious glare, "who are you?" narrowing her eyes at him, one hand reaching for the bow slung across her back in case she still needed to fight her way out of this.

"My name is Hiccup Haddock, son of Stoick the Vast the Chief of Berk, and leader of the Dragon Riders of Berk. This is Toothless, and up until now we believed he was the last Night Fury left in existence…" He said carefully, taking a tentative step towards the young lady and her wary dragon.

D/N was so distracted at this point by Toothless that she had stopped growling and had begun eyeing him with curiosity. They cautiously approached each other. Glancing at the dragons, who had both dropped their defenses and started sniffing each other inquisitively, Hiccup smiled slightly and let out a relieved sigh "see? Toothless just wanted to say hello." He turned back to the girl who had now lowered her hand from her bow, but still looked uncertain. 

"Look, I'm sorry we scared you guys, we were just scouting out new islands to add to this map I've been working on and I guess Toothless heard or smelled, er, D/N, was it? Anyway, dragons are gonna do what dragons do, right?" He said, smiling wider now.

He had such an unassuming, warm smile, she couldn’t help but feel more at ease, and there was something in his eyes that made it hard not to believe him. Realizing that maybe he wasn't quite the threat she thought he was after all, she relaxed slightly and  took a few steps closer to him. With how fast everything had just happened, Hiccup hadn’t really gotten a good look at her before, but now that she was standing only a few feet from him he could see that she was easily one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. She had long H/C hair with two small braids around the crown of her head that met in the back where they merged with a larger braid that fell down the middle of her back, with the rest of her hair falling free underneath. Her eyes were a stunning shade of E/C. She was dressed in a long F/C tunic with a off-white fur wrap around her shoulders that clasped around her neck with a strangely carved broach, a leather skirt, and fur lined boots that matched the fur around her shoulders.

“Wow…” Hiccup thought out loud, then catching himself said “uh, I mean, how…did you find a Night Fury? For the last five years we assumed Toothless here was the last of their kind.”

“We sort of…found each other, I guess.” she started, pausing a moment as she recalled their troubled past. “Where I’m from dragons are considered evil, all anyone cares about is capturing or killing them, but something about that never sat right with me, even though they terrified me. It wasn’t until I came across D/N in one of our traps that I realized why, I saw how scared she was, how helpless, and it was like…” she trailed off staring at the ground, trying to find the words.

“It was like she was just as scared of you as you were of her? Almost as if you could see yourself in her?” Hiccup finished. 

She looked up at him speechless, “Y-yes…how did you know that?”

He let out a light hearted chuckle and said “Because it was exactly the same with me and Toothless. I looked at him, and I saw myself, and we’ve been together ever since, isn’t that right, bud?” he said gesturing for Toothless to come over to him, prompting the dragon to jump over, nuzzle his arm, and lick him across the face. “Haha okay, okay, easy bud! You know that doesn’t wash out!” 

She couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at this sudden display of affection between the two. D/N came over to her and gently head butted her as if to ask for her turn. She stroked the dragon’s smooth scales and whispered, “well, what do you think, girl? Should we trust em?” D/N cooed happily in response. 

Taking another tentative step towards Hiccup, she said "I-I'm sorry I attacked you…it's just, we've never met anyone else like us…either of us. It's just been the two of us for so long, I learned trusting other humans doesn't usually turn out well." A look of quiet disdain darkened her face at the last few words. 

Hiccup furrowed his brow, his smile fading with concern as he turned back to look at her and said "Sounds like you guys have been through a lot…we can relate.” 

She looked from Hiccup to Toothless, suddenly noticing that he had a prosthetic leg, and that Toothless had a prosthetic tail fin as well.

"What happened to you guys?" She said, feeling as if she already knew the answer, "hunters?" she added with a scowl.

"Uh…not exactly." he replied sheepishly, absent mindedly rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment. Realizing this wasn’t much of an explanation, Hiccup sighed and said, “it’s a long story.”

“Well, I have time.” She gestured to a large rock nearby for them to sit on. Hiccup smiled and followed her over. He started telling the story of how Berk used to be, how he had shot down Toothless only to realize that he didn’t want to kill him, how they had slowly gained each other’s trust, and eventually how they had managed to change everyone else’s minds about dragons. 

“Sure, life’s a little more chaotic now with dragons everywhere, but it’s so much better!” He said, absolutely beaming. She couldn’t help but return his infectious smile. 

“That’s amazing! I wish my tribe was like that…” she said, her tone turning wistful. “We had to run away to keep D/N safe, the people back home just didn’t understand, they only wanted to mount her head on their walls” she glared at the dirt, fuming at the harsh memories, “even my own family turned against us.”

Hiccup gave her a sympathetic look and said “Well, if you don’t have anywhere else to go, why don’t you come back to Berk with me and Toothless?” 

She looked up at him, her nerves suddenly returning, “Oh…Uh, I don’t know…I mean, you two do seem nice, and I still can’t believe we met another Night Fury…but, we don’t really know you that well or how well we can trust you, no offense. I have to do what’s right for D/N, she’s saved me countless times, I have to keep her safe too.”

“Well…if you won’t come to Berk, how about we come back here to check up on you from time to time? That way you know you’re not alone, and Toothless and D/N can finally have one of their own kind to spend time with, it’s a win-win!” He said hopefully.

She thought for a moment, unsure, but something tugged at her gut to say yes. She didn’t know why, but she really did want to see Hiccup again, and he did have a good point, this was D/N’s only chance to be with her own species, this chance wouldn’t come up again. 

“Hmm…I guess that would be okay.” She said, smiling softly. 

He grinned back at her sweetly and said “Great! Hey, uh, I just realized I never got your name.”

“Oh, right, it’s Y/N.”

“Y/N? Wow, that’s…that’s really pretty, uh I mean, I’m really glad we met, Y/N.” He said, once again smiling wide, his cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink.

She felt her cheeks warm slightly too as he looked at her, his green eyes bright with earnest enthusiasm somehow made her feel that for the first time ever, she was truly being seen. For once in her life, she was genuinely hopeful.

[saucyjothoughts]

I don’t know if this has been asked already but the virgin!boo things have made me think how did the guys lose their virginities, like where, when and who with

This has been asked before but unfortunately has been sat in my "to be answered" pile for way too long. Today is the day!

(nsfw under the cut)

Bojan: if you only count losing virginity as penis-in-vagina sex (like Bojan does) his first time was with a Spanish girl in Greece. They didn't know each other very well and she didn't know he was a virgin - until they started getting down to it, at which point it became glaringly obvious. They both had a nice time but never saw each other again.

If you count other types of sex (which Bojan does not), then his first time was with Kris.

Nace: was a late bloomer. His first experiences were with a trusted friend who became a lover and began with him exploring and satisfying her without wanting to be touched himself. Even when he was finally ready to let her pleasure him and - eventually - to be inside her, he wasn't able to come until a few months into the relationship. Despite the awkwardness, he considers himself lucky to have had such a gentle, gradual loss of his virginity. He's much more forward now.

Jan: his first kiss was with the person who later also became his first "real girlfriend". As a result, he was relatively young, it was a pretty emotional experience, and he was under a lot of pressure. Too much pressure. It was going to be after a dance (like all their friends expected) - he was dressed up, there were flowers and chocolates and he'd rehearsed lines. But it all felt fake and she was uncomfortable and they didn't get very far and didn't try again for a while afterwards. In the end, it happened naturally. After a climate protest, breaking into the high school and smoking cigarettes on the roof under the moon. She was in black boots and her grandmother's dress (altered herself) and he had held onto her bare thighs as she had ridden the virginity out of him.

Jure: was young - arguably too young. It was with an older girl and was purely about physical exploration, no emotions involved. A neighbour, his old babysitter. She was only back from uni for summer and had a boyfriend her own age. He had a great time and learned a lot and bragged about it afterwards and didn't care that it had been, technically, illegal. But looking back, he sometimes wishes things had been different.

Kris: would tell you that his first time was with a Dutch girl - the daughter of a family friend - in her room, as quietly as possible in case her parents came home early. (It was never a relationship but they were physical together a few more times over the coming years. Until he found out that she'd also spent a night with Maks which somewhat soured his feelings towards her.)

It's a lie.

His heart knows that his real first time - the first time he wanted someone carnally and tasted someone intimately and shared the bliss of orgasm with another person - was a year earlier, with Bojan. But he knows Bojan thinks it doesn't count, so he keeps it to himself.

[stormblessed95]

Hi Stormblessed (dope name btw),

Don't know if this is the best place for this essay or the right time but I need to word-vomit this out, or I'm gonna be a JK-style spaced out zombie all day.

It's a truth universally acknowledged that a big part of the fandom tends to mis-characterize the members based on edits, fanfics and out-of-context clips. Something probably mostly to do with how social media platforms have been pushing for these short videos over the last few years. Why watch 300 hours of original content (some of which is behind a paywall) if you can get the gist of it (you think) from TikToks?

My particular point has to do with how that allows for the narrative (aka made up shit) especially around Jimin to grow. All of the members get that treatment, the maknaes worse due to their popularity, but due to how a big part of Army are also tkk shippers, Jimin is the one who's portrayal often skews more negative. The others' perceptions just are neutral or fantastical in a sense that they're more like badly written male leads. Don't get me wrong, solos throwing around bs is nothing singular to him but no one gets accused (said completely seriously btw) of sleeping his way into BTS or the release of his album.

After I saw this vitriol for the first time I had to actually sit down because wtf.

And then I started wondering why that is, and came to the conclusion that it is:

(Internalized) misogyny and sexism

Blatant homophobia

Jimin is the member the most obviously in tune of his femininity. He hasn't subscribed to gender norms for a decade at least, and once his hyper-masculine-esque persona from the debut days was dismissed, he ventured further. (That isn't to dismiss the growth they all have shown in that area.)

But antis, akgaes, Solos and shippers take that femininity and apply every stereotype and misogynistic idea to JM.

Traits they f.e. hate:

He is openly flirty with many people (members especially)

He is very physical, and touch is arguably one of his love languages and go-to way of comforting smn

He is pretty af and knows it

He's sensual and sexy and knows it

He's cute

He's sweet (aka a good fucking human)

But why does that make "them" hate him so much?

Because they have been taught that these traits in women (like themselves) are bad. What makes it worse, however, is that the men around JM all know these things to be true, acknowledge them as true and compliment him on them. In the case of JK (since this is about Jikook at the end of the day):

He loves flirty JM despite sometimes not knowing how to handle him (ehem the 'shameless convo'). He flirts back (fe the whole live where he was in bed begging for JM to come over)

Tkkers and such love pulling the "JK hates it" card. Which is nonsense, considering how he seeks JM's comfort when he's down (esp during concerts), actively cuddles JM (In The Soop) and never uses all his big muscles to shove JM but rather to just carry him around. Compare that to the jokingly disgusted face Yoongi pulls when Tae tries to hold his hand, and it becomes glaringly obvious that no one who says the members dislike touching each other has a leg to stand on. Calling it harassment goes so far beyond any line of sanity...

JK - like all of BTS - acknowledges that Jimin's beauty is simply out of this world. They are regularly stunned by his appearance

Just gonna point to JK's reaction to Filter, Blood Sweat & Tears, Black Swan, and Set Me Free pt 2 here. JK calls JM sexy so often it's hilarious

* inserts clip of absolutely WHIPPED JK after JM cutely punches him during that performance of Boy With Luv *. Also we know that "cute" his JK's type as he himself admitted.

Jimin has been Jungkook's comfort person for so long, and with such depth that he dedicated a whole trip and video to him. They care for each other so deeply that the only logical conclusion was to go to the military together.

Aka: he is all that they hate in the girls/women in their normal life so they can't do nothing but tear him down. They envy how comfortable he seems in his own skin, how easily he goes from sexy to cute, how loved he is by those around him. On top of that is how gay people are still perceived and treated by a lot of countries around the world. No matter what they say, being an army and shipping men doesn't make you automatically an ally and non-homophobic.

They treat Jimin like they would most likely treat the lgtbqia+ people in real life: something to be careful of, someone dishonest and slutty.

They conflate everything they hate about themselves and gay people and * boom * out come frankly terrifying tweets, fanfics and shit.

Contrast that with how these very same people fetishize the relationship between Tae and Jungkook - either viewing them like men who watch p_rn involving two women, or a self-insert with how little character they have - and that's the state of the army shipping community. They could be Barbie dolls getting smashed together and you wouldn't know the difference.

I'm not saying Jikookers are better in that, but the language they tend to use is incredibly different.

---

That was a lot.

To end on a sweet note: I saw a quote on Twitter "If you want to find out what someone fears losing, look at what they photograph."

And...well. that just screams Jikook

Hi! Thank you, I like my name too 🥰

And yeah, basically I agree. I think there is more to it as well, but that a lot of it could be boiled down to all this. And yeah, jikookers are just as guilty of this too, but not always in the same way. Sometimes in a way that is more fetishizing but is just as harmful. Take it from someone who has seen it all in my inbox from people who feel safe on anon 😂😂

Thanks for sharing! And your quote at the end is SOOOOO cute!

[coltermorning]

Of Love and Loss Ch. 11 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: After narrowly escaping with your lives, the trip goes on without further trouble as the weeks begin to add up. To pass the time during a snowstorm, you and Arthur exchange questions over a bottle of gin.

Author’s Notes: Nothing like a little alcohol to make you admit your feelings to yourself :) Arthur and reader both get drunk in this one. Chapter eleven of this one.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, minor character death, loss of parents, blood and injury, grief/mourning, survivor guilt, strangers to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, graphic depictions of violence

AO3 Link

~

Of Love and Loss

Eleven: The Gentle Act of Teaching

Word count: 5574

It has been a month since we started this journey and, as I assumed it would, it has come with no shortage of setbacks. Rambling like we do, I have seen a lot in my time and maybe even grown used to the pointless violence of it all. The wilderness is unkind and man more so, but I haven’t given it much care or thought until now. Now it seems I’m only leading a woman just to show her how cruel this world can be. That haunted look on her face will stay with me for the rest of my days.

~

Arthur rolled his shoulders, trying to undo the persistent ache that tightened them. Riding three days without much of a break to speak of had worn on his body, his mount, you and yours. In fact, it was so wearying you hadn’t said a word to him since the night before.

Your grief seemed to come in waves. This time it was pulling you back down into that shell of yourself you had been, unspeaking, unreacting, seemingly doing all you could just to make it another day. It was tough to watch, but Arthur didn’t have it in him to cheer you up. He was too worn down himself. That, and there was another nagging reason in the back of his mind he hardly let in for fear of letting it eat at him—that this was all his fault. He couldn’t do a thing about what else had happened to you, but he’d lost his head in that town. The mere thought of that slimy bastard calling you out like that had him bristling even now, fingers twitching with the need to shoot something. That nasty little look in his eye had been why Arthur had drawn iron in the first place, so fast it was more instinct than any sort of decision. That same look that had said plenty without words, that said the man felt he was owed something from you which warranted him following you out of town. Arthur didn’t care to ponder whether the man would have followed had he not threatened his life. It didn’t matter now anyhow. He had killed them all, exposed himself for what he really was. All because he saw red at the mere suggestion of someone wronging you. For protection’s sake, he had done his job. But it was obvious that you needed more from him than that. Your near silence since his shooting those men was plenty proof of that.

The truth was, Arthur suddenly felt that the side of him that town had revealed was glaringly wrong. It was a strange feeling, like denying the truest part of himself. But it gnawed at him now, that who he was did not have to be defined by his talent with a gun, but by the possibility of being something more. That the man he wanted to be became something he actually pondered. Things used to be about survival, about protecting those he held dear and nothing else besides. When had that changed?

As Arthur looked sidelong at you riding beside him, the empty stare on your face like that of a corpse, he knew. He had never had someone pure-hearted enough to warrant the believability of some better version of himself. With the gang, with Mary, there had only ever been a separation of good and bad, white and black, and he was always caught on the latter side of those things. But you made him think he could push beyond that, into some unknown middle ground. That look on your face was making guilt curl low in his gut for the first time in a long time at the act of taking lives. So he would push, do his best to shield you from it all. For you were good, and you deserved to remain so, lest he die trying to make it truth. If he didn’t try, no one would. Then you would be left like this—empty. And he knew enough about that to be determined to keep you from it.

~

The fourth day riding away from that terrible place and those terrible people, Arthur finally relented his pace. You had stopped here and there in the meantime, but never for a full night. The tiredness threatening to roll your eyes shut was testament to that.

Before the sun had even set and Arthur had finished with the tent, you laid back on the hard, thankfully snowless ground and fell asleep, the empty bliss of it like a gift.

When you woke, the sky was already lightening above you. You’d slept the whole night through, mercifully dreamless.

You looked down, curious over the warmth surrounding you despite the cold air, then remembered the bison coat. It was doing its job. The wind could hardly touch you with it on despite your poor judgement in sleeping outside the tent. And, like a pair of fools, it seemed Arthur had done the same. He sat against a nearby tree with his knee up, a gun in his lap and his head lolled down in sleep. Like he had every intention of standing guard but had let his exhaustion get the better of him. You couldn’t blame him.

No, the past few days had been anything but easy. You had been so plagued with guilt and worry and shame and regret the whole time it was a wonder you hadn’t given up. Given Arthur your mule and laid down and died right there in the dirt. In fact, the mule had been the only measure of happiness tethering you to the world at all. She still was. Though, sleep had helped clear your helplessness some. Instead, you were left feeling like you could go on but that there wasn’t much point in doing so. There was only brutal, unknown life ahead of you. And just like every interaction with strangers on this trip, that terrified you. The only comfort you’d known since losing your parents had been Arthur’s steady company. But that wouldn’t always be there. And, it seemed, you weren’t cut out for simple comforts anymore. It was time to grow up and see the world for what it was—unforgiving.

After plenty of rest, the pair of you packed back up and set out again. This time, you went two weeks without a break in routine. You passed over into Nebraska in the meantime, plenty of snow and cold following you in. You finally admitted to Arthur just how far you had left to go, nearly midway into the state, with no small measure of annoyance resulting on his part. But he agreed nonetheless, saying he had come this far. At least the railroad would tie into the trail soon, and he could take it back down to Denver instead of riding all the way back alone to join up with his gang.

His gang—you still hadn’t grown used to that. You hadn’t brought up the subject of his killing those five men, though it often crossed your mind to. The only thing stopping you was the fact that he didn’t owe you a thing, squeaky clean reputation included. In fact, his killer instinct had probably kept you alive thus far. Your judgement would be no help. If anything, it would just set you two to arguing again, as you often found yourselves doing. And the fact of the matter was you were tired of arguing. You were tired of a lot of things.

When the trees finally seemed to give up their steady growth, leaving behind nothing but wide open plains and brutal cold, Arthur stopped midday for the first time in a long time. The snow was blowing in sideways, and you nearly groaned in relief when he stopped his horse and swung off of her, saying, “Forget it. I ain’t freezing my balls off just to wait ‘til nightfall to do it again.”

You gave a pitiful laugh and dismounted, your legs like ice picks themselves when the pain of reaching the ground shot up them.

You and Arthur cleared a circle of snow for your camp, then built the tent and the fire. Arthur had been carrying kindling and a bit of wood for miles considering there wasn’t much of it to come by anymore, and you were impressed with his campfire skills when he got the thing burning despite the pelting snow. He had built it on the far side of the tent so that the canvas was blocking the weather, and when the flames began small then built, it took all you had not to shove your gloved fingers and your booted feet right into them.

You were both huddled close enough to the fire that Arthur suddenly took to laughing, calling you both idiots for being out in this kind of weather.

You managed a faint smile. “Montana got a lot colder than this, but…cold is cold.”

“Cold is cold,” he agreed. “How was it up there anyway? In the winter.”

“Brutal,” you admitted. Lots of days spent inside, chores finished as quickly as possible, week-long stretches where you didn’t know if the food would last. But it always did. Lucky you and your father were good hunters, your mother a good motivator.

“It wasn’t always like this,” you went on, having to raise your voice to talk over the wind. “It was sunny and pleasant some days. But still cold. The snow never left.”

Arthur just hummed his acknowledgment before holding his hands out to the fire, black gloves and harsh light eating up the reflection of the flickering flames.

After long enough, he reached around to his satchel and pulled out a box of cigarettes. Not a day went by he didn’t do this, whether for habit or enjoyment you couldn’t tell. You didn’t have the experience of smoking one to know. But when he lit one, the butt smoldering to life beneath his inhaled breath, it suddenly seemed like just the thing to warm your bones. So when he offered, as he always did regardless of how many times you turned him down, you took one.

“Well,” he said with a drawl. “Finally become a bad influence, have I?”

You didn’t respond, sticking it in your mouth, rolling it over your tongue. It was faintly earthy. Bitter.

You watched him light another match. He brought his hands over to you, cupping them around the flame to keep the wind from snuffing it, touching the match head to your cigarette.

You didn’t know what you expected to happen, but nothing did.

He grinned at you. “You gotta breathe in. Just- small breaths-” he added, but too late. You had taken in such a large breath that your lungs crumpled beneath it, burning from the inside out. You took the cigarette away and coughed and coughed, the feel of it like hellfire trapped inside your chest.

He was laughing at you, but you couldn’t quit coughing enough to berate him for it. You did hand it to him, the disgusting taste and the horrible feeling enough to convince you that it wouldn’t be your new pastime. Then the cold set back in, frosting over your throat and combining with the burning feeling in your lungs. All in all, it only served to make you feel worse.

Arthur’s chuckling finally tapered off. “At least you didn’t get sick on yourself.”

“Does that happen?” you asked, hoarse.

“Sometimes.”

“Lovely.” You wrapped your hands around your knees, scooting closer to the fire, glad for your shaggy coat. It was nearly unbearably cold, but your only other option was inside the tent, and without the fire it would only be colder.

You watched Arthur smoke both cigarettes with ease, one after the other, like he needed their smoke to breathe.

“Why do people do that anyway?” you asked, still miserable from the rawness in your throat.

“What, this?” he said, putting the one that had been yours to his lips and taking a long drag. He blew out of his nose like a dragon would, smoke billowing out of both nostrils.

You didn’t answer, knowing he was just trying to show off or work you up or both.

He finally turned to you. “Calms you down. Takes the edge off.”

The first time he’d offered you one, he’d said the same thing. What edge had he been so desperate to dull back then? And each day since? It wasn’t hard to figure now—cold like this could drive any man to madness. It was certainly making you want to run circles around the camp like a crazy person.

“Same as anything I guess,” he went on, blowing more smoke. “Why does anyone do anything? Alcohol, sex, drugs, they’re all the same.”

You didn’t quite understand the sex part but let it pass. One conversation with him about it was enough to last you a lifetime. But the mention of alcohol had you suddenly desperate to try that too. You had before, what little you’d been able to get your hands on up in the mountains, but it was never enough to take much effect.

“Would alcohol warm me up?”

He eyed you, that boyish gleam returned. “Not necessarily. Though it can make you too busy thinking about other things to remember how cold you was before.”

Anything would help at this point. “You got any?”

He huffed a laugh and stood, walking over to his horse. The poor animals were both standing with their backsides to the wind, close enough to share body heat. Arthur pulled a small glass bottle from his saddle bag and shuffled back over, kicking snow as he went. He tossed you the bottle, and you caught it, flipping it. It had no label.

“What is it?”

“Gin. ‘Fraid I drank all the whiskey.”

You eyed it. “How can you tell? There’s no label.” The liquid was clear, tinged green due to the tint of the glass.

“I can tell,” he said with amusement. “Can’t afford the labeled stuff.”

You eyed him for that, wondering about your saddle and bridle and the mule standing beneath them. He was either exaggerating, or you owed him more than you thought you did if one bottle of good gin would put him out. He just inclined his head toward the bottle in your hand with a slightly upturned mouth, not giving whatever worry you had about owing him a moment’s thought.

You uncorked the top with stiff, numb, gloved fingers then lifted it to your lips. The burn of it was immediate. Almost as bad as the cigarette. You forced yourself to drink it down but let out a wincing cough after you did.

“Christ. Are all the vices so terrible?” you asked, wiping the excess off your mouth and handing the bottle back to him. It had to be a punishment, for people to drink that. Addiction born of the need to punish one’s self.

Arthur was snickering again, but this time you joined him in it.

“Tastes smooth to me,” he said, lifting it to his own mouth. You watched him drink it down with near reverence, his eyes half-closing as he did. Savoring it. He brought the bottle down and examined it. “Shitty, but smooth.”

You leaned over and snatched it from him. Like hell was it smooth. It was as cutting as swallowing ice. But the aftertaste wasn’t near as bad as the cigarette had been, so you took another sip, letting it cut all the way down.

Arthur took it back. And after some back and forth, minutes passed and enough swallowed to dull its burn, he stopped you from taking it again. “Slow down there, or it’ll come right back up. I ain’t letting you put out the fire with your own sick.”

You cringed at the thought but felt that familiar defiance within you stand up at the challenge. You went for the bottle, but he snatched it away before you could grasp it.

“Don’t be dense,” you spat, going for it again. He again held it out, far enough you couldn’t reach it. And the resulting smile curving across his face was making you mad enough to tackle him for the damn thing.

You were about to lunge for it when he stopped you with a hand held out. “All right, all right, quit it. I’ll make a deal with you.”

You already didn’t like where this was going. To hell with the gin. Now you were just angry. You crossed your arms at him.

He grinned then said, “You answer a question, I’ll give it back.”

As annoyed as humoring him made you, you just shrugged.

“Agreed?”

“Go on,” you snapped. Better to get it over with, get the bottle back and walk away so as not to have to deal with him anymore.

He thought on it a moment, taking another sip as he held your gaze, an amusement lighting his eyes you didn’t much care for. Then, “What’s something you never told anyone?”

That you still wished you had died with your parents. That life didn’t feel like it had much meaning after their deaths. That one of the sole reasons you went on was because the man staring back at you had given a damn at the right moment. But you didn’t want to go down that slippery slope, not right now and not with him. So you reverted back to your younger years, to the girl who was full of life and grit and the ability to get her way. What had you kept hidden even from your parents?

You landed on it then hesitated, heat staining your cheeks from embarrassment.

“Spit it out,” he said accusatorially, sensing that hesitation.

“I…” How to word it and not sound ridiculous? “When I was a kid I…fancied the postman.”

Arthur burst out laughing.

“Shut up,” you said miserably.

“That’s your deepest, darkest secret?”

The deepest, maybe. Certainly not the darkest. But his laughter was slightly contagious given how stupid the confession had sounded, so you just said with a laugh, “I was little! He was handsome!”

“I’m sure he was,” Arthur said, tilting his hat to you in obvious sarcasm, his grin never leaving.

“And I never got to go to the post office,” you went on, unsure why you were explaining yourself. “So when Pa let me come with him, the hours that it took to get there, it was…it was just nice to see the man is all!”

Arthur was veritably howling with laughter now.

“Shut up!” you said, leaning over and shoving him. “Like you never had an infatuation with a girl.” This did seem to sober him some, and that gave you an idea.

“Give me that,” you snapped, yanking the bottle away. “And it’s your turn for a question.”

“Well, I never said-”

“Yeah, and I don’t care. You’re answering one.”

He settled back with a sigh but didn’t protest. So you took a swig of gin for courage and looked him straight in the eye. “Who taught you to shoot so well?”

Surprise crossed his face, lining every inch of it. He had obviously assumed you were going to ask about said girl, whomever that may be. But no, you wanted to know how he had taken down five men in a matter of seconds.

His face turned contemplative. Then, “No one, I guess. I always had a good eye. Good aim.”

“That aim was better than good,” you admitted. And the reference to what had happened back in that town seemed to sour his mood. He snatched the bottle back and took a long pull from it.

“Yeah, well, you’re either a decent shot or you get killed pretty quick in my line of work.”

His line of work. On the opposing side of the law, where bullets were aimed at you as often as a dirty glance.

“Do you ever get scared?” The question pushed out before you could stop it.

Arthur just looked at you, face tinged with mild curiosity.

“Not really,” he said. “Not anymore. But—” He tipped the bottle at you. “It ain’t your turn.”

You rolled your eyes and sat back, looking into the flames instead, knowing he would fire off another stupid question whether you got on to him for it or not.

Sure enough, he spoke, the amusement in his tone not lost on you. “You ever get into trouble up in them mountains?”

“What kind of trouble?”

You shouldn’t have asked. The smirk he shot back was enough for you to know he didn’t mean the kind where you got lost in the snow, where your life was in danger.

When he didn’t answer, you sighed like he usually did, drawing it out. “A few times. Once for this,” you said, taking the gin from him.

“What, getting drunk?”

“No, they caught me before it got to that point. I raided the liquor cabinet. It wasn’t much, a bottle of whiskey and some wine. But I was trying both when Momma and Pa came back from town early. They gave me hell for it.”

Arthur snickered. “How old were you?”

“Twelve,” you answered. “But it’s not your turn,” you said sweetly, making him shake his head, though his smile never left.

You took a sip of gin, wondering what it took to be drunk. But you wouldn’t waste a perfectly good question asking Arthur about it. Instead, you asked him something you had wondered since the night after leaving that trading town.

“Why didn’t you buy another bedroll? At that trader stall.”

Again, Arthur seemed surprised by the question. He took some time to answer, gesturing for you to hand him the gin. You did so, and he took another long pull of it. Long enough that you wondered how often he did this, drinking his thoughts away.

“It honestly didn’t cross my mind,” he muttered, staring into the fire. “I was trying to keep an eye on you when I was talking to that old croak. Weren’t thinking about it.”

You let out a breath of relief at his response. You had assumed he’d spent all his money and resources on you, that he couldn’t afford one. And, as it stood, he had been using the very edge of your bedroll ever since, both of you colder than you cared for but too prideful to cling together for warmth like you had that night after the wolves. So you had thought all this time another bedroll had been neglected at the cost of the coat on your back. But now that you knew otherwise, you didn’t feel quite so shameful. And you were grateful, too, that it had been because Arthur had kept such a watchful eye on you.

He took another long drink from the bottle, and you watched him, watched his throat work and his mouth purse with the harsh liquid. This man who you thought you knew—you didn’t really know him at all.

Arthur looked over and caught you staring.

“What?”

You shook your head, pushing the thought from your mind. Not because it scared you, but quite the opposite—you always assumed he was bad, that he was the low-down outlaw, and at every turn, he proved you wrong.

“Nothing.”

He chuckled lowly. Then, “You ever kissed anyone?”

“Excuse me?” It was all you could manage through your embarrassment. Not this again.

“Couldn’t ask it any clearer,” he said, about to take another drink. But you snatched it away before he could, taking a long pull yourself. Drunk. You needed to be drunk.

“How much of this do I need before it blocks out the sound of your voice?”

“So, no then,” he said with that god awful smirk.

You drank again.

He laughed. “Easy there.”

“I told you,” you said, voice hoarse from the harsh liquor. “There wasn’t anyone up there to kiss.”

“Not even the postman?”

You could have hit him. Instead, oddly enough, you laughed at that stupid smile on his face. “No, not even the postman. He was twice my age. Maybe more.”

“Hm.”

“What?” you fired at him, the bottle clutched tightly in your hands.

“Nothing, just…” He smiled again, his teeth showing. “Imagining it, is all. That life you led.” He pried the bottle from your clawed grip, smiling as he brought it to his lips. “Sounds…boring.”

You tried not to think about his mouth kissing the bottle, his mouth kissing anything, as you replied, “It was what you made of it. I enjoyed it.” At your nerves, you reached over and took the bottle away before he was even done drinking. He made a noise of protest, but it didn’t register before you had the bottle at your own mouth, trying desperately not to think of how his lips had just touched the same spot.

When you brought it away, you looked at him. Really looked at him, all notion of it being improper to do so suddenly lost. “There are other ways of enjoying yourself, you know.”

His brows rose high, either at the way you were looking at him or at the implication in your voice.

After long enough, he said, “You plan on enlightening me?”

“I…” Your eyes dipped to his mouth before you took another long pull, the bottle blocking your view of him. Shaking loose the thought that began to plague you. The urge to experience something new, something you were afraid would be addicting in its own right, alcohol aside.

When you didn’t respond, just pulled the bottle back down and looked to the fire, Arthur said, “I can’t imagine it would be much beyond snow sledding or the like all the way up there. You telling me that’s the secret to happiness?”

There it was, an out. A diversion to the path this conversation had led you down. And in anything other circumstance, you would have taken it. But for some reason, you were starting to believe that drunkenness snuck up namelessly after all, a haze of intuition lost.

You looked to Arthur, to the soft amusement on his face, to the casualness that seemed to always weigh on his shoulders and make its way to his mouth.

“You could teach me.”

“Come again?”

Your eyes dropped to his mouth again, seemingly of their own volition. Then words spilled out of you like gin from a bottle.

“Kiss me. Show me how.”

His face softened. Surprise, realization, a bit of embarrassment. Then deflection as he chuckled, his face tingeing redder in the gray light than the cold could account for. “Nah, you don’t want that,” he said, like he was trying to convince himself. “Not your first-”

“Kiss me,” you said again. You couldn’t imagine it being anyone else in the world. There was no one else you trusted. “I wouldn’t ask if that were the case.”

He looked at you then with such raw surprise you wondered when the last time anyone had shown him such affection was.

He stared at you, and you stared at him, and before you could ask if his brain had shut down entirely, he looked to the fire and said defiantly, “No.”

You scoffed. “Come on. It’s not that big a deal. Just think of it as teaching me something new.”

“But it ain’t that,” he fired back. He still wouldn’t look at you. “It’s…kissing someone to learn something and kissing someone because you want to are two different things.”

“Exactly,” you said, taking another sip of gin. “If it‘s just for learning’s sake, what’s the problem?”

He shook his head, disgruntled. “Forget it. I ain’t doing it.”

You groaned aloud, unbelieving he was being the stick in the mud for once. “You know, for an outlaw,” you said, standing, pointing the bottle at him. “You’re awfully honorable.”

He let out a barking laugh like he didn’t believe that in the slightest but still didn’t take the bait. The stubborn fool.

The ground swayed a bit beneath you as you added, “And cowardly.”

“Excuse me?” he asked, the question poised somewhere between annoyance and a threat. But he had finally looked at you at least.

“Woman asks you to kiss her, and you won’t even consider it.”

He stood now, swiping the bottle from your hand. “You’ve had enough.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” But you couldn’t have pried the glass from his grasp if you wanted to, your vision starting to swim. “You don’t want to kiss me that’s fine, but don’t tell me what to do.”

He laughed that annoying laugh again. “I ain‘t kissing someone who can barely keep her feet.”

“Oh yeah?” you said, stepping over to him to prove a point. Close. You could have leaned over and kissed him yourself you were so close. In fact, the thought was a breath away from being turned into reality when he lifted the gin to his own lips, blocking you, his eyes catching on your mouth. Or maybe that was your shoddy vision making things up.

When he brought the bottle away, he was grinning. “Real impressive, being able to walk.”

“Shut up,” you said, but didn’t shove him like you wanted to. His closeness was…distracting you. And any forceful movement would likely land you on your backside.

“Tell you what,” he said, shifting his weight so that he stood even closer. Not backing down from you in the slightest, that cocky grin lighting his face. “You answer one more question, and I’ll kiss you.”

Your face burned with those words, like your body was realizing this might actually happen.

When you didn’t respond, his grin went wider. Feral. Then, “Tell me your name.”

Damn him. Because he knew it was the one thing you wouldn’t give him.

“That’s not a question,” you said simply, holding his eye.

“Come on,” he coaxed. “Why don’t you want me to know it?”

Now it was your turn to grin. “Because they were the last people to call me that.”

Arthur was confused by your smile despite your words, his brows pinching together. And you said without hesitation, “And I just answered your question. So kiss me.”

Realization hit him again, and he immediately let out an unbelieving laugh. “You’re a damn sneak, you know that?”

When his eyes met yours, his gaze shifted the slightest bit toward serious in the harsh daylight. And he definitely eyed your mouth this time. Alcohol or no, you could see it plain as day. Then at last, he groaned his annoyance, or tried to shake how flustered he was, and said, “All right then. You win.” He dropped the gin and stepped toward you.

All you had ever known of this suddenly became futile, juvenile, worthless in the eyes of him bringing his gloved hands to the back of your head. Your scant knowledge couldn’t hold a candle to the gentle way he brought your mouth to his, meeting you at last in a kiss so tender it sobered you. This was happening. Arthur was…

All thought was lost when his mouth pressed against yours a second time. Slow. Caring. You let him be, forgetting entirely what this was supposed to be about, instead navigating the newness that was kissing someone back.

The kiss went on for an eternity, the effect better than any cigarette, any gin, anything in the world. There was no snow, was no cold, was nothing but the way his lips parted. You did as he did, and soon your mouth was at his with a fervor, his tongue warm against yours, the taste of gin and tobacco all you knew and all you ever wanted again.

Then he was stepping away, letting his hands fall, his gaze shy as it hit the ground.

“Was that…what you wanted?” he asked softly, meeting your eye as his hands fell a bit nervously onto his gun belt, fidgeting.

You just stared at him. Dove deep inside yourself to remember your words, to remember your circumstances and who you were supposed to be to each other. Because it was certainly blurring as the warmth of his mouth lingered.

After long enough that he kept shifting his weight, you spoke. “I understand it now. Why people…enjoy that.”

You thought you saw the smallest softening of his gaze before the mask returned, his teasing smirk back in place. “You really don’t know nothing, do you?”

You couldn’t even be bothered to chide him. Not after what he had just given you.

You pursed your lips like you could hold that kiss forever then looked at the bottle at your feet. You knelt and picked it up, pushing it into his chest. He grabbed it. And you wouldn’t meet his eye for fear of wanting him to kiss you all over again as you said with a giddy smile, “Thank you for teaching me,” and stepped around him. Aimed for the tent. Focused on keeping your feet beneath you, keeping your head somewhere inside reality, keeping your thoughts away from the man at your back. Away from just how much you truly felt for him, your fondness veiled like the unfamiliarity of a kiss until now.

_________

Chapter twelve is here.

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