#why did she go through with having a child……

[wcnderlnds]

opposites attract | choi su-bong (thanos)

・❥・ summary: he's chaotic and loud, you're shy and introverted but he can't help but be intrigued by you ・❥・word count: 1.3k ・❥・warnings: mentions of death bc squid game, nam-gyu is mean to reader (im sry), female reader. ・❥・ authors note: i love writing this chaotic man <3

Of course the second game just had to be one where you had to interact with people and find a team. Talking to people, approaching them – it was your worst nightmare. As you stood there in the sea of people all talking and teaming up, you timidly stayed in place, your hands pulled into the sleeves of your jacket giving yourself sweater paws. Since the first game, you had kept to yourself. You had even voted to leave. Why would anyone want to stay in a place like this where people were getting killed for losing children’s games? Unfortunately, the majority had decided to stay even after a heavily heated debate where player 456 had declared he’d been here before. While it was all kicking off, you had hid behind the crowd. Conflict was something you avoided. People were usually something you avoided but when a salesman came up to you with promises of money, how could you say no?

So, as you stood there, too shy to approach, you accepted the fact that you were probably going to die. There was no way you had enough courage in you to find a team. Even if you did, who was there to ask? The only person you might consider approachable was player 456 but he already had a team. There was no point going over there, asking and risking embarrassment as they turned you down. Aimlessly you wandered around the room, fingers toying with the ends of your sleeve – a nervous habit that you’d had since you were a child.

Guess you’d just have to accept your fate. You were either going to get killed because you couldn’t find a team or end up in a team who didn’t want you. Just as you were about to sit down and give up entirely, someone cleared their throat behind you. Spinning around, you came face to face with the infamous player 230. His purple hair was unmistakable, you’d seen him when he’d been fighting some other boy yesterday.

“Senorita, excuse me,” he said, his hands clenching his jacket to his chest. Your eyes landed on his multi-colored nails first before daring to glance up to look at him. Eyes met his dark ones for only a second before looking back down at the ground. He noticed instantly, tilting his head to the side as he looked at you. “Team with us.”

“R-really?” You dared to glance back up. He seemed serious but the look his friend was giving was anything but friendly. It looked like he’d rather team with anyone but you.

“Yeah, really? She’s kind of weird,” Nam-gyu looked you up and down, pulling a face then turning back to Thanos. “We can find someo-”

“Shutup,” he held his hand up in front of his friend’s face, his eyes solely focused on you. “Team with us. I’ll keep you safe.”

It wasn’t like you had any other options so you nodded. Thanos seemed thrilled, throwing his arm around your shoulders in a side hug. Your instinct was telling you not to trust him but at the same time there was something slightly comforting about him. After all, he had ignored his friend to solely talk to you. Why on Earth he was so adamant to have you on his team baffled you but it saved you from getting eliminated… if you made it through the game anyway. 

Turns out it was five mini games in one. As the rest of your team argued about who would do what, Thanos’ eyes were fixated on you who was looking at the ground. There was something about you that intrigued him. The difference in your personalities was more than noticeable. He was loud, crazy and obnoxious while you, on the other hand, seemed shy, insecure and quiet. Maybe it was true. Maybe opposites really did attract because for some reason, he wanted to get to know you more. He actually wanted to know you. That rarely happened with him. Usually he was the type of guy to get a crush, fuck and then move on to the next one. It was rare for ‘Mr One Night Stand’ to really want to get to know someone. To be honest, he wasn’t sure he liked the feeling. The pounding in his chest as he tried to examine you with his eyes. It was impossible to really get a good read on you.

“And, the loser over there can do Gonggi,” Nam-gyu’s voice echoed through your ears. Panic struck, you leaned forward, speaking before you even thought about it.

“I-I don’t know how to play Gonggi,” you mumbled.

“Better learn quickly then, huh?” Nam-gyu smiled fake-sweetly at you.

“Hey, stop it,” Thanos stopped his silent beat boxing to chime in, leaning forward to glare at his friend. “Leave her alone… What are you good at?”

“I can do spinning top. I played it a lot with my friends…” you tried to speak with a bit more confidence, a pink hue tinting your cheeks. Thanos noticed, grinning at you.

“Spinning top for you then. You’re cute, by the way,” he winked, causing your cheeks to only redden more.

Somehow, someway, the team had managed to survive. A lot of teams seemed to struggle with Spinning Top but you had got it the first try – Thanos almost blowing out your eardrums with the loud cheer of celebration when you did. Now, back in the main room, you were sat with the team. If it was up to you, you would have gone to sit by yourself but Thanos had insisted you sit with them. It seemed like he wanted to keep you around. It wouldn’t be too bad to have some friends, right? You sat beside Thanos, a space between you. While he was in a world of his own, DJing some invisible show in his head by the looks of his hand motions, the rest of the team were arguing. Your knees were pulled up to your chest, chin resting on them.

Watching everyone talk with each other so easily – even if it was arguing – made you feel slightly jealous that you couldn’t. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to because you did but the mere thought of striking up a conversation with anyone brought you too much anxiety. It was just better to keep to yourself. If you had to be the weird, quiet girl then so be it.

“They’re idiots,” the deep voice beside you said. Turning to look, you’d noticed Thanos had closed the distance between you both, his shoulder touching yours now. “You good?”

“Uh, yeah, thanks,” you smiled, tucking a stray piece of your hair behind your ear. “Thanks for letting me team with you.”

“No problem, Senorita. Told you I’d keep you safe, didn’t I?” His toothy grin made your heart skip a beat. Oh boy. That was the last thing you needed.

“Y-yeah,” you laughed, tearing your eyes away from him yet again.

This time, his finger gently reached out, tilting your chin to look at him. His eyes pierced yours, a look of intrigue on his face. “You have pretty eyes. It’s a shame you think the floor deserves to see them more than me.” He leaned in a little closer, his hot breath fanning against your face. Being close to someone wasn’t new for you. It was something that didn’t happen often but you’d had your fair share of encounters with people. “Meant it when I said you were cute, babygirl. Stick with me through these games and when we survive, let me take you out for a drink. Maybe I can get more than a few words at a time out of you.”

Once again, he winked at you, removing his finger from your chin and turning his attention to the argument going on in front of him. Meanwhile you were in a daze, your heart beating against your chest so much you were sure it was about to beat out of your ribcage. Yeah, this man was definitely going to be trouble.

taglist: @angelofbooksworld @ldydeath @taivantaylor @sherlocke3d @djarindroid @justsisse @sassyyoyo @lillyysgirlblog @mysatnin @basquiat-top @urmomsg1rlfreind

[silentheiss]

Shen Yuan is not a parent. He’s lazy, he’s a shut-in, he barely has a job. His parents pay for everything he owns. Plus, he’s not even thirty! Children can’t raise children!

All of this, though, doesn’t change the fact that there’s a mean little six year old sleeping in his apartment at least four nights a week.

“Yuan-ge, did you know young children sometimes die of hunger? Like, in poor countries. They don’t have food, so they die. Of hunger.” Shi Hai says, blinking up at him from where she’s sitting on the floor by the low table, dragging her chopsticks through the noodles in her take out container.

“Yes.” Shen Yuan answers distractedly. They’re watching the second episode of Love Game in Eastern Fantasy, and it’s kind of good. “Why?”

“I think I might chose that over this stink.”

“Ay, don’t be rude!” Shen Yuan gasps, turning to look at the girl fully. Her bangs are getting too long, falling past her eyebrows. They’ll have to get it cut soon. “I thought you liked that?”

“It’s better than beer.” Shi Hai shrugs. “But I’d maybe like a vegetable.”

Shen Yuan swears internally. He’s not equipped to do that. He should call Child Protection Services or something. They will contact the police, arrest Shi Wen, for some time at least, until her father gets her out of jail and back into the big, alcohol-filled apartment. And they will find a better home for Shi Hai. The one with actual adults, who can feed a child. Yes, he should do that.

He will.

“There’s a bell pepper in your noodles.” Shen Yuan mumbles. “Finish up, it’s time for a bath. You have school tomorrow.”

Shi Hai sighs.

“No.” Shen Yuan says, knowing well where this is going.

“Yuan-ge. School is ass.”

“Stop that. Kids don’t talk like that. Be cute.” Shen Yuan grumbles, turning back to the screen.

“This book is shit.” Shi Hai says in a low voice, clearly copying him. “What dumbass thought it’s worth my time. Idiot author.”

Shen Yuan throws a pillow at her.

“I don’t swear that much.” He says to himself.

“Uh-huh, Yuan-ge.” Shi Hai smiles. “Will you curl my hair before I go to bed? With the sock?”

“If you actually wash your hair, and not just stick your head under the water.” Shen Yuan says.

“Ugh.” Shi Hai groans. She puts her container back on the table and stomps away in the direction of the bathroom. Shen Yuan pauses his drama and gets up, too, to clean up. He’s been scolded by a child enough for one evening.

He throws away the trash, wipes the table and once he can hear the water running, he steps out of the apartment to knock on the next door to the right.

“Come on, Shi Wen.” He mumbles, when there’s no answer. “Don’t you care at all?”

Shen Yuan knocks again, louder. And again.

“I don’t think anyone’s home.”

Shen Yuan turns sharply and comes face to face with a man who, by all accounts, shouldn’t be real. He’s tall, exceedingly handsome, with long flowing hair and- he is holding a box filled with books as if it weighs nothing at all.

“She’s home.” Shen Yuan says dumbly.

The man smiles at him. Shen Yuan knocks on the door again, just for something to do.

“Neighborly visit?” The man asks, looking quite pointedly at his sweatpants and bare feet.

“Something like that.” Shen Yuan nods. “You’re moving in?”

“Yes. Luo Binghe.” The man says. “Got an apartment just down the hall.”

“Oh. Welcome, then. I’m Shen Yuan.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Shen Yuan.” Luo Binghe says. His smile is a little distracting. It looks soft, but actually isn’t.

“Nice to meet you.” Shen Yuan nods. “I-

“Yuan-ge!” Shi Hai yells. “I forgot my towel.”

“Gotta go!” Shen Yuan smiles and rushes back to his apartment.

He fetches Shi Hai’s towel, her pajamas and soft slippers. Next hour or so is spent combing her hair, oiling it and curling it onto a sock roll. If it turns out pretty, maybe she won’t make a fuss about going to school tomorrow.

Shen Yuan gets Shi Hai into his bed, reads one of his more kid-friendly novels outloud for half an hour to get her to actually fall asleep, and then goes to the guest bedroom to sleep. He tried to appoint the guest bedroom for Shi Hai, but she wouldn’t have it, and he is, apparently, a pushover when it comes to bratty kids.

Shen Yuan doesn’t think about Luo Binghe until the next morning when he drags protesting Shi Hai through the door.

“Come on, Hai Hai, the taxi is waiting.” He says.

“Schools is-”

“No! Stop that!”

“Shit, ass, poop!” Shi Hai yells.

“Fucking- Shi Hai!”

“Good morning, neighbors.” Comes a bemused voice comes from somewhere behind his back.

“Good my ass.” Shen Yuan grumbles, still tugging on Shi Hai’s hand. He turns his head briefly to see who’s day they’re ruining. “Oh, hi, Luo Binghe.”

“Yuan-ge.” Luo Binghe smiles slowly. He’s dressed in all black, leather pants and silk shirt. He looks like a model.

“He’s my Yuan-ge.” Shi Hai grunts, gripping Shen Yuan’s hand tighter. At least she’s not swearing anymore.

“You don’t seem to respect him very much, do you?” Luo Binghe asks.

“What do you know.” Shi Hai says. “Ugly.”

Luo Binghe opens his mouth, but doesn’t say anything. Shen Yuan feels like all of his blood has flown into his cheeks. Shi Hai’s looking down at the floor, clearly embarrassed but no, too little too late, little one.

“Shi Hai.” He says sternly. “I’m very disappointed right now.”

He then looks at Luo Binghe, still gaping at them.

“Luo Binghe, I’m sorry. You’re very pretty.” Shen Yuan knows his attempt at damage control is faulty, but he’s not a parent. He doesn’t know how to do that.

He sighs, locks his apartment door, and walks away with a very docile child. They’ll talk in the car, he decides.

edit: i wrote more 🙈

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62095903/chapters/158849326

[vyliez]

ᯓᡣ𐭩 was it casual?

pt 2. to : why'd you only call me when you're high

pairings: se-mi x fem!reader

synopsis: fucking that shit attitude of hers out because what the fuck?

warnings: smut, sub!se-mi, fingering, pwp(?), pathetic!se-mi, squirting, edging. lmk more lolz

a/n: lord knows we need a sub se-mi in our life once in a while because whimpering and whining se-mi will make my phone switch from my right hand to my left :P also i'm shit at endings but wtv at least there's sub se-mi and i'm fine

the morning after, you decided to ask her when her head's clear. "se-mi?" you hummed as you watched her fumble into her clothes, your chin resting on your palm.

"yeah?" se-mi replies, looking down at you, all sprawled in bed, looking disheveled. she swallows her dry throat, trying to keep her thoughts pg-13 as she buckles the belt of her pants.

"about last night..." you started. you could see her pause before continuing on her ministrations. so she had noticed. good. or bad? you waited for her reply in silence as she tried to not meet your eye.

"it was nothing," she finally replied after a moment, looking dead into your eye, her face unreadable. "i was high,"

that made you scoff to yourself. "of course it was," you mumbled, your gaze fleeting downwards as you fiddle with the loose threads of your blankets. it always was nothing.

"hey," she says firmly, placing two fingers under your chin, making you look at her and meet her gaze. your eyes subconsciously wandered all over her face, as if it were memorizing every single eyelash and freckle for your suffering later in the dark. you swallowed hard, you watched how her piercings glinted against the open sunlight. fuck— why does she have to be so hot all the fucking time? it made you wonder what it'd be like to share something more than fucking with her.

"it was a mutual agreement between us," her voice snapped you out of your daze. "no feelings involved."

that made you swallow the lump in your throat, your heart sinking lower and lower deep into the trenches of your sorrow as se-mi lets go of you, pressing a kiss on your forehead as a farewell. "i'll see you when i see you, yeah?" she says, taking her jacket and opened the door to your room. "and remember, this thing between us is just casual," she says casually before closing the door behind her.

nothing was casual about it when you had her helpless on her own couch, squirming and crying as she begged and pleaded while your hands expertly circled her clit.

"b-baby... please, i'm sorry," she begged, sobbing as you denied her for the nth time that night. her hand tried to snake up your hips but you swatted it away. "no," you said firmly, which emitted a whimper from her pretty lips.

se-mi didn't know what she was apologizing for. all she knew that this was somehow a sort of punishment she did a while back. she whined softly, bucking her hips up to your hand for more friction after you ghosted your fingers over her clit. however, she shriveled when she saw your glare, her lips forming into a small pout, akin to a child that had been scolded by their parent.

her mind raced, trying to find the reason for this 'punishment'. surely it was nothing serious right? she traced the day's events in her mind. you messaging her you'd be around tonight, work, lunch, work, had some breakfast at this new diner—oh. her realization hit her like a ton of bricks, at the same time, you inserted two fingers easily through her tight walls, which made her moan loudly, her hand latching onto your arm, throwing her head back and rolling her eyes in pleasure.

"ah- ah- ah," you tutted as you removed your fingers from inside her and swatted her hand away from your arm. "no touching unless you don't want to cum, do you understand?"

se-mi whined, her lower lip trembling, mumbling incoherent apologies. "princess— sweetheart... p-please... please, i'll be a good girl— i'll treat you better than before," she panted heavily, another set of tears forming in her eyes, ready to fall again. her begging fell deaf into your ears, however as you pinched her clit harshly. "do you understand?" you asked firmly, staring deep into her eyes.

se-mi yelped, tears down her cheeks. she nodded fervently, desperately grinding her hips down your hand. "words, darling," you cooed as you captured her lips with her, your tongue slid out to fiddle with the piercing on her lip, the metallic taste mixing with her usual taste of cigarettes in your mouth. you pulled away, making her whine and push forward to chase your lips. "words, se-mi. i want to hear words from you," you say, pressing a finger on her lips.

"please," her lower lip trembled, her eyes wide as begged. "i understand, just please..." she whispered.

"mmhm?" you hummed, capturing her lips again, sloppily kissing her as the lewd sounds of your fingers pushing in and out of her wet cunt filled the room. "fuck, you're like a waterfall at how wet you are right now," you gasped against her lips as you watched her wetness stain the couch below her.

"babe— princess— please..." she whined, rolling her eyes backward. "shhh, don't worry darling," you cooed running a hand through her damp hair, thrusting your fingers faster as you watched her build up her orgasm.

"i'm gonna— please—" se-mi pants loudly, gripping the blankets beneath her tightly as she lifted her hips, screaming your name.

"fuck, baby, that was so hot," you murmured amusedly as you watched her squirting.

"you think you can do that one more time?" you mumbled in her ear after she came down her high, running a hand through her hair lovingly.

safe to say after that, her attitude towards you had somehow changed. she'd stay with you in the mornings, make you breakfast, pick you up after work, and makes the best aftercare baths for you. she even asked you out on a proper date! all because you fucked that attitude out of her.

[cherbii]

Jjk men walk in on y/n practicing her old ballet moves? Maybe they didn’t know she used to dance and they’re amazed 🩰🥹

PIROUETTE AWAY

ミ★ head cannons of them walking in on you practicing ballet!

ft. Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Sukuna, Choso, Ino, Shiu

a.n. Decided to do this in head cannon form bcs why not && did this in pink aesthetic js for u 😼

GOJO S.

❥ He’d have gotten back home from a mission when he heard soft music playing, naturally going to check it out

❥ He’d be extremely shocked and even in awe when he walks into your room, seeing you in your normal clothes except for your pointe shoes you’d fished from your cupboard, dancing, bent at the waist while your one leg spun you, the other almost creating a full 180° angle up in the air.

❥ Gojo would make some sort of crude remark, catching your attention like “Wow, so that’s why you’re so flexible!” Earning a look of shock, then annoyed from you.

❥ Would definitely prance over, claiming he could do better than you, and he’d do surprisingly well, except his ankle would roll and he’d go stumbling.

❥ Would ask for private lessons so he could be good, but really he just wants to see you doing something you’re passionate about!

GETO S.

❥ Geto would come home from running his religious group, wondering why you weren’t in the lounge or kitchen before slowly making his way to your room.

❥ Would stop in his tracks when he saw you practicing ballet, leaning against the doorframe while watching you with a small smile.

❥ When you did eventually spot him, frantically running to hit stop on the music, Geto would tell you not to be embarrassed

❥ Geto would push off the door frame before tying his hair up, saying something along the lines of. “You know, I used to practice ballet a few years back. Maybe we can see if I’ve still got it.”

❥ That man would definitely be graceful, taking you by the waist and lifting you up with ease and practice, shocking you at your shared talent.

❥ This man is SO black swan coded (does this mean Gojo is white swan…sigh, in another lifetime…)

NANAMI K.

❥ He’d walk in through the door and see you dancing with the broom while cleaning in the lounge, earphones plugged in so you couldn’t hear him.

❥ Nanami would kick off his shoes before quietly walking over, even though he’s tired from work, he’d always make time for you, and go sit on the couch.

❥ He’d tell you to continue when you stopped, looking flushed with embarrassment, he’d even make you play your music so he could hear, fingers strumming against his knee when you continued.

❥ Nanami would softly hum to the tune of your music, eyes crinkled as he smile while watching you.

❥ He’d give you a large applause when you finished, walking over and pressing soft kisses to your face, telling you sweet nothings of, “You did so well, my love. Best dancer ever.”

❥ Would sugar daddy you by buying tickets to go watch professional ballet dancers in theatre!

TOJI F.

❥ Ok but Dilf!Toji walking in and not seeing just you, but you AND little baby Megumi doing ballet??

❥ You’re teaching Megumi the basic poses of ballet, and even though the small child thought it was dumb at first, he slowly started mirroring you practicing until you saw and decided to help when Toji walked in from buying groceries.

❥ Yes you’d be slightly embarrassed since Toji didn’t know you knew how to ballet dance, but Megumi would be red red red with embarrassment.

❥ Toji would just laugh at the poor kid’s face before you’d scold him, so to make up for bullying Gumi, Toji would snatch up your discarded tutu, put it on, stretching it around his slutty beefy hips and learn ballet poses too!

❥ let’s just say that night Toji wants to try for a daughter, *cough cough Tsumiki*

SUKUNA R.

❥ You don’t realize he’s there until you hear the faintest scoff, and when you glance over, he’s standing in the doorway, crimson eyes fixed on you like a predator watching prey.

❥ His gaze sweeps over you, taking in every precise movement, and though his expression is unreadable, there’s an undeniable weight to his silence. “What’s this?” he finally asks, his voice a mixture of amusement and disbelief, the smirk tugging at his lips betraying his curiosity.

❥ He crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe as if settling in, and the intensity of his stare makes you falter mid-step. “Don’t stop now.” His tone low and commanding, as though he’s already claimed this hidden part of you for himself.

❥ even though he’d try his best to appear nonchalant, he couldn’t help but smirk at you dancing.

❥ would definitely have you practice around him more, even getting you custom made tutus and leotards (maybe even similar colour to his hair???)

CHOSO K.

❥ Choso is as quiet as a mouse when he walks in on you dancing to the soft lull of music, like a deer in headlights as he watches you.

❥ You freeze, eyes widening in shock when you notice him, a flush creeping up your neck as you stumble, embarrassed by his sudden presence.

❥ You try to explain, but he cuts you off with a soft chuckle, his calm demeanor making you feel even more self-conscious, yet his attention never wavers from you. “No! Don’t be embarrassed! That was all so cool and peaceful!”

❥ This boy is the type to have a packet of snacks and watch you as if he was in a theatre and you were the dazzling dancer many came to watch.

❥ Choso who’s so utterly infatuated with you would have his brain short circuit, he’d be the type to suddenly drop on one knee and pull out a ring box, spewing nervous nonsense about how much he loves you and wants to marry you, messing his original proposal plan!!!

INO T.

❥ I just see Ino being some kind of gamer (got an idea now) and too busy with his game to hear the classical Tchaikovsky music drift in through the crack of his door until he decided he needs a break.

❥ would follow the sound until he found you dancing, hair pinned up and your ballet slippers on, fluttering your arms and tip-toeing to the music before spinning around, embarrassed when you heard his low whistle.

❥ “Oh don’t stop because of me, mamas. Go on! Let’s see you do your thing!” (idk felt like he’d low-key speak somewhat Spanish) before ignoring how his phone buzzed in his pocket of all his friends wondering why he’s still AFK before walking over and taking a seat on any nearby chair.

❥ would try flex, saying how he could totally pull the Dirty Dancing move, having you skip to him before jumping into his arms, lifting you high above his head.

❥ though this would last a second before his arms would wobble and you’d go crashing onto him. “Tch, that was the wind, mamas, let’s try again.” He’d scoff.

SHIU K.

❥ This man in my mind can COOK, so he’s in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up showing his beefy arms, cigarette dangling from his lips, ears to full of the sounds of swing jazz playing and the sound of sizzling food to hear the tranquil music wafting from your room until he’s finished cooking dinner.

❥ he’d call out your name, wondering why he got no reply or see you coming down the stairs so naturally he wants to see what’s up, pleasantly surprised to see you so focused on practicing ballet, which was new to him, until you spot him, feet faltering.

❥ he’d give you such a wide grin, crossing his thick arms over his chest. “What’s this, doll?” He’d ask, while you mumbled something about ballet being an old passion of yours.

❥ at the dinner table, he’d constantly ask you questions, even if theyre basic like ‘what was that little movement you were doing when I walked in?’ while your explain it was a bit from the Nutcracker ballet dance you’d watch countless times.

❥ I feel like this man would know a guy who knows a guy, and have you perform small shows, even if the crowd is 100 people, before you slowly grew a name for yourself and was now a big deal in the ballet industry (coz you’re oh so good!!)

[sky-scribbles]

Party Banter with Rook!Blackwall

Harding: You know, for a moment back there, I thought you might actually get through to Solas.

Thom: Regret’s something we have in common. I thought… if I reached out to him, told him I understood what guilt drives you to do…

Harding: But no. ‘Do not compare your regrets with mine, Thom Rainier!’

Thom: He’s right, though. He can at least say he did his crimes trying to stop tyrants. I did mine for coin.

Harding: Uh, yeah, and then you faced up to it and decided no one else was going to get hurt for it except you. Solas is right. He’s nothing like you.

—

Lucanis: Do we have a problem, Warden Rainier?

Thom: You kill people. For gold.

Lucanis: I do. Venatori. Blood mages. The political rivals of those who hired me.

Thom: And that’s enough for you? Someone flashes a purse, and you’re ready to murder over some nobles’ spat over which of them gets the bigger fancy house?

Lucanis: Depends on the size of the purse.

—

Bellara: Um, so, about the mayor of D'Meta's Crossing? I just… do you really want someone like that? In the Wardens, I mean.

Thom: I won’t defend him. But he wouldn’t be the first Warden who let innocent people die for gold, and got another chance from the Order.

Bellara: He doesn’t deserve it. Like, really, really doesn’t deserve it.

Thom: No. Neither did I.

—

Thom: Do you ever get people trying to bribe you? To look the other way, or drop a case, or...

Neve: It's Minrathous. If I took even half the bribes I've been offered, I could buy an estate in Hightown.

Thom: It takes a special kind of strength to resist that.

—

Thom: I got a letter from Sera the other day. Don’t ask me how she got it to the Lighthouse.

Harding: ‘Friends’, I bet. And hey - she dealt with the Fade for you! So what'd she say?

Thom: Well, there was a lot of calling Solas a shite-faced arseknuckle. And then she told me not to get killed, or she’d yank my beard ‘til my head came off.

Harding: Aw.

—

Lucanis: Rainier, I do not knife civilians. Everyone I have killed has been embedded in politics. Their hands are never clean.

Thom: And you're sure you’ve never made a mistake? Never got a passer-by or a child caught in all the blades and arrows? Never gone in without knowing everything, and got someone hurt?

Lucanis: Of course not. I’m a professional.

Thom: You’re a mercenary with a cape.

—

Thom: You could’ve left Dock Town. A mage. Talented. You could’ve gone anywhere, chased a better life.

Neve: If I left, I’d be abandoning people who never got that choice. I’m good where I’m at.

Thom: I hope you know how admirable that makes you.

Neve: Not that admirable. If I got that estate in Hightown? Too far to walk to Hal’s fish stand.

Thom: (laughs) Good priorities.

—

Davrin: So, Rainier. Heard a lot of rumours about how you joined the Wardens.

Thom: (uneasy noise) You know, Warden Blackwall told me your past gets forgotten after the Joining.

Davrin: A nice ideal, but it never stands up to the gossip. But you’ve shown your worth.

Thom: Enough for me to have one of those griffons when we rescue them, d’you reckon?

Davrin: (laughs) We’ll see.

—

Thom: I knew someone like Manfred once. He was a spirit, but he sort of… grew his own body.

Emmrich: Oh! A spontaneous incarnation! Do you happen to know what kind of spirit he was?

Thom: Uh… the kind that looks like a young man, but reads minds and flits about trying to make everyone feel better about themselves?

Emmrich: Ah, Compassion! A rather more advanced emotion than Curiosity, and therefore capable of manifesting a physical body, rather than needing to adopt a vacant one.

Thom: More advanced? Right. That explains why Cole used to talk to me about living with the weight of regret, and Manfred spent ten minutes yesterday poking my face to see if my beard came off.

—

Neve: So, you know Dorian?

Thom: Does anyone who’s been in the same room as him for thirty seconds get a choice about knowing Dorian?

Neve: And didn’t always get along, I take it.

Thom: He’s… he’s not so bad. We might’ve judged each other by first impressions back when we met.

Neve: And what’s your impression now?

Blackwall: Still too fancy for his own good. But it says exactly who he is that he’s fighting against slavers and blood mages. I think I got the better deal with the darkspawn.

—

Taash: I heard the Inquisitor turned into a dragon.

Thom: No, she… didn’t. But she did get one to fight with us once.

Taash: She did? What kind? How’d she do it?

Thom: Sort of… gold? And she drank from this pool of elven magic, and… that somehow let her ask it to help us. I think.

Taash: Did she ride it into battle?

Thom: Uh… No.

Taash: Oh. I would’ve ridden it into battle.

—

Thom: Emmrich, do you know what those demons were the other day? The ones that wouldn’t leave me alone?

Emmrich: Ah. Those were manifestations of Shame. A variant of the Despair spirit.

Thom: Right. Don’t know what I expected.

Emmrich: If it’s any consolation, I find that one can tell much more about a person from the more benign spirits that gather around them. I catch glimpses of them about you often. Valour. Fortitude. Honour.

Thom: I hope to be worthy of them.

—

Thom: Lucanis, have you ever regretted any of your kills?

Lucanis: Not so far.

Thom: So this is what you’re fine with being? A man who takes nobles’ money and lives in luxury with your bloodied hands? That's the life you chose?

Lucanis: Not ‘chose’, exactly. It is what I was trained to be since my childhood.

Thom: Wait. You were – who trains a child to be an assassin?

Lucanis: You met my grandmother.

—

Davrin: You held up pretty well in the last fight, Rainier. For an old man.

Thom: Whelp like you’d better watch what he says around a senior Warden.

Davrin: Why? You’ll tell me to do the fifty press-ups that your creaky bones can’t handle?

Thom (laughs) I’ll stop letting you borrow my best chisel.

—

Bellara: Hey, um, Thom? You know that little rocking griffon you made? Could you make, I don’t know, a bigger one? Like… adult… person-sized?

Thom: (chuckles) You never have a rocking griffon growing up?

Bellara: No! They’re not a Dalish thing! Because you can’t really rock. When the aravel’s moving, I mean. So… no, it’s a dumb idea. Forget I said anything.

Thom: You want me to make it a rocking halla?

Bellara: Yes please thank you.

—

Emmrich: How far you must have travelled, with both the Inquisition and the Wardens!

Thom: I like being on the road. Keeps a man honest.

Emmrich: I rather envy your fearlessness of the wider world. It’s so recent that the end of the Circles allowed me to travel freely outside the Necropolis.

Thom: Must have been freeing. Having the whole world suddenly open to you.

Emmrich: And rather overwhelming, I must admit. When I compare myself to you – a brave Warden, combatting the Blight across all of Thedas…

Thom: Trust me: compare the two of us, and that’s the only way I’ll come out better from it.

—

Thom: We fought quite a few dragons in the Inquisition. Almost got eaten once by some pissed-off beast in the Hinterlands. Kept throwing its dragonlings at us.

Taash: Fereldan Frostbacks are crappy mothers. First sign of trouble, and it’s ‘here! Take my children!’

Thom: (laughs) The worst was the lightning-spitter off the Storm Coast. Spent twenty minutes hacking away at its scales, rest of my team unconscious on the ground.

Taash: Wait - you what? That's not how you fight dragons. You can't just stand there and hit them. That's stupid. And boring.

—

Lucanis: It’s how the Crow Houses work. Children of the House lineage are trained from our infancy.

Thom: Andraste’s fucking tits.

Lucanis: It’s necessary. If Illario and I had been coddled… Caterina pushed us hard and young, because she wanted us to survive.

Thom: I don’t… (sighs) The things people do to children.

—

Harding: I never thought to ask - how come Varric changed your nickname?

Thom: I asked him to go with something else. 'Hero'... that was a name he gave to Blackwall.

Harding: Well, he chose the right name. You know, 'cause Rooks move in straight lines. And you charge right in there, don't mess around with fancy words, just hit things til they drop. You could say you're -

Thom: Don't do it, Lace.

Harding: Straightforward.

Thom: (chuckles) You're as bad as Sera.

—

Emmrich: Master Rainier, I wanted to say – I hope you know that you’re the only person here who looks at you with any harshness.

Thom: I – (sighs) You don’t know everything about me.

Emmrich: I would never claim to. But I know that you place yourself before your allies and the defenceless without hesitation and with utter selflessness. I know you understand your Warden oath better than many of your superiors. I know that you are a good man.

Thom: … I wish I knew what it was like to be you. Seeing the good in everyone, living or dead.

Emmrich: Then I hope you’ll permit me continue to see the good in you – until you can see yourself as I do.

[hailturinturambar]

Elrond's trajectory in The Rings of Power

This analysis, unlike the others, does not seek to understand a dynamic between two characters. But rather to understand who Elrond Peredhel is and what made him the character we know over the course of two seasons.

To understand who Elrond is and why he acted as he did, we need to go back in time and analyze this character's life. The answers, in general, always lie in the past.

Elrond was born a half-elven son of Elwing, who is the daughter of Dior, who is the son of Lúthien. He was also the son of Eärendil, who is the son of Tuor, who is the son of Huor.

In some narratives, Elrond was born an only child, in others he had a twin brother, Elros. I will analyze through the narrative with Elros, since Elros was important for great future events in Middle-earth.

Elrond's legacy was born of pain and grief. His father, Eärendil, left with his parents (Tuor and Idril) as a child in search of a safe haven. Tuor and Idril fled with the survivors of the Fall of Gondolin.

It is at this time that Eärendil and Elwing's paths cross, as she is fleeing after the destruction of her father and kin at the hands of the Sons of Fëanor. And Elwing had a one of the Silmarils, won by his grandfather, Beren.

When Fëanor's sons destroyed Elrond's home, and his parents were separated from the twins, Elros and Elrond were left alone in the world. However, after growing tired of all the harm they had caused and the weight of their oath, Maedhros and Maglor took the twins in and cared for them.

When the Valar listened to Eärendil and went to war against Morgoth, the Elves were allowed to return to Valinor. Maglor and Maedhros, succumbing to the weight of their oath, met tragic ends, and Elrond and Elros were left alone once more.

But as a reward for the help of Men, and for the half-elven nature of the boys, they were given a choice. Elros, who went with the Men and was numbered among them, went to Númenor and became the first king. Elrond, chose his Elven half and remained in Middle-earth.

To me, this must have been one of Elrond's greatest sorrows. Because he lost his mother, he lost his father. Then he lost the two elves who had cared for him and his brother. And in the end, all he had left was Elros, and he lost him too. Knowing that he would remain in Arda, while his brother would perish.

Thus ends Elrond's days in the First Age. In the Second Age, which we are introduced to in The Rings of Power, we have Elrond much changed, older and even wiser.

Elrond then lives in Lindon, the kingdom of the High Elves, under the command of Gil-galad. Elrond is the king's herald and responsible for the speech in honor of the great heroes who spent centuries hunting Sauron, and one of these is Galadriel, his closest and oldest friend.

Elrond is descended from kings in both his lines, being related to Thingol on his mother's side and to Turgon on his father's side. But his descent does not seem to matter, which makes sense when Elrond lost all his relatives and was left alone, less than a royal heir, more than an outcast.

Elrond is stripped of titles, which is remarkable when he cannot be present at the council, because it is only for Elven Lords. But Galadriel is there and it does not bother him so much. But, I believe deep down, Galadriel's vision worried him.

Galadriel is his beloved friend and he has not seen her for many centuries, but she is very changed. I believe that Elrond feared deeply for her.

Because he knows the shadow that surrounds her, the shadow of an oath made in love, for someone who has been lost. And how much that oath can cost. How much oaths like that have cost Elrond and his family.

In his attempt to help Galadriel, to ease her burden, he pushes her away, and when Elrond can no longer glimpse Galadriel heading towards Valinor, did he feel he was once again left alone in Middle-earth? Probably. Did he feel that the last person he had left had been separated from him for countless years?

Elrond then turns his attention to Celebrimbor, whom the King of Lindon has asked him to help. Elrond readily accepts, this task is a great honor and he accepts it with pride. Elrond has always admired Celebrimbor and he will prove that he is grateful.

Elrond has always admired Celebrimbor's achievements, but to him it is an honor to be able to work with the greatest of the Elven smiths. And Celebrimbor gently reminds him of his father.

And I believe that in that moment, like Galadriel looking upon Finrod, Elrond took it upon himself to protect Celebrimbor and fulfill his father's promise.

Elrond and Celebrimbor cannot build a new forge alone, not in such a short time. And Elrond remembered his great friend, Prince Durin. However, Elrond as an Elf, did not notice the passing of time as Durin. And Durin is heartbroken by Elrond's absence. As Durin says, he lived a whole life in the time Elrond was away.

I believe this is the first moment Elrond realizes how his elven side blinds him to the brevity of life. Elrond spent his entire life surrounded by Elves, eternal beings who would never die except by enemy spear or grief.

Elrond wants to make up for his mistake and assures Durin that it will be different this time. And he means it. Is this the moment when Elrond realizes he is not alone? Galadriel is gone, but he still has friends. He still has Durin. And he also has Disa and Celebrimbor now.

When Sauron spoke about Mirdania remind him of Galadriel, I remembered Celebrimbor noticing the resemblance between Elrond and his father. It's a powerful scene, very beautiful, in my opinion. But a very painful scene too. Because Elrond carries the grief of the loss of his parents, and it's obvious in his personality.

Does Elrond wear clothes that resemble bird wings, like his mother's wings? Elrond, it is important to remember, has a daughter, Arwen Undómiel, the Evenstar. The traces of his longing are there, present in everything that represents Elrond. Even in loss, he carries them with him.

So, I believe it was not easy for Elrond to accept Celebrimbor's request. To distrust Durin, to spy on Durin? It is a difficult task. Durin is his last friend and Elrond did not know that by helping Gil-galad, he could be compromising their friendship. Although he is Gil-galad's herald and his subject, Elrond promises to keep Durin's secrets.

But Durin III does not care about Elrond's promises, and Elrond fears that father and son will never understand each other. Elrond does not want Durin to feel what he felt when he lost his father.

Elrond's words about his father are painfully beautiful. And it is the moment of greatest clarification of the character's attitudes to the audience. Because Elrond was shaped by the loss of his parents, his adoptive parents, his brother, Galadriel, so many important people.

And he lives with this motto in his heart, to be good, to be pure, to be worthy of the love and respect of those who have passed away and who perhaps watch him from a distance.

Elrond presents Gil-galad's proposal to Durin and the prince accompanies him to Lindon. But it is not easy for Elrond, being forced to be the spokesman between the two sides, feeling that he is betraying his friend, as well as his kind.

It is a great weight placed on Elrond's shoulders by Gil-galad and Celebrimbor. Must Elrond betray who he is to save his people? Elrond understands the weight of the oath, as his protectors have felt for countless centuries. Because it is not always possible to keep an oath.

Fearing the destruction of the Elves not only of Lindon, but of all Middle-earth, Elrond must swallow everything he believes, everything he has promised and agrees to ask for Durin's help. I believe that Durin knew that Elrond never had bad intentions, and understands the dilemma of his Elf friend.

Elrond sets off for Khazad-dûm with Durin. Durin, like Elrond, needs to honor his oath. An oath that is not always easy, that is not always possible. One of the things I like most about Tolkien/TROP is how sacrifice is always a point, it is always something we do for those we love.

One of the obstacles in Elrond's journey is King Durin III. Durin III is cold and harsh at times, but he is a wise king and is trying to protect his people, fearing that the Elves will take advantage of his people and their resources.

As I see it, when Elrond gets down on his knees and announces his mixed race, Elf and Man, he has never been more like his father. Like his father who in Valinor spoke for the Two Kinds, Elrond does so now. For if the Elves depart from Middle-earth, all will be at risk.

Durin IV helps Elrond as much as he can, but his father and king does not allow Elrond to return and banishes him from all the Dwarves Mountains. When Elrond cries, holding the Mithril, we see how love and friendship are present in his heart.

Did Elrond remember of Maedhros and Maglor? That in the end, they fought for him and Elros, as far as they could bear? It's sad. Elrond's journey is marked by so much suffering and abandonment.

He has no choice but to return to Eregion and warn Celebrimbor. There is nothing the Elves can do and it is time to go home, back to the Realm of Light, where pain and suffering do not exist.

Everything changes for Elrond with the arrival of Galadriel. It is like an explosion of emotions. He has just been forbidden to be with Durin, but his friend has returned to him. He is no longer alone. And Elrond feels a lot of guilt for sending Galadriel away, even though he believed that this could have protected his friend.

Galadriel and Elrond try to find solutions with Celebrimbor, but Galadriel is not alone, she has come accompanied by Halbrand. Elrond had no prejudice against Men, he himself was part Man. Something, however, about Halbrand, never felt right to him.

At this point, Elrond's journey comes to a major halt. In his quest to save the Elves of Middle-earth, they have attracted Evil that should never have returned.

It was undoubtedly difficult for Elrond to realize that despite Halbrand's suspicious influence and intentions in the Rings, Galadriel persisted. This breaks something very fragile in Elrond, shakes his already fragile trust in others.

We're getting into dangerous territory now! I know many were angry with Elrond in season two and how he treated Galadriel. Elrond, however, wasn't being punitive, jury and executioner, his actions are completely understandable.

Elrond sets out for Lindon with the Rings in a desperate attempt to get Gil-galad to listen to him, to understand his fears. And he does, for a time. Galadriel and Gil-galad may despise Sauron, but they are both desperate for a solution, for a cure so they won't have to abandon Middle-earth.

Gil-galad desires the Rings and Elrond is once again alone. Like Galadriel in the first season while hunting Sauron. It's not easy being the last soldier standing. The only one fighting a losing battle.

It pains Elrond that Gil-galad would risk, in his desperation, accepting something that may have been influenced by Sauron. And it pains him even more that of all the Elves, Galadriel, who has suffered so much and fought so hard, should fall for Sauron's trick.

Círdan is his last hope. Another fleeting hope. Círdan, at least, understands Elrond's fear and the risk of the Rings. To Elrond, the Rings of Power are no different than the Silmarils. Objects of beauty and power that have cost many lives.

Elrond did not hesitate out of spite for Galadriel. But as someone who has suffered so much under the influence of the Silmarils, he understands the staggering risk they are all taking. Like his mother, Elwing, Elrond’s leap is one of desperation, of sacrifice.

Now the Rings are in Lindon and Elrond tries one last time to protect Galadriel. Yes, the Rings worked and their beauty enchants everyone, even Elrond.

This, however, does not make the Rings any less dangerous. The disappointment on Elrond's face is noticeable when he realizes that Galadriel succumbed so easily to the desire to wear the ring.

It is undoubtedly difficult for Elrond to remain in Lindon. The Elves are happy, the Rings have worked, and they are safe. This is not enough to assuage Elrond's fears. And given all he has been through, it is to be expected that he would feel this way.

Elrond remains firm in his beliefs, even though he is suffering from his separation from Galadriel. But Elrond was so young when he lost his parents because of the Silmarils, why would the Rings be any different?

I believe he did not want what happened to all those who touched the Silmarils to happen to his friends. But Elrond cannot forgive Galadriel, he cannot accept what she is asking. For him, if she accepted the Ring, she is accepting Sauron's influence.

Only Cirdan can convince Elrond and he does. He believes in Elrond and understands his fear, but asks him to understand that the Rings can and should be used for good, and that is why Sauron cannot touch them. Is it Cirdan's words that influence Elrond to leave with the retinue? I believe so.

The best way to define the relationship between Elrond and Galadriel in the next episodes is, as they say in my country, "A tail-puller." (it sounds better in my language) Which talks about two difficult people who are constantly at war, but never move away from each other.

In episode four, they are like two contrasting forces. Elrond has agreed to leave with the retinue only because he wants to protect Celebrimbor and end Sauron's rule. His motives and Galadriel's may be the same, but their motivations are not.

Elrond is firm with Galadriel, not giving in to her tempestuous and proud ways. She has agreed to be there, so she needs to take Elrond's advice. Since Elrond will not follow the Ring's advice.

And is he completely wrong? We, the viewers, understand that the ring is not compromised. That vision does not exist for the characters. And trusting in a Magic Ring is not trustworthy. Let's look at what happened to the Dwarves, to the Men. The fear of Elrond is equal to the fear of Durin.

Evil was in the forest, Elrond was warned. Who has never made a mistake by not listening to advice? Listening to the Ring's advice, for Elrond, would be like listening to the Silmaril's advice. It is a dangerous path that he does not wish to follow.

A choice that caused the loss of an Elf. However, in the fight against Sauron and the forces of Adar, it is as Galadriel said, many difficult losses would occur. It is clear that Elrond wants to listen to Galadriel, that he wants to trust her words.

He feels that she is being influenced by the Ring, and this impairs her judgment, or vice versa. No one can be completely correct in this story. Let us remember that Elrond is deeply hurt.

Did Galadriel sacrifice herself for the ring? For her friends? Both answers are possible, together or separately. They vary depending on how much you like the characters. What matters to me, however, here, is what Elrond felt. And he is so hurt that he prefers to believe that Galadriel sacrificed herself only for the ring and nothing more.

Even the lives of the Elves are about growing, maturing, and learning. Elrond is learning slowly. As Círdan said, they do not yet understand the Rings. It is to be expected that not everyone will agree at once.

But Galadriel's sacrifice, no matter how Elrond interpreted it, changed something in him. Elrond runs to Lindon and warns Gil-galad. Yes, Galadriel was right, and they need to send all their soldiers to Eregion. I think a lot about Elrond's words, when he talks about how the loss of Eregion would affect everyone.

Did he think of Doriath, of Gondolin? That is in his legacy. He cannot bear the loss of yet another great Elven kingdom to one of the Dark Lords.

It is time for Elrond to set out for the Dwarven Kingdom and seek help. Elrond, ever the herald of the Two Kinds, speaking for the Two Kinds.

Elrond once again sets out for Khazad-dûm. He knows that the Elves will be defeated without the help of the Dwarves. Elrond, like his father, has always known that one people alone cannot defeat such a powerful enemy. Only united are they strong enough.

Leaving with Durin's promise, Elrond returns to Lindon to fight on behalf of all Elves. He is determined, he will protect his people. Galadriel is his weak point. His friend is in the hands of Adar and he blames himself for this.

Elrond and Galadriel tend to say goodbye in moments of great intrigue. Seeing Galadriel in the hands of the enemy undoubtedly hurt him, he himself was once in the hands of the enemy, he was on the side of the hostages, he was a hostage.

Adar is as big a threat as Sauron. Sauron may be forging Rings to enslave Middle-earth, but it is Adar who is in Eregion with his Uruks destroying the Elven kingdom.

And Elrond needs to be strong once again. Elrond faces Adar, even though Adar disregards Elrond's ability as a warrior. Yes, Elrond lived behind countless books, but he always knew war, always understood it and faced it.

I'm going to get into another dangerous area and some of you will hate me (well, but analysis is how I interpret the show, so…) I consider Elrond and Galadriel's kiss very important and necessary.

I ship Galadriel and Celeborn, yes, I said that. But Celeborn is not here at the moment, I am talking about Elrond.

The kiss is a subtle and effective strategy that allows Galadriel to escape. However, I also see the kiss as a way for Elrond to show his love and affection for Galadriel, how he is regretting, how he blames himself for her being there, how he wishes things had been different and they could be at peace.

And perhaps it was also a farewell kiss. It is, after all, a war. Is it hard for Elrond to turn his back on Galadriel, to leave her alone in Adar's tent, to run away alone? I bet it is.

Elrond is back on the battlefield. It is a hard, ugly, cruel fight. Many lives are lost, Elrond is forced to watch his friends and companions perish in a cruel way at the hands of the Orcs. At the hands of his enemies. It is painful, it is always painful.

The final stab is Durin's delay. Did Elrond feel abandoned? In all the chaos, he cannot assimilate everything that was happening around him.

All he knows is that Durin is not there and they must fight. And here is Adar, taking Nenya from Elrond. The world is made of hope, but not for Elrond.

Loss is an interesting thing to interpret. Elrond lost many things, many people, during much of his life. It is no different now, with Eregion destroyed, with Celebrimbor dead. But the cruelest loss is memory.

What remains. It is devastating to Elrond that all the documents, the scrolls, all the memories of all those who lived in Eregion, who wrote down its teachings, were lost.

Why not just lose, but also lose memory? It is too much for anyone. All the knowledge of a people lost, forever. Which is a long time for an Elf.

Durin's arrival is a small comfort, until Elrond discovers that it is not Durin. The last of the Elves are being rescued, but to where? Eregion has fallen, there is nothing left for them, not there. Not in many places in Middle-earth.

Elrond is at a crossroads. Galadriel is dying, the darkness is too strong. Is it up to him to trust the Ring, to go against all his principles? In my opinion, this is the key point about Elrond's evolution in the second season.

Elrond was greater than his fear, greater than his fears, because it was better to risk using a Ring controlled by Sauron (whom he feared, obviously) than to lose Galadriel. After so many losses, it is easy to choose his friend over his fear.

The scene in which Elrond contemplates Eregion, once an imposing, majestic kingdom, completely in ruins is very sad. An entire kingdom destroyed by the desires of Sauron and Adar, so many lives, so much knowledge, lost for power.

As when the people of Gondolin fell, and the people of Doriath fell, Elrond had to start over. As when his parents fell, and ruin came to his people, he must start over. Ever forward, in search of better days. When everything is broken, we can only start over and move forward.

It is nice to see Elrond's last scene, where he holds Nenya without fear, without distrust (something that will be beautiful to see in the future, since he will also be a protector of the rings) and trusting Galadriel once again.

They are both at peace now. The surviving people of Eregion are at peace, as much peace as can be. The light is shining and a new day has dawned, for all of them, especially for Elrond, who in the Third Age will be one of the few to represent a light in the darkness of Middle-earth.

I really like the way Elrond is built in the show. It's great to watch and follow the growth of this incredible character, who is by far one of my favorites. I can't wait to see what his journey will be like in the upcoming seasons.

Don't forget that you all voted and the next analyses will also be about trajectories. (First Míriel, then Sauron.)

Tomorrow is my birthday, so I'm posting the analysis today! :)

[specific-dreamer]

my baby, my baby (you’re my baby)

Summary: darry visits his dad and rants. he also cries. </3

Darrel loves each of his kids (and stray kids) equally. No matter how hard Steve tries to pry it out of him, he does not have a favorite.

He loved when Johnny came over for dinner and he’s able to convince the kid to spend the night, he loves when Soda and Steve came home with new stories about their day at the rodeo, he loved when he came home from work and Ponyboy would rush to tell him about the book he’d just finished, he loved attending Ace’s recitals, and he loved when Dally comes over just to sit in their company when he could’ve been causing a ruckus around town instead.

He is, however, a little more partial to his first born than the others. No hard feelings, he still loves his other kids, but Darrel Junior was his first child; the reason he’s the father he was a father, so he’s always going to have a soft spot for him no matter what he does.

Besides, it doesn’t hurt that Junior is the only one who visits him and Karen on a normal basis. Darrel huffs to himself has he sits on top of his grave. Since dying, he’s somehow gained an internal watch, so he knows it’s 3:47pm exactly; when Junior visits it’s usually around 4pm.

Junior’s early today though, Darrel thinks to himself hearing footsteps approaching. There’s not much else he can do but wait for Darry who bends in front of Karen’s grave and leaves her a flower first. If he were alive, Darrel’s heart might’ve clenched. Karen’ll be sorry he missed Darry, but she’s watching over the other boys right now; it’s alright though, Darrel will fill her in when she gets back.

Darry’s head was bent too low for him to get a good look at first, but now that he’s turned towards Darrel’s grave he can see the tears streaming down his face. If he still needed oxygen, he’s sure his breath would’ve caught.

“Hi, Dad,” Darry’s says taking a seat on the ground. Darrel can’t help but notice he’s got his knees pulled to him like he’s trying to protect himself.

He frowns and pulls himself to join Darry on the ground. Hey, kiddo. What’s the matter? He knows Darry can’t hear him, he learnt that the hard way a while ago now, it still brings him a little bit of comfort though.

Darry sniffs. “I don’t know how you and Mama did it.”

Did what?

Darry gestures in the air, “This parenting shit- stuff, I meant stuff, sorry.” Darrel laughs a little; his baby’s twenty years old and still apologizing for cussing.

If he’s honest, Darrel isn’t even sure how he did it. It was in large part thanks to Karen, of course, she kept him steady whenever he floundered. Junior also helped too, though. He doesn’t like to throw the word around, but for all intent and purposes, Darry was a perfect first child.

“The other night,” Darry continues. “I guess Ponyboy had a nightmare or something, I don’t know, but I heard him asking Soda why I hated him.” His voice breaks at the end and Darrel is forced to watch as Junior sobs into his arms.

It’s futile he knows, but after a moment of watching he hugs Darry anyway. Almost as if he could actually feel the hug, Darry stiffens before looking up and staring straight through Darrel. Spooky, he thinks.

“I don’t hate him, I promise.”

I know you don’t.

“I love him a lot, but it’s like he purposely grates my nerves. He knows I’m stretched thin and it’s like he’s trying to see how long until I snap. And that’s not fair! I don’t know how to be a parent, I don’t how to raise a fourteen year old!”

Darrel isn’t sure when it happened, but a flip was switched as Junior started to rant angrily. He doesn’t leave the cemetery too often, but when he did he noticed the two often riled each other up; it was never one sided. He can’t exactly correct Darry though so he hums instead.

“Daddy, you know when you first, um,” he winces. “left, Pony didn’t talk for a week. Okay, that’s fine, I can handle that, but he stopped eating too. I tell him, ‘Pony you have to eat something, you can only go so long without eating before you die from starvation.’ And I kid you not the only thing he says to me that entire week was ‘You’re not dad, Darrel, you can’t tell me what to do’. I never said I was! I just didn’t want him to die too, is that so bad?”

Darrel blinks. That was a lot, and he’s not really sure where to start processing it. He sighs airlessly, It’s not bad. You were worried about him and had his best interests at heart I get it. Is he eating now at least?

Just as fast as it came, the anger seems to leave Darry all once as he lies back on the grass with his hands over his face. “I don’t even know if he eating for real, yet. I’m not home enough to know; I eat my breakfast in the dark, go to work, come home when everyone’s asleep, eat dinner in the dark, go to bed, rinse and repeat.”

Darrel winces. Even he didn’t work those kind of hours and could’ve handled them. Darrel liked his solitude every now and then, but not Darry. No, not his Junior; his Junior is a people’s person through and through, there’s a reason he won boy of his year.

Rubbing Darry’s ankle he says, I know you’re working your ass off, but I’m real proud of you, baby. I know it don’t look it now, but it will all pay off.

There’s a pause, and if he wants he could trick himself into believing his boy heard him, before Darry says something so quietly Darrel has to strain to hear. “I know it’s wrong, and I try not to, but sometimes I wish I let them get taken. I love them, really I do! But Soda wants to drop out of school and Pony hates me and he thinks I hate him back, and don’t even get me started on Dallas— I don’t think there’s a been a weekend where we haven’t haven’t argued or he hasn’t been in jail. I’m trying my best, but I keep screwing up and that’s not fair on them.”

He breaks into sobs again, this time so strong his whole body shakes. Darrel can’t even do anything to comfort him, his stupid ghost body isn’t corporeal. The best thing he can do is stroke Darry’s hair and hope he knows his daddy is here for him. He hates seeing his kids cry and he’s never been more angry that he’s dead.

Between sobs Darry says, “I wanna leave. So I can’t mess anything else up.”

No, sir. You’ll get the hang of things soon enough, it’s a new adjustment and y’all’ve just gotta find your footing. I know it’s hard, but y’all will find it.

“I’m not gonna,” Darry protests. His baby is red in the face and breathing real hard, but Darrel is thankful is eyes are finally starting to dry. “I want to leave but I don’t want to leave them.”

So, what are you gonna do, Junior?

“I don’t know,” he answers. “I wish you were here, you’d know what to do.”

Darrel winces. Actually now-

“Well, never mind. You wouldn’t be dumb enough to get in this situation to begin with.”

Harsh, but he’s probably right. Darrel watches as the gears turn in Junior’s head. He loves all his kids equally, yes. But Darry’s always been his favorite to watch because when he isn’t focused he wears every emotion on his face. He can see exactly when Darrys made his mind up long before he stands up and dusts off his pants.

“You drive a hard bargain, but fine I’ll stay.” Darrel barks out a laugh as Darry checks his watch. It’s 6:29pm, he’s been here for nearly three hours. “Shit, I said I’d make dinner.” Somehow, when Darry looks up he’s staring Darrel in the eyes. “I’ve gotta run, but I’ll see you later.”

Alright, stay tough out there. I love you, kiddo.

Darry’s eyes widen a minuscule amount and he grins as he ducks his head. “Yeah, I love you too, daddy.”

[vhagarys]

Sired (mini series)

aemond x reader, aegon x reader

PT. 1

summary: you are elated at the celebration that awaits on your eight and tenth name day. little do you know, you brothers have an unexpected surprise for you.

warnings: vampires, canon-typical incest (its the targaryens love), dub-con, smut, blood-drinking, manipulation?, all hail king daemon, siring?, probably more but I can’t think of any.. oops

MDNI

Ten and eight.

Your name day.

Twas a highly awaited day for you and your family both. While you were giddy with excitement for the festivities celebrating your womanhood, you’d little thought as to what exactly would await you.

See, what your family so carefully evaded from you was that the Targaryen dynasty were bestowed gifts in more ways than one. The blood of the dragon coursed through their veins, but so did something else.

A hunger.

On a Targaryen’s eight and tenth name day, the gift of immortality is bestowed upon them.

The dynasty has long reigned as the most feared and most powerful lineage in Westeros from this unique endowment.

Your naivety could almost be pitied as you fussed about the lacing of the scarlet gown you would don on your special day. Grinning like a cheshire cat, your older siblings watched you and your servants pick out jewels and embroidery to stitch onto the neckline.

“Why are we forbidden from speaking of the ritual? Shouldn’t we enlighten our dear sister on the events to ensue on the morrow?”, your sister Helaena frowns as she fiddles with her ring.

Aegon hummed, “I agree, dear sister. But, we mustn't worry her. Look at how excited she is to-”

“The ritual is a rite of passage. Tis a gift given only to us. That in itself is worth celebrating,” your older brother Aemond interrupted, closely following every small movement of his beautiful sister.

Aegon hummed once again, this time in agreement.

Both of your brother's eyes fixed upon your form. Your supple breasts now filled in the bodice of your gown, the soft flesh spilling over. Hips curved and full, your body was ripe and ready for child bearing, which of course did not go unnoticed by your brothers.

No, not when their hands tugged at their weeping cocks to the sound of your voice, to the soft touch of your skin against theirs, the sweet smell oozing from beneath your skin, pumping through your veins.

Aemond’s member twitched eagerly as you pulled the final layer of your gown over your head, leaving you in nothing but your small clothes. His eyes quickly averted to his brother, who chewed into his bottom lip to the point of drawing blood.

Sharp canines poked through his plump lips, Helaena lightly slapped Aegon’s arm and hissed under her breath.

“Control yourself, brother.” His eyes remained glued to you as you bent down to grab your afternoon camise, lavender eyes filling with red as a low growl emitted from his throat.

Just as he went to take a step towards you, the commanding voice of your mother broke through his thoughts.

“Aegon. Come with me.” The queen dowager walked towards them.

“Mother!” Your eyes lit up as your mother graced you with a loving smile.

“Hello, my love. Are you excited for the morrow?” Alicent sauntered towards you and lightly took your chin into her hands.

You beamed. “Very, is there anything I may help with?”

“No, sweet girl,” your mother kissed your forehead.

She turned on her heels, and you missed the look she shot towards your siblings as they quietly followed her out of the room, no words spoken.

That was odd.

They followed her into the adjacent room where she ushered them inside.

Alicent’s eyes were stern as she took a step towards Aegon.

The back of her hand graced the side of his cheek, snapping his head to the side as a pink handprint bloomed onto his pale skin.

“What were you thinking! Losing control of yourself like that in front of her!” She fumed.

Eyes cast down, he murmured, “I wasn’t thinking mother, please, forgive me.”

Aemond couldn’t help but scoff at him, his brother never exhibiting an ounce of self-restraint when it came to you.

Alicent’s eyes shot to her other son. “Keep him in line until the ritual, for the sake of our house. Please Aemond,” who only wordlessly nodded as the queen dowager stormed from the room.

Every fiber in his body wanted nothing but to give you another visit, the only thing stopping Aegon from forsaking his mother’s words was his sire bond.

During the ritual, one must first be bitten by another Targaryen to begin the transition. A sire bond between them is then formed, creating an innate urge within the newly turned to please the one who helped bring them into the world of immortality.

In tradition of their house, the father performs the siring ritual to each of his children. However, as King Viserys met his sudden end several moons past, Alicent performed in his place for each of her three oldest children.

Upon his death, your family named his brother, Daemon Targaryen, as the new king of Seven Kingdoms, your half-sister Rhaenyra his queen.

Them, along with other members of your family all gathered to celebrate the eve of your anticipated celebration.

You were sat next to one of your childhood friends, Sylvia, whilst the rest of your family chattered and indulged themselves.

“Are you nervous?” Sylvia turned to you as you stuffed another biscuit in your mouth.

You giggled. “And whatever is there to be nervous about? It will be a joyous occasion!”

You and your friend missed the quick glances from others at the table, unaware of their eavesdropping.

She leaned in closer, a look of worry within her features.

“I heard whispers in the wind that a sacrifice is required for the ceremony.”

Your heart spiked momentarily.

Just as you were about to question your friend further, a presence behind you pulled you fron your conversation.

“May I steal my sister for a moment?” Aemond offered his hand which you reluctantly took, your friend quick to avert the steely gaze of your brother.

Joyous music rang through the dining room as friends and family danced and laughed together. Aemond pulled you into the throes of people and wrapped his hand around the small of your waist.

He began to sway the both of you as the sour smell of anxiety invaded his nose.

“Brother, is there something regarding the ritual I am not yet aware of?”

He pulled you closer, inhaling the vanilla and cherries on your skin.

“Everything will be just fine, dear sister.” He rubbed small circles in the small of your back as the sweet tang of your blood broke through the sweetness of your perfume.

His breath hitched.

You looked up at him.

Something didn’t feel right.

There was something he wasn’t telling you.

“Pardon me, brother. I must refresh myself in the washroom,” you gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before scurrying towards your friend, grabbing Sylvia’s hand before dragging her out of the room.

“Tell me what else you know,” your eyes frantically searched hers for answers after shutting the door behind the pair of you.

“I-I heard that the Targaryens possess a hunger inside of them. O-one of unholiness.”

Surely this was a jest?

You couldn’t shake the unease this warning brought upon you.

Your feet moved faster than your mind as you ran out and made a beeline towards your mother, desperate for some sort of explanation to ease your confusion.

Just as you were about to reach her, you were promptly swept off of your feet by your brother Aegon.

“There she is! The most important girl in the Seven Kingdoms!” You could smell the wine on his breath as he paraded you around the dance floor.

“Brother, please. Please set me down.” His eyes searched yours as an odd look of realization washed over his features.

Without explanation, he made quick work of whisking you out of the dining room and into the library across the hall.

The blood in your veins pumped loudly in your ears as he set you down.

“B-brother, please explain to me what is happening at the ceremony. I know there is something being withheld from me.”

He stopped abruptly in front of you, admiring how beautiful his dear sister looked in the light of the fire. A true Targaryen, he thought.

Perhaps it was the wine coursing through his veins, perhaps it was the desire to finally taste you that had the words tumbling from his lips.

“Have you ever wondered why our dear uncle, the king, has barely aged a day in decades?” He slowly circled behind you.

Vanillas and cherries. He inhaled you.

“I h-hadn’t thought of it, perhaps its-”

“Perhaps it’s because he is unlike a normal being. Perhaps none of us are,” he enjoyed watching the gears turning in your little head as his words filtered through your ears.

Poor, confused little girl, he smiled down at you.

He grasped the bottom of your chin and glazed over your soft features, your insatiably plump lips he so wished to devour.

All the while, you fiddled and picked at your nails beneath your skirts, a nasty habit you developed whenever you were anxious.

PIcking and picking, the unmistakeable scent of blood soon overtook his senses.

A low moan escaped him as he gently reached for your hand.

Trembling, you watched your brother inspect your bloodied nail bed.

“I am fine brother,” you tried to pull away but was effectively stopped as he brought your finger up to his lips and into his mouth.

You were so stunned by the queerness of his actions that you sat frozen in your seat.

Moaning louder, you were met with eyes filled with scarlet.

He looked other-worldly. You couldn’t seem to remove your eyes from your brother.

He smirked down at you as he released your fingers.

“You taste delicious, little zaldrīzes,” (dragon) his tone shot a shiver down your spine.

Cold fingers twirled through the strands of your hair. You couldn’t help but lean into it.

Aegon smiled at your pliancy. He was consumed by the urge to claim you, have you in every way imaginable.

And now he would take it.

Pushing your silver locks behind your ear, he absentmindedly traced circles into the skin of your neck.

“You’re just in time, brother,” Aegon finally acknowledged his brother who stood at the entrance of the door, observing the scene between the two of you.

As if hypnotized, your eyes remained locked on Aegons, your other brother taking his time as he waltzed over to the two of you.

“Well, what do we have here, hm?” His eyes immediately found purchase on your exposed neck, fidgeting in his place.

“Oh, I was just ensuring our dear sister was alright, it appears she cut herself. Look, brother.” He brought your fingers up to his lips and kissed them lightly, delighted to see how uncomfortable his younger brother looked.

You finally turned your gaze to Aemond, snapped out of the trance you were previously in.

“Aemond, I-I don’t understand what’s happening.”

His usual stoic demeanor cracked as the urge to taste you swallowed him whole.

He took the seat on the other side of Aegon and grasped your injured appendage.

“Shh. It’s alright. Allow me”, he began to lick up the droplets sliding down your finger, groaning as he finally got to taste you.

He needed more. They both did.

Watching his brother, a wicked thought popped into his brain.

“Would you like to know how we taste, mandia aesi?” (dear sister) Aegon ran his fingers through your tangled locks.

Mindlessly, you nodded as you watched your brother lapping at your finger. Not even registering what is what your brother was asking of you.

Aemond’s eyes shot up to his brother, wordlessly disapproving of what he had in mind.

Ignoring him, he pricked his finger and slowly brought it up to your lips.

“Jikagon, sylutegon issa mandia,” (go ahead, taste me sister).

Before your conscience could stop you, you savored the queer, coppery taste of your brothers blood.

You knew not of the sorcery that possessed you. All you knew was you wanted more.

Something inside of you snapped.

You wrapped your other hand around his arm, effectively locking him in place as you sucked harder, drawing more blood from his wound.

The pair of them watched, transfixed as their sister indulged.

A light yank of your hair pulled you from him, your other brother offering a taste from him which you happily obliged.

After a few minutes went by, you released his hand and licked your lips.

“More please,” your brother’s eyes darkened, something primal finally overtook any ounce of self-restraint remaining at your glossy eyes and blood dribbling down your chin.

“Now, don’t be greedy, dear sister. Let us have another turn.”

Leaning back in your chair, your brothers crowded each side of you and littered your neck with small kisses.

Nosing along your vein, your brother Aemond murmured, “Ao sytilībagon naejot īlva, mandia.” (you belong to us now, sister) before piercing into your soft flesh.

You groaned loudly as you felt a slight sting on either side of your neck, soon followed by an intense pleasuring shooting through every nerve in your body.

Gripping the arms of the chairs, your eyes rolled to back of your head as you brother continued to drink from you, their lust for you sending them into a frenzy.

Your body buzzed from the intensity, teetering on the precipice of an unknown pleasure you felt soon claim you as you lost control of your senses, spiralling into a black abyss.

Soon, your brothers broke away from you, maroon staining the skin around their mouths as they gazed upon your lifeless body.

“Fuck,” Aegon murmured as he wiped off and tasted the remains of you on his lips.

Aemond sighed. He stirred in his breaches as he reveled in the euphoria of the moment.

“She is insatiable,” Aemond grabbed a napkin and cleaned himself.

“Hmm, I already wish to taste her again,” Aegon smiled devilishly at his brother.

“Mother will be furious,” Aemond noted, following a rivulet of blood running down the valley of your breasts.

“Tis little matter now.”

The minutes dragged on before the doors of the library swung open, revealing a furious Alicent along with Daemon, Rhaenyra, and Helaena.

Taking in the scene before them, Alicent stormed toward the three of you.

“What have you done!” She shouted, rushing towards you lying limp in the chair, inspecting the puncture wounds on your neck.

Before either could reply, a small whimper left you which directed everyone’s attention.

Slowly lifting your eyelids, once lavender orbs were now tainted with red.

authors note: already starting pt. 2 hehehe, let me know your thoughts!

#enjoy

- alie

[fourkisses]

i stare at the crash (it actually works) ✷

a cs55 written-smau where . . .

carlos signs with porsche after getting ditched by ferrari only to find himself in a heated rivalry with his new teammate. oh, and did i mention she's also his ex-girlfriend?

pairing: carlos sainz x fem!porsche driver!reader

warnings: it's very long. also, cuss words. a lot of cuss words.

a/n: buckle up your seatbelts because this will take a wild turn wink wink

ᯓ★ PART FOUR: THE GRANDEST MASTERPLAN YET

lando calls for backup . . .

the grid added to their stories!

Golf de Monte Carlo | 8:43 AM

“The fuck is he doing here?”

You have unintentionally thought that one out loud. Lando told you that it would be just the usual gang coming today (a.k.a. the Twitch Quartet plus Lils), so you don't really get why your teammate is here.

"Really, Y/N? No hi, hello, welcome, here's some water because I am absolutely sure you two are parched from the intense heat of the scorching sun?" Lando replies sarcastically as he and Carlos get down from the golf cart parked in front of you.

You roll your eyes at the Brit before throwing a water bottle at him and Carlos that, of course, they both catch. (Drivers and their stupid reaction times.)

"Yeah, Y/N. No kisses on the cheeks?" Carlos playfully adds before unscrewing the bottle cap.

"Oh, I'm sorry Carlos! I totally forgot!" You flash him your prettiest smile. "Do you want it to be from my left fist or my right?"

Charles tries to shut his mouth, but he can't help himself and lets out a giggle. After that incident on the jet, he (aside from Lewis and Nando) is the only person to know what really transpired between the two of you.

You, however, are not enjoying even just a second of this shit. You turn to glare at the Ferrari driver and magically, his laugh somehow turns into a fake cough.

George was the first one to ask a sensible question in minutes. "So, Lan, how do we get on with this exactly?"

Lando, the ever dramatic, claps his hands before replying. "Well, since we are kind of a large crowd, I reckon it would be best if we play in teams, yeah?” he nods, as if he's delivering a presidential speech. ”The teams are gonna be Lily and Alex, you and me, and Y/N and Carlos."

“What about Charles?” you ask. “Can't I be paired with him instead?”

Lando looks around and counts one by one. Two, three, five, six, seven. Damn. They're missing a person to make it even. He clearly hasn't thought his grandest masterplan through.

"Ah, Charles! Well, actually, Charles will play by himself today.”

The Monegasque's face contorted. He pointed at himself. “Me?”

“Yeah! You told me earlier!”

“Eh?”

Lando widened his eyes at the Ferrari driver. Just go with it!

Oh. Charles gets the hint and plays along. "Oh, yeah! You know, I'm in my strong, independent era, that's why!” He smiles right after, proud of himself for pulling it off.

“Well, if that's the case then I'm going home. I'm sorry but if Carlos is my teammate, then I'm not playing,” you announce. It's one thing to be with him on the track. But being with Carlos even in your leisure time? Too much, guys.

Your announcement elicits quite a diverse reaction from the group, including but not limited to:

Carlos rolling his eyes. "As if I want to be your teammate."

Charles sighing. I am a child of divorce.

Alex and Lily whispering quietly among themselves. Do you want to get out of here and just stay in bed with Izzy the whole day?

George trying to eavesdrop on the couple. What is an Izzy?

Lando, however, is calm. Zen-like. He is unmoved, not even one bit.

“Are you sure about that? You haven't even heard of the prize yet," the brit says in an enticing manner, wiggling his eyebrows in the process. Lando may have been caught off guard seconds ago, but he wouldn't allow anyone to fuck up his grandest masterplan yet, no. Not even you. This is the ace in his deck that he absolutely can't wait to deal.

As expected, everyone looks at him in confusion. Even the guys who are part of the quartet that knows about Lando having a grandest masterplan is just as clueless as you.

“What is it?” you ask with both arms crossed, heels tapping the grass in anticipation.

Lando smiles widely. Very, very widely.

“Pole position in Zandvoort, courtesy of Max Verstappen.”

Holy shit.

This time, Lando's announcement elicits quite a diverse reaction from the group, including but not limited to:

Alex cheering inwardly. Good thing I have an amazing girlfriend who just so happens to be a professional golfer.

George groaning loudly. “Hey Albono, can I team up with Lily instead?”

Carlos wanting nothing but to punch a wall at the moment. “I would rather take Lando as my partner.”

You wanting nothing but to punch Carlos at the moment. “I would rather take Lando as my partner.”

Charles, however, is worried about a different thing.

“Hey mate,” he whispers in Lando's ear, “did Max really say that?”

The brit smirks in response, confident of his plan. “He actually hasn't. . . yet.

“But don't you worry a thing, Charlie boy! I'm sure he will, although I specifically need you to ask him."

“Err, I guess I could do that, but I'm not sure how he will agree with such . . . request.”

Lando pats the Ferrari driver's shoulder. “Do you trust me?”

“Honestly? No. But go on.”

“In situations like this, we need to bribe Max with something in exchange for what we want. And, among all of us, you're the only one who has a material worthy enough to offer to the champ."

"I'm not sure I follow," Charles responds.

"The power lies within your phone, Cha! Quick, do you have it with you right now?"

Charles nods and pulls his phone from his pocket.

"Okay, good. Now, can you please open your Instagram? I want you to do something very, very important. . . "

a few moments later, on twitter . . .

an hour later . . .

“Just hit the damn ball!”

You can't help but roll your eyes at your teammate's comment. “Can you shut up for at least five seconds?”

“Santo Niño de Atocha, we've been here for five minutes!”

You fall deaf to the Spaniard's complaint. Sure, you have been "fixing" your position for a while now, swinging the club multiple times but not hitting the ball (yet), shifting your weight from one foot to another, shuffling forward, then backward, then forward again, but hey, you're just preparing for a successful shot!

The rest have already moved ahead, leaving you and Carlos the last pair to be at the tee box. He blames it on you for not striking. You blame it on him for not letting you concentrate.

"Do you want me to help you?"

"Do you want me to swing this at you instead?"

"I'm pretty sure we would have a higher chance of winning if I do so, Y/N."

"I know how to play golf, okay! My ex-boyfriend used to bring me to these places," you snap back as you reposition your golf club, slightly swinging it back and forth to get the position right.

"You mean me?"

Oh. Oh shit, yeah. He's the ex-boyfriend. But hell, he absolutely doesn't need to know that he's that ex-boyfriend.

You stop what you're doing to look at him sideways. "Sainz, I am going to hold your hand while I say this," it's just a little white lie, you swear, "but you're not my only ex-boyfriend." (He's absolutely you're only ex-boyfriend.)

He stares at you with a rather unamused expression, not buying the lie you're trying to sell him.

Still, you frown in his direction, fully committing to the bit. "I'm so sorry to break it to you, but sweet pea, you're not that special." You nod at him a couple of times. It's okay, bud. You're gonna get past this.

Yet Carlos didn't seem to be affected by the jab. He just shrugs his shoulders in response and waves you off, gesturing you to continue what you're supposed to be doing.

Brick. Ice queen or whatever. You shift your focus back to the little white ball perched in front, eyes in slits as you examine it. God. Such a small item to be stressed at. Okay. Just. . . calm down. You have zoomed through circuits at insane, almost ungodly speeds. This is nothing. Just breathe in and breathe out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

You tighten your grip to the metal rod you are holding as you lift it and coil your body. "Here goes nothing," you mutter under your breath, silently hoping that you're not going to embarrass yourself in front of the cockiest man to have ever walked this land. Then, with eyes closed, you swing your golf club forward, striking the ball.

Except . . . you didn't. You anxiously open your left eye only to see that the tiny white dot of menace is still there where you last saw it.

You hear a snicker behind you. You roll your eyes so far back you see for a split second all the emotions that control your one hell of a brain. "Shut up, Sainz. I don't want to hear a word about it."

"Ay, I wasn't going to say anything!" Carlos answers defensively, arms in the air, his shit-eating grin still plastered on his face. He walks towards his golf bag and pulls out a club. "Although I just have to mention, you definitely called the wrong ex-boyfriend to teach you golf, don't you think?"

Ugh. You slump down the grass beneath you. See? The cockiest man to have ever walked this land!

Golf de Monte Carlo | 2:34 PM

"Where did it go?!"

Your voice echoes through the vastness of the golf course.

Carlos absolutely has no idea.

He shouts back at you. "I absolutely have no idea!"

Why the fuck would you think he'll know where the ball you just hit would go? He shakes his head in disbelief.

He watches you as you walk further down the fairway to look for your golf ball, dragging your golf bag along with you. He already told you earlier to carry it on your back but you replied that 1) your shoulders are already sore from carrying the entire face and personality of the Porsche F1 team and that 2) he should mind his own business.

Unbelievable woman, Sainz thought.

You two are in the green now, where the hole is situated. Both of you are close to finishing the whole game, actually, with this hole being the 18th and last one. Carlos fixes his stance before swinging his golf club with just enough force to send his golf ball towards victory. Finally.

"Hey! Sainz!" he hears you shout. "I can't find it!"

He puts his club back inside his bag before walking towards your direction. "Maybe it got lost in the rough!"

"The what?!"

"See that?" he says as soon as he reaches you. He points at the area that has taller, unkempt grass compared to the one you are standing on. "Considering your golfing abilities, it's highly probable that it went there."

"How am I supposed to get it out then?"

Carlos is surprised that you didn't fire back after his subtle insult. "Eh, just pick it up with your hands."

You absolutely heard that dig but hey, the past four hours with him wasn't actually that bad. Sure, there was bickering here and there, but nothing too serious or personal. For the first time in years, you start to think you're finally coming around regarding the situation you and Carlos are in.

"But isn't that against the rules?"

"Ay, it doesn't matter! You already lost anyways," he reveals as he looks back at the tall flag that marks where the hole is, signaling that his golf ball was already in there.

"What do you m- hey! We're a team here!" you exclaim at him when you realize what he meant.

Carlos scoffs in amusement. So now you claim you two are teammates after your public disdain for him earlier?

"I thought you said you don't want to play when I'm your teammate?" he counters, the hint of bitterness in his voice unintended but clearly evident.

"Really? We just finished the whole thing and you're asking me that question just now?" Wow, so much for thinking maybe you two can finally be civil.

"I'm just saying! I'm simply restating what you said earlier," Carlos defends himself, trying to salvage the conversation and save his ass.

“There's literally no need to bring it up and attack me, though,” you say as you walk away from him and towards the area where your golf ball might have landed. "Stop acting as if you weren't sharing the same sentiments earlier."

Carlos follows you from behind. Point taken. “Okay, I'm sorry,” he pleads, stopping his tracks about a meter from where you are standing. He didn't get a response as you choose to ignore him and instead continue to scour the grass for a circle of white that might be peeking through.

Found it.

"Hey, Y/N. I said I'm sorry."

You hold the golf ball in your hand as you turn to face him, nodding in acknowledgement. "Just. . . next time, don't dig up shit that's already dead and buried. You always do that, you know. It's childish," you say before walking towards your golf bag.

Now Carlos is the one who feels offended. What do you mean I always do that? And childish, me, really? You can't even talk to me without saying a cuss word every five minutes!

Lost in the heat of the moment, Carlos blurts it out before even thinking of it: "Oh yeah? Well, if you really don't want me to dig up shit, then stop doing shit that needs to be buried in the first place."

His words stop you on your tracks. You look back, jaw dropping. “Excuse me? What the fuck is your problem?”

“No, Y/N! what the fuck is your problem?” Carlos fires back, his voice sharp, his frustration spilling over.

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t know what my problem is,” you snap, your tone cutting. “Because I assure you, you are very well-aware about it!”

Carlos lets out a scoff, crossing his arms defensively. “Really, Y/N? Is this still about Ferrari?”

You don’t respond. Your silence is answer enough.

“Dios mío,” he mutters, exasperated. “That was almost five years ago! Can’t you still not—”

“And so what if it’s about Ferrari?!” you shout, stepping closer as you point a finger at him. “You ruined us just so you could sign with that damn team!”

“God, they already dropped me, Y/N!” Carlos yells, throwing his hands up. “We’re teammates now, for fuck’s sake! Why are you still so affected by it?”

You let out a humorless chuckle, cheeks flushing red with anger.

“Why am I so affected by it? Nice question, Sainz! What if I also signed a contract behind your back and didn’t ask your opinion about it?” you shoot back, your voice rising with every word. “And when you questioned me, I told you you were unsupportive of my dreams, accused you of being jealous, and then left—just disappeared. And a week later, you found out I told the fucking tabloids I'm single now?”

Carlos stiffens, his face paling.

“And then, four years later,” you continue, your voice breaking but relentless, “I show up in front of you and act like nothing ever happened between us?”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady the anger threatening to consume you. “Is my reaction justifiable now?”

Silence. The tension hangs heavy in the air, suffocating. Carlos looks down, refusing to meet your gaze, his expression unreadable.

“You know, for the record, Carlos,” you say coldly, the words biting, “we are not teammates.”

He looks up, eyes red. “Partners trust each other. You clearly didn’t.”

You turn and start to walk away, each step heavier than the last, leaving him standing there.

“Yeah, we’re not.”

You stop, his words freezing you in place.

“Partners support each other,” Carlos adds, his voice hollow, bitter. “You clearly didn’t.”

He lets out a short, empty laugh, one that carries no humor, only pain. “God, I just really wanted you to be happy for me that time, Y/N.”

A single tear slips down your cheek. Then another. And another. The world around you blurs, your chest tight with the weight of the moment.

He walks away, footsteps fading into the distance.

You stand there, frozen in time.

And suddenly, it's like four years ago all over again.

← previous part next part →

[gullemec]

Cross the Line

Golden Cage - Chapter Five

Pairing: Billy Butcher x f!reader

Summary: Truth or Dare, Murder, and Sex. Or, you and Butcher go on a road trip.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ mdni), oral (f receiving), unprotected piv sex, nipple play, dirty talk, creampie, discussions of previous murders, language, unsafe driving, attempted flashing, One Bed Trope™️, reader has poor self esteem and is Going Through It, straight up vehicular manslaughter, brief description of dead bodies

Please let me know if I missed any TWs <3

WC: 7.7k

A/N: Here she is!! My first ever f/m smut scene! Please be kind. Also a very action-packed chapter. Please read the tags before diving in because there's a LOT happening here.

Monday morning rolls around with an alarming speed, the pace of your days having taken a decided turn toward the speed of light. 

It had nothing to do with your apprehension around being with Butcher again, you were sure. 

Certain. 

The plan, not unlike the last plan, is supposedly simple. As the CytoGenix van carrying the vials of V2 makes its way upstate, you and Butcher will tail it at a distance, waiting until the time is right to strike and run the van offroad using a spike strip.

You've thought up about two thousand ways this could go wrong. You could probably think of a thousand more, but your brain started to hurt when you tried.

You pull your bag over your shoulder, every step to Butcher’s van downstairs weighed down by a strange mix of adrenaline and dread. He’s waiting for you, leaned against the driver’s side door with his usual cocky smirk, dark aviators shielding his expression.

“Look alive, sunshine,” he says as you climb in. “Big day ahead.”

You settle into the passenger seat, forcing yourself to play it cool. The hum of the engine fills the silence as you pull away, but within moments, the tension in the van feels as suffocating as the thick summer air.

The first two hours crawl by. Small talk feels like dragging a boulder uphill, each attempt to bridge the gap between you met with curt, monosyllabic responses. Weather. Traffic. A half-hearted quip about a roadside diner that doesn’t even earn a smirk from Butcher.

It’s maddening. Days ago, this man had kissed you like the world was ending. Now, he's talking about the possibility of impending rain. You feel insane.

Eventually, you can’t take it anymore.

“Truth or dare,” you say, throwing it out like a grenade

Butcher glances at you, his brow furrowing beneath his sunglasses. “The fuck did you just say?”

He scoffs, muttering something under his breath about it being a child's game. “And how exactly do you suppose we play truth or dare in a moving vehicle, hm?” He asks. 

“I don't know, but what I do know is that we have a four and a half hour drive ahead of us and if this awkward silence is going to continue, I'm going to jump out of the window right now.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “What are you, twelve? What’s next, a round of bloody ‘I Spy’?” He shoots you a look of bemusement before returning to the road, ignoring your request. 

He's not getting away that easy. 

“Look, it's either truth or dare, or we talk about the k—”

“Jesus Christ, alright I'll play your fucking game,” he relents. 

Success. 

You nod toward him expectedly. 

“What?” He asks 

“Truth or dare? You have to pick, it's kind of how the game is played.”

“Christ,” he mutters under his breath. “Fine. Truth.”

You pause to think for a second, racking your brain for a good question. You could, of course, go straight for the jugular, asking him why he pulled away from the kiss, why he didn't push you down on the couch and take everything you were willing to give him right then and there. But you think that might be a little intense for a first question, so you settle on something easier. 

“How many people have you killed?”

His reaction is instant, an incredulous laugh that’s more bark than humor. “Straight for the jugular, eh? You don’t muck about.”

“I’m curious,” you say, holding his gaze. “Isn’t that the whole point of the game?

“Sweetheart, if knowing how many people I've kidnapped is a second date question, this has gotta be a fifth date question.”

“Okay,” you say thoughtfully. “Well, if you count all the late night stake outs, and if you count our first date, the one where you kidnapped, me as three dates, which I do, I think we're well past the fifth date by now.” You raise your eyebrows at him, laughing.  

“Alright, alright,” he huffs. The smirk on his face betrays the fact that he kind of wants to play, but his tough facade necessitates that he put up a valiant fight about it first. 

But once your laughing subsides, his grin falls, and you realize that this was perhaps not the best question to ask. His eyes are fixed on the road when he answers you. 

He exhales sharply, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. “I lost count. Got to twenty-five, maybe thirty, last time I bothered to keep track.” His voice is calm, almost too calm, but there’s no pride in it. “You happy now?”

His admission is like a shock to your system. You knew that he'd killed before, having tossed the idea around in your mind, considering the things you knew about the man you were unquestionably attracted to. He has killed, yes, but he has also lost. He has lost everything, and he has helped, and he has been kind, too. And yet, hearing the words from his mouth, putting a number, if only estimated, on the amount of times a life has been lost at the same hands that were wrapped tenderly around your body only days ago, sends a painful jolt to your heart. 

“I know what you might think,” he starts, his voice faltering. “You think I'm cold and evil, or whatever.” His fingers readjust around the steering wheel, an anxious tic you're picking up on. “But I had to do it. I believed it was for some… greater purpose, I guess. I believe that, but maybe because I have to.”

You're speechless. You weren't expecting this sudden moment of vulnerability in Butcher, this emotional nakedness. If you're honest, it scares you, because it causes the sand beneath the already unsteady foundation of your relationship with him to shake. You have to say something, anything. 

“How do you feel about potentially killing two more people today? Does it make you nervous?” You ask. You're vaguely aware of the van driving ahead of you, a pinprick dot of white on the endlessly winding highway. 

He sighs, then smirks, looking entirely too pleased in comparison to his somber expression only moments ago. “Uh–uh, your turn now.”

He's got you there. 

“Truth,” you say, and it's only fair that he throws you a hardball too. But he doesn't. 

“What’s your favorite memory with your mum?”

The question throws you for a moment, its tenderness blindsiding you. You have so many, you could almost argue that this isn't an easy question at all. All the same, your mind wanders to the same memory that always pops up when you ask yourself this question. 

“My seventh birthday,” you begin, your voice tinged with nostalgia. “Dad was off in the Bahamas for some meeting, and I didn’t have any friends because we’d just moved. So it was just me and her. She took me to Coney Island, and we spent the whole day there. Rides, games, cotton candy. It was the best.” A tear twinkles in your eye, but you wipe it away before it comes to fruition. 

He looks like he's about to say something, maybe offer some comfort or ask a follow up, but you're too quick for him. 

“Now you, truth or dare?”

He picks dare, following your lead and ignoring what you shared about your mom. You appreciate his ability to pick up on your nonverbal cues. 

You resist the urge to reach across the console and brush your fingers through his wild, wind-tousled hair. You let yourself imagine for a moment a scenario in which the two of you are out for a drive on a beautiful day for pleasure rather than business, where you might entwine your fingers with his on the center console. But these thoughts are dangerous, and you need a distraction. 

“Drive in the oncoming lane for ten seconds.”

“Are you bloody mental?” he snaps, glaring at you. “We’re trying to keep a low profile, and you want me to pull a stunt like that?”

You shrug, and you relish in the utter frustration that Butcher exudes, the way his accent comes out in full-force when he's this worked up. 

“You said dare,” you counter, your tone teasing. “A dare’s a dare.”

He groans, muttering a string of expletives as he slows the van. “You’re a bloody pain in my arse, you know that?”

“Slow down a bit, so they won't see us,” you suggest, your voice low to control the giggles that threaten to peek out. “Come on, Butcher.”

He hesitates. It's a sick kind of satisfaction knowing that, if it was anyone but you, Butcher would have probably just let you jump out the window at this point. 

“One, twooo… Threeeee…” You exaggerate your words, giving him every opportunity to acquiesce to your demands. 

Finally, you feel the van slow and dip to the left as Butcher careens into the oncoming lane. 

This is getting too easy. 

You count out the next ten seconds slowly, agonizingly. 

Ten. 

Nine

Eight. He shifts his eyes between you and the road, imploring you to call off the dare. Absolutely not. 

Seven. 

Six. 

Five. A speck materializes on the horizon. An oncoming car. 

Four.  The speck transforms into a white sedan. 

Three. “I'm switching lanes,” he yells. “Three more seconds!” You argue back. 

Two. You can tell now that there are two passengers in the sedan. “Fuck! Fuckfuckfuck!”

One. The driver of the sedan lays on the horn, the loud bleat sending shockwaves through your system. 

Butcher swerves back into the right lane, a chorus of curses spilling out, the sedan’s honking fading out behind you. Your laughter spills out, obnoxious and loud and absolutely drowning out Butcher’s string of profanities. Shortly after he course-corrects, the white van falls back into your line of sight. 

No harm, no foul. 

Butcher’s breathing evens. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” you retort, still grinning.

“You better pick dare this turn. I didn't realize we weren't playin' fair,” he smirks, and you're knocked back again. It's criminal how this man speaks, so deep and yet so melodic, his accent and charm breaking down whatever defenses you still had standing. 

“Do your worst,” you dare, and he smiles widely. For a moment, you feel a real flare of heat in your chest. You don't want to think about what you'd realistically do for this man right now, but the thought crosses your mind, sending a pang to your core. 

“Flash the next car that drives past us.”

Now it's your turn to blanch at the request, your face scrunching up in response. 

“You can't be serious,” you say. 

He simply nods, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead in feigned concentration. 

Well, the best way out is always through. 

You pull your seatbelt off, balancing on your seat and the console as you pull yourself through the van’s open sunroof. You pretend not to notice Butcher's right arm snaking protectively around your left leg. 

You watch as a dark green truck materializes before you, a lone cowboy hat wearing man inside. You pinch your fingers around the edge of your shirt. The truck speeds by as you begin to lift it up. Suddenly, the arm wrapped around your leg pulls down, forcing you back into the van. 

“Hey! What was that for?!” You exclaim, annoyed at the unwelcome intrusion. 

“You weren't seriously going to flash that truck, were you?” He asks. 

You nod. “I mean, yeah? You dared me to do it. A dare’s a dare.”

He huffs and puffs, shaking his head intermittently. He's frustrated with you, and it's pissing you off. 

Time to turn the tables. 

“Okay, well it’s your turn now I guess. Truth or dare.”

“Truth,” he says smugly, and you laugh, because you know what you say next is going to shake him. 

You take a second to stare at him, an unabashed good look at him. The way the breeze tousles his dark hair, the angle of his jaw catching the golden hour light. The warmth in the glow softens him somehow, makes him seem almost human, almost kind. You can't deny that you want him, and you can’t shake the nagging feeling that maybe, just maybe, he wants you too.

"Did you like it?" you ask abruptly, your voice low but clear.

Butcher furrows his brow, clearly puzzled. "Like what?"

"When you kissed me," you clarify, your heart pounding in your chest. "Was it as good for you as it was for me?"

The silence that follows is deafening. You hear him inhale sharply, see the slight hitch in his posture as the words settle between you. His face shifts, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes, but it’s gone almost as quickly as it came. He stares straight ahead, jaw tightening, fingers curling around the steering wheel like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality.

Your pulse quickens. Oh, God. Why did I say that? The weight of your own recklessness presses down on you. Seconds stretch into what feels like an eternity as he struggles with something unspoken, his lips parting as if to say something—

Your heart stops.

—and then, with a sharp gasp, his hand slams the horn and his foot hits the brake.

"Oi! Cunts!" he shouts, jerking the van to a sudden halt. Both of you lurch forward, your seatbelt biting into your shoulder.

Your head snaps toward the road just in time to see the CytoGenix van swerving off into the parking lot of a run-down motel.

The spell is broken. The tension you’d built up between you vanishes, replaced by adrenaline and a sinking sense of inevitability.

At least he'd stopped you before you'd shown your tits to some unsuspecting cowboy. 

Butcher’s face hardens, his attention fully back on the road as he mutters a string of curses under his breath. He keeps driving for another mile, the air in the van heavy and stifling. It’s as though the cracks you’d glimpsed in his armor have sealed up entirely, leaving only the impenetrable man you met at the start.

Finally, he pulls off just past a mile marker, the van grinding to a halt on the side of the road. He throws it in park and turns to you, his expression unreadable.

"Out," he orders, his voice clipped.

You blink at him. "What?"

"Get out of the van," he repeats, this time more firmly.

Despite every instinct screaming at you not to trust him, you obey. He follows you out, slamming the door behind him, and gestures toward the dense line of trees. "Start walking. Don’t stop ‘til you’re deep enough in that you can’t see the road anymore."

“Now wait a goddamn minute,” you fight, “I want to be a part of this. You're not exiling me to the woods while you do the dirty work. I’m coming with you.”

“You’re not,” he snaps, his tone cold and final. “You don’t want this blood on your hands, love. Trust me.”

Your temper flares. "You’re such an asshole, you know that?" you spit, heat rushing to your face.

You're all bite, all fight, until you see the look on his face. The harsh lines of his face are softened, his eyes weighed down with something heavier than anger. Guilt? Regret? He doesn’t want to do this, you realize. He thinks he’s protecting you.

And maybe you just don't have much of a fight left in you anymore.

You swallow hard, clenching your fists. "Fine," you say through gritted teeth. "But don’t think for a second I’m letting this go."

Without waiting for a response, you storm off into the forest, branches snapping underfoot as you push past ferns and brush.

You find a mossy rock and sink down beside it, hugging your knees to your chest. The familiar ache of being abandoned washes over you, pulling you back into yourself. You wrap your arms tightly around your body, closing your eyes and imagining the comforting embrace of your mother. The memories come easily, like they always do. Her laugh, her warmth, the way her hand always found yours when you were scared.

You lose track of time sitting there, flipping through those memories like pages in a well-worn book. Hours could have passed, or maybe it’s only minutes. You don’t know, and for a while, you don’t care.

It’s the crunch of heavy footfalls that pulls you back to the present. You blink up to see Butcher looming over you, his expression grim and drawn.

"If a van crashes in the forest and no one’s around to hear it, does it even make a noise?" you quip, smirking despite yourself.

He scowls. "What the fuck are you on about now?"

"Either that was the quietest car crash in history, or you lost them," you say, crossing your arms.

He sighs, dragging a hand down his face. "They never came through. They’re holed up at the motel for the night. We’ll head back, stake it out, and wait for them to move on." He jerks his thumb over his shoulder toward the road.

He extends a hand to help you up, but you ignore it, pushing yourself off the ground and brushing dirt from your clothes. Without a word, you start walking ahead of him, back toward the van.

"Bloody hell," he mutters under his breath, falling in step behind you. 

The short drive back to the motel is silent, the energy between the two of you having soured considerably. You stare out the window, arms crossed, seething. You're pissed and you want him to know it, to feel it. The mission feels like a joke, like you’re a joke. No matter what you do, you’ll always be the inept kid getting in the way.

The Piney Point Motel comes into view just as the sun dips behind the pines, the sky streaked in pinks and oranges. You spot the CytoGenix van immediately, parked conspicuously by the entrance of the motel. As far as you can tell, it's empty. 

“Did they really just… leave it there?” You ask, incredulous. 

Butcher chuckles. “Your old man really should stop cuttin’ corners on security.”

A flurry of hope stirs in your chest. “So we could just break into the van and steal the vials, right? And then no one would have to get hurt?”

He gives you a look, one that’s half pity, half impatience, before gesturing to the motel’s facade. Security cameras dot the walls, floodlights primed for motion. “Sorry, sweetheart. Looks like your dad could learn a thing or two from Piney Point.”

And just like that, the spark fizzles. 

Butcher pulls the van into a shadowed corner of the lot and kills the engine. He leans back in his seat, arms crossed.

You stare at him. “Well, are we going in?”

“Nah. You can crawl in the back if you wanna sleep. I'll take first watch.”

He can't be serious. 

“You want me to sleep back there?!”

He shrugs. “Or up here, but I don’t reckon it’s any comfier.”

You shoot him an incredulous look. “Or—and hear me out—we could sleep in the motel right in front of us?”

“And risk losin’ ‘em? Yeah, no thanks.”

You argue back and forth but the man is an infuriating, unflinching wall of stubbornness. Eventually, you give up, arms crossed as you glare at the moonlit motel. You consider going and getting a room just for yourself, but you reason that Butcher won't hesitate when he sees the men leave and you'll be left behind. Sleep tugs at you, but you refuse to crawl into the cramped backseat. Not after this.

The moon begins its arc across the starlit sky. Stars scatter above you, brighter and clearer than anything you’ve seen in years. You step out of the van, stretching stiff legs, the cool night air brushing against your skin. For a moment, you forget your frustration, gazing up at the wide, sparkling sky. It reminds you of Muskoka, your last vacation with both parents—before the office bedroom became your dad’s permanent home.

The ache of the memory lingers as you climb back into the van, only to find Butcher slumped in the driver’s seat, snoring. His chin tucked into his chest, a low rumble filling the space. You burst into laughter before you can stop yourself.

Butcher jerks awake, eyes darting wildly until they land on you. His expression shifts to a mix of annoyance and embarrassment.

“Alright, laugh it up,” he grumbles, voice gravelly from sleep. “Your turn to keep watch. Good luck stayin’ awake.”

You plant your hands on your hips, glaring at him. “I’m dead tired, and so are you. We need actual sleep, Butch. I’ll pay for the rooms. Final offer.”

He pretends to consider your offer like the thought of a bed, even a springy motel bed, doesn't sound downright heavenly right now. After a moment of feigned thoughtfulness, he pulls himself from the driver's seat and stalks toward the motel. 

“Don't look so pleased,” he mutters as he stalks past you. “We’re up at 4:30, no later. Understand?”

You trail behind him, hiding your grin. Right now, you’d agree to anything.

~~~

The reception area of the Piney Point Motel looks like it hasn’t been updated since the 1970s. The wood-paneled walls are warped in places, lined with crooked shelves cluttered with knick-knacks, miniature ceramic animals, a faded “World’s Best Grandma” mug, and a jar of mints that looks more like a trap than an offering.

Behind the counter sits a bespectacled woman in her sixties, a paperback romance novel in one hand and a cigarette smoldering in the ashtray beside her. The air smells like pine-scented cleaner and stale smoke. She looks up as you and Butcher enter, giving you both a thorough once-over.

“Hourly or overnight?” she asks flatly, like she’s heard every excuse in the book.

The question hits you like a slap. Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

Butcher doesn’t miss a beat. “We’ll take two rooms for the night,” he says, ignoring your mortification.

The receptionist shakes her head with a lazy shrug. “Only got one room left. One bed. Last two-bed went to a couple of truckers about an hour ago. It’s that time of year.”

You and Butcher exchange a look, sharp and synchronized.

“No,” you and Butcher say in unison, your sharp tone and immediate refusal surprising the older woman. 

But your mind wanders back to the van, it's aging leather upholstery and stiff cushions and lingering coffee smell. The weight of your eyelids expands tenfold at the thought. No way in hell are you going to be prepared for what tomorrow brings if you have to sleep in there. 

“Fine,” you sigh, taking the key from the receptionist’s outstretched hand, replacing it with a stack of bills.

“What d’you mean, fine?” Butcher asks, trailing after you as you head to the room. His boots echo dully on the cracked linoleum floor. “We’re better off in the van. Safer, too.”

You ignore him, jamming the key into the lock and twisting hard. The door creaks open to reveal a shoebox-sized room with peeling wallpaper, a squeaky ceiling fan, and a bed that looks like it’s seen more fights than rest.

Still, it’s a bed.

Without a word, Butcher follows you inside, closing the door behind him. For a man so determined to sleep in the van, he seems strangely reluctant to leave now. You glance at him, confused but unwilling to ask.

“You’re not staying, are you?” you finally say, half-turning to face him.

“’Course I’m stayin’,” he replies, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Not leavin’ you alone in some dodgy motel where the closest weapon’s probably that broken lamp in the corner.”

You blink at him, torn between irritation and a flicker of gratitude. Before you can respond, he smirks and brushes past you toward the bed.

“Dibs,” he declares, flopping onto the mattress with all the grace of a drunk elephant. The springs groan in protest, but he doesn’t care.

“No, no! Absolutely not!” You shout, but he's already stretched his arms behind his head, feet crossed. “You're not taking the bed, you didn't even want this room!”

“And yet, here I am,” he replies, tucking his hands behind his head. The smugness radiating off him is enough to set your teeth on edge.

“You're an asshole, you know that right?”

“Yeah, you keep remindin’ me,” he says with a grin. “Now are you gonna stand there gawkin’ all night, or are you gonna make yourself comfortable?”

You grab the pillow out from behind his head and secure it alongside yours down the middle of the bed, creating a makeshift wall between your bodies. 

“What’s this, then?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“The Great Wall of Don’t-Touch-Me,” you deadpan, climbing onto your side of the bed and glaring at him over the makeshift divider.

He chuckles, low and amused. “You think I’m gonna bite?”

“More likely that I’d be the one biting you,” you retort before you can stop yourself.

The second the words leave your mouth, your cheeks flush hot. You busy yourself adjusting your pillow, pretending you don’t see the way his grin widens.

“Noted,” he says, voice dipping just enough to make you shiver.

You roll over, facing the wall. The bed creaks as Butcher shifts, and you’re hyper-aware of his presence. His scent, the warmth radiating off him, the way the air seems heavier when he’s near.

Neither of you bother crawling under the covers, facing away from each other to make it extra-clear that this is a no-nonsense, all-business sleepover. 

“Goodnight, asshole,” you mutter, hoping the bite in your tone masks the thrum of nerves in your chest.

“’Night, sweetheart,” he replies, his voice softer than you expect.

You want to savour this moment, but you're out in seconds. 

~~~

Suspended in a haze of warm sunlight, the cool edge of unreality covers you like a blanket of fresh snow. Strong arms wrap securely around your waist, across your chest, their weight pressing into you like a protective cocoon. The scratch of a beard grazes your neck, and the faint warmth of breath tickles your skin. Gentle snores vibrate against your back, a low, steady rhythm that lulls you further into the dreamlike state. You fight to stay there, curling deeper into the embrace, savoring the rare, fleeting serenity.

But serenity never lasts. A creeping discomfort nags at the edges of your mind, like an itch you can’t quite reach. The illusion splinters. The sunlight grows sharper, the weight around you heavier, the awkward press of something hard on your ass undeniable.

Your eyes snap open, reality crashing in. It’s blindingly bright, far too bright for what should be the early, predawn hours. Panic spikes through your system as you take in the scene, your body reacting before your brain catches up. You thrash instinctively, and Butcher’s grip loosens just in time for him to tumble unceremoniously off the bed.

“Bloody hell!” Butcher groans from the floor, rubbing the back of his head.

Your voice comes out in a frantic rasp. “Butcher, wake up! We slept in!”

The words are like a starter pistol. He’s up and moving in an instant, yanking on his boots while simultaneously reaching for the door.

“Shit! Goddamn it, move! Move!” he barks, his voice sharp and commanding.

The two of you are a blur of motion, grabbing, stumbling, swearing. Your bodies move on autopilot, faster than your sleep-addled minds can process. In seconds, you’re in the van, Butcher slamming the door shut and peeling out of the motel parking lot with reckless urgency.

Anxiety builds in your chest, each erratic swerve of the van feeding the dread coiling tighter inside you. As you glance back at the motel, the sight of an empty parking spot—a lone Mustang where the CytoGenix van had been—confirms your worst fears. They’re gone.

Butcher’s jaw tightens as he accelerates onto the highway, weaving through lanes with a focus that’s almost terrifying. The towering pines blur into streaks of green on either side of you as the van hurtles forward. You scan the horizon frantically, desperate for a glimpse of white metal that refuses to appear.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours before Butcher finally slows the van, pulling into a deserted roadside gas station. It’s eerily quiet, the pumps sitting idle, the building dark and lifeless.

“This is the last stop for miles,” Butcher says, his voice low and grim. “That's the last stop they would've made before going to the lab.”

The weight of his words slams into you, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your heart races, panic tightening its grip. This was it, the window of opportunity to intercept them had closed. It was all your fault. You’d fought tooth and nail for the motel room last night, insisting you both needed the rest, convincing yourself it was a small indulgence that wouldn’t jeopardize the mission.

You were wrong.

Maybe he was right, maybe your father was right, maybe they're all right, everyone who's ever doubted you. It's cruel, the way that the frayed threads of meaning in your life seem to continually fall from your grasp. 

Shame and guilt crash over you in waves, heat rising in your face as your chest constricts painfully. You blink back tears, but they gather stubbornly at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over.

“Butcher, I’m so sorry,” you stammer, your voice trembling. “I—I screwed up. This is all my fault.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, his expression unreadable as he stares out the windshield. The silence stretches, unbearable. Fear claws at you, the thought of him cutting you loose from the Boys—or worse, giving up on the mission entirely—hitting like a punch to the gut.

“Please,” you continue, desperation creeping into your tone. “I know I fucked up, but don’t… don’t give up on this. Don’t give up on me.”

Butcher’s head swivels toward you, his eyes softer than you expect. His voice, when he speaks, is gentle, almost unrecognizably so.

“Hey,” he says, holding up a hand. “Breathe. It’s okay. Hold your apologies, yeah? We’re not done yet. I’ve got one more trick up my sleeve.”

You blink at him, stunned into silence. This wasn’t the reaction you were expecting, not the anger, the harsh words, the fury you thought you deserved. Instead, his calm confidence throws you off balance, grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

“Butcher…” you whisper, your voice catching in your throat.

“Just wait,” he says, lips quirking into a faint, reassuring smirk. “Keep it together. We’ve still got work to do.”

With that, his foot presses down on the gas pedal, the van lurching forward and pinning you back against the seat.

You're certain you've never driven this fast before, not even during those rare joyrides with your father in his Bugatti. The van rockets forward, moving like a bullet out of a gun, the world outside warping into a blur of trees and sky as the tires scream against the asphalt. Your grip on the door handle tightens with every jolt, the tension in the cabin as visceral as the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Despite the chaos of the day, the abrupt wake-up, the panic, and Butcher’s uncharacteristic gentleness, the unbridled anxiety screaming inside you speaks only of the lives of the two men in the CytoGenix van, unknowingly hurtling toward their end. Anxiety claws at your chest, raw and unrelenting. You shut your eyes and try to focus on breathing, but it’s no use.

“Oi, cunts!” Butcher’s voice explodes, and your eyes snap open.

Thirty feet ahead, the CytoGenix van comes into view, its white exterior glaring against the green blur of forest on either side. To your right, the trees abruptly fall away, leaving nothing but a battered guardrail and a steep ravine beyond.

“Hold on tight,” Butcher orders, his tone calm but edged with a manic sort of energy.

Before you can question him, he floors the gas pedal. The van lurches forward, barreling into the oncoming lane to overtake the other vehicle. Butcher twists the wheel expertly, positioning your van just ahead of the CytoGenix one. Then, in one brutal motion, he jerks back and rams into the side of it.

The impact is bone-rattling. Your body slams against the seatbelt, the van shuddering violently as both vehicles swerve erratically. For a moment, you lock eyes with the other driver, his face contorted in a mix of rage and confusion. But Butcher’s already at it again, pulling back just enough to ram the CytoGenix van a second time.

This hit sends the other van wobbling wildly, the driver fighting to regain control. Your ears ring, blood rushing so loudly that you’re not sure if the scream you hear is yours or simply imagined. And then, with a final, sickening crunch, the CytoGenix van plows through the guardrail and plunges down the ravine.

Butcher swerves hard, narrowly avoiding the gaping hole in the guardrail. The side of your van scrapes against what remains, metal shrieking as sparks fly. He brings the van to an abrupt stop on the shoulder a hundred yards ahead, slamming the gearshift into park. The engine dies, leaving only the sound of your ragged breathing in the cabin.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“Holy shit,” Butcher echoes, his grin wide and reckless.

You both sit there for a moment, staring straight ahead, before the tension breaks. Anxious laughter bubbles out of you, and to your surprise, Butcher joins in. The two of you volley expletives back and forth between bursts of laughter, the absurdity of the situation sinking in.

When the laughter subsides, Butcher reaches for the door handle. “Stay put,” he says firmly. “You’re not gonna want to see this.”

That sends your adrenaline spiking all over again. You throw your door open and stomp after him, slamming it behind you. “No. You’re not doing this. Not again.”

He turns to face you, brows furrowed. You jab a finger into his chest. “I’m capable of this, Butcher. And if I’m going to be part of the Boys, I need to prove it. No more babying me.”

For a long moment, he just stares at you, his hazel eyes searching yours. The tension between you is almost unbearable as you silently plead with him to understand. To let you have this. To understand just how important this is, how this transcends the circumstances you currently find yourselves in. Finally, his shoulders sag slightly, and he gives a curt nod. “Fine. But don’t make me regret it.”

Together, you make your way down the ravine, the incline steep and unforgiving. Butcher offers his arm to steady you when you stumble, and you grudgingly accept. At the bottom, the wreckage comes into view. The CytoGenix van lies on its side in a shallow creek bed, its back doors hanging open.

You rush to the driver’s side, heart hammering in your chest as you peer inside. For the past week, nightmares have plagued you—visions of Adam and Emily lying lifeless in the wreckage. But when you see the two men slumped in their seats, necks twisted at unnatural angles, neither is familiar. Relief washes over you, mingling uneasily with guilt.

“They’re nobodies,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Butcher. “Collateral damage.”

His hand falls heavy on your shoulder. “The hard part’s over,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “It gets easier from here.”

You desperately want to believe him. 

You both turn your attention to the back of the van. Butcher grips one of the broken doors and yanks it free with a grunt. Inside, a sleek black lockbox gleams ominously. Without hesitation, Butcher brings his boot down on it, cracking it open.

Inside are rows upon rows of vials, their green liquid glowing faintly in the fading light. You pick one up, holding it between your fingers and marveling at its beauty. The liquid seems alive, swirling and shimmering with an otherworldly energy.

And then, without thinking, you hurl the vial at a nearby tree. You watch in awe as the glass shatters, the glowing substance splattering across the bark and dripping onto the forest floor.

“Shit—I don’t know what came over me—” you start, but Butcher is already laughing, a devilish grin spreading across his face.

“Fuckin’ diabolical,” he says, grabbing a vial and smashing it under his boot. You both gape at the way it explodes under his foot, staining his boot like a glow stick, before you burst into shared laughter. 

You both fall into a wild, unhinged rhythm, smashing vial after vial. The forest around you glows eerily, the remnants of V2 painting the trees and ground in streaks of neon green. Laughter bubbles out of you, uncontrollable and cathartic, as the absurdity of your destruction takes hold.

When only one vial remains, Butcher reaches for it, but you stop him with a hand on his arm. “Wait. We should keep one. For testing. Just in case.”

He looks at you, then smirks. “Knew I kept you around for a reason.”

“Oh, come on,” you tease. “You keep me around for more than that.”

His smirk fades, replaced by something darker, more intense.  The air shifts between you, the laughter forgotten as your proximity feels suddenly charged. Whatever force is behind the constant push and pull of your attraction to Butcher is now pushing in full force, the glowing green crime scene around you fading into nothing. It's just you and him and the screaming urge inside of you to untether. 

Butcher advances toward you, pulling your face into his hands, crashing his mouth into yours. This time you get the chance to react, the opportunity to reciprocate. And you do, wholeheartedly. You pull at the lapels of his jacket, fingers fumbling for purchase in his wild hair. His hands move over your body, down your back and across your ass, squeezing you closer to him.

When he finally pulls away, his eyes are wild. “Someone’s gonna notice the skid marks and the guardrail. We’re gonna have company soon if we don’t move.”

“Back to the motel?” you ask, bold and breathless.

His answer is immediate. “Yeah.”

Without another word, he grabs your hand, practically pulling you back up the ravine toward the van.

You had a taste of Butcher's penchant for speeding earlier, but something about the way he races down the road back to the motel now has butterflies erupting in your stomach. His right hand is placed firmly on your left thigh, your own hand keeping his there. You're ashamed to admit that his touch alone is driving you crazy. 

Thank god you never had time to return the key this morning, because you both race back to the room, his mouth in your ear, arms encircling your waist as you fumble to unlock the door. The second the door closes behind you, he has you pushed up against the door, his tongue parting your lips and hands digging into your waist. You wrap your arms around his neck as he lets a hand fall to your ass, squeezing tightly. He lifts you up, wrapping both of your legs around his middle. You moan at the way his hands explore you, the closeness of your bodies. 

“Do that again,” he instructs. 

“Make me,” you dare. 

He throws you down on the bed, both of you using the opportunity to work your shirts off. He spends an unabashed moment staring directly at your tits, chest heaving. Like you're a work of art he can't wait to defile. You unbutton your pants before Butcher pulls them off of you, leaving you bare before him, save for your underwear. He crawls up onto the bed, knees nudging your legs open, his imposing frame towering over you. 

“You have no idea how goddamn much I've thought about this,” he admits. Your eyes search his face, hands combing through his hair. He kisses you deeply, tongue exploring your mouth, before moving down to place licks along your collarbone. He moves down to your nipples, your stomach, stopping at the waistband of your underwear. He looks up in silent request. 

“Please,” you beg. “Don't stop.”

And, with your permission, he practically rips the soft cotton as he pulls them down, throwing your legs over his broad shoulders. You share a glance, both with bated breath, before he finally puts his mouth on you, eating you like a man starved. 

Your head tilts back involuntarily as he licks at you, alternating between languid, savoring strokes, his wide tongue exploring deep inside of you, and quick, tight little circles over your clit. You've never been the kind of woman to be particularly loud or vocal in bed, a complaint you'd heard from lovers in the past. But now the moans fall freely as you fall apart on Butcher's tongue. Your sounds only serve to egg him on, his fingers digging deeply into your plush inner thighs, his growls reverberating through your pussy, matching your low moans. You barrel embarrassingly quickly toward the edge. 

“‘m so close,” you whimper. 

He doesn't stop, every determined movement a silent encouragement for you to chase your high. 

Your hands reach down, tangling in his messy hair. He responds, deepening the push of his mouth against your core, rhythmically drawing his fingers back and forth against your inner thighs. Your fingers clench around the tendrils of his hair, pulling so hard you know it must hurt him. He doesn't seem to notice, his rhythm never stalling. Then, starbursts exploding behind your eyelids as you fall over the edge, legs clamping involuntarily around his head. 

Dizzying, pure, unadulterated bliss.

Head falling back against the pillow, you're sure you've never come this hard before. Your limbs are absolutely weightless, cheeks flushed. A euphoric smile on your lips stretches so wide you're certain you look deranged. 

But not to Butcher. 

“You're so bloody beautiful,” he says from between your legs, and you can do nothing but laugh deliriously in response. 

He gazes up at you, working his way back up between kisses to your stomach and swirling his tongue over your pert nipples. You grasp a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him up to kiss him on the mouth, your other hand reaching down to encircle his hard length. 

You're pleasantly surprised at how much of him there is, pumping his thick length several times before you position him at your entrance. 

You feel his body jolt involuntarily as his cock makes contact with the wetness he just created.

“You sure?” he asks, and you nod, words refusing to form on your lips. 

He shifts his hips forward and you gasp sharply as he breaches you. You reach your other hand down to caress his ass cheek, pulling him in deeper, desperate for more.

“Fuck yes,” you moan. “Yes, Billy, just like that.”

That's all he needs before he's driving himself deep, stopping only when he's fully seated inside of you. You gasp as he stretches you out, like he's splitting you right down the middle. He pulls your knee up, hooking it over his shoulder, allowing him to go deeper. You whine at the fullness, earning a growl from him. 

“You like this, baby?” he asks as he pulls back, looking down to where your bodies connect before plunging himself back into you. “Fuck, because I really like this.”

“R‒really like this,” you manage to sputter out. “P‒please, please, fuck me Billy.”

“I got you, love,” his voice is raw. He sets a punishing pace, his cock filling you over and over and over again, pushing you toward the brink of something you've never experienced before. 

Your hands wander over him, tracing every scar, fumbling through his hair, squeezing his ass as you pull him in even deeper. You want to memorize everything about this, the sweet aroma of his sweat, the weight of him atop you, the stream of consciousness filth that flows from his lips as he falls more and more pussy drunk. 

He reaches down, thumb on your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts. His mouth explores your chest, dividing his attention between your nipples and sensitive, open neck. You bound toward your release, fingers scraping down his broad back. 

“Fuck, fuck, Billy, I'm gonna come,” you moan between huffs. He continues, pace unrelenting. 

Then, stars. 

Expanding blooms of light, full-body eruption. Sweet release, a dynamite stick in your core, exploding out your mouth in a silent scream. You heave around him, bucking your hips, impaling yourself deeper on his cock. He fucks you through it, half words falling from his lips into your mouth. 

Tha's right. 

Mm, baby. 

You go’ it. 

It's all too much, the soft moans escaping your mouth, the image of you in ecstasy before him, falling apart on his cock. He's too close behind you to stop now. 

“Fuck, you're gonna make me come. Where d’you want it?” he asks frantically. 

You can't help yourself. “Inside,” you beg. 

He really doesn't try to make it a habit of denying you, and he certainly won't start now. He groans, spilling himself inside of you. You moan at the heat that grows between your legs. 

He collapses atop you, the weight of him pushing you I to the cheap, springy mattress. You feel the wetness spill out onto the bed beneath you. 

“Holy shit,” you manage to get out between gasps for air. 

“Holy fuckin’ shit is right,” he agrees. 

Over the next eight or so hours, you and Butcher acquaint yourselves with each other, very, very, closely. On the bed, on the floor, against the dresser, in the shower, on the bed, again. You speak only a few times in rushed half sentences, too preoccupied with finding out just how many orgasms you can achieve in one go to think about much else. All of the tension that has stewed since the day Butcher first laid eyes on your dazed face has been unleashed in Room 206 at the Piney Point Motel. You stop only long enough for Butcher to drive twenty minutes down the highway to retrieve a bag of greasy fast food, hastily devoured fuel to allow you both to continue at least a few more times. 

By the time you both succumb to your utter exhaustion, you're sweat-sticky and bone-tired, with a soreness between your legs you know is going to have you walking funny tomorrow. You don't notice it though, because Butcher has you pulled in his arms, lips on your ear, your heart firmly in the palm of his hand. 

@bluemerakis @mystic-writings @imherefordeanandbones

[bonezone44]

hello, my dearest Rad 💛

with this ask I challenge you to write a ficlet (or anything bigger if you want) inspired by this screenshot:

may the writing muses be with you,

kissing you on your forehead (if you allow it not then just waving you from the distance!)

a/n: please forgive me, lol! Idk why I wrote Reader like this. thank you for this prompt @iamasaddie from like... last month, lol!

tags: brat tamer!Jack, step-dad!Jack, unprotected p-in-v, spanking, overuse of the word "whore"

!!This story is for ages 21+!!

-----One look from your Uncle Jack could send anyone to their knees. The man had an effortless smolder that weakened even the strongest of bulls.

But you weren't as easily influenced by his wily expressions. Not to say that you weren't weak for the man--you certainly were. But it took more than a stern eye to make you surrender to his whims.

It was spring time and your mother was hosting a garden party. It was any excuse to round up your mother's colleagues and show off her skills (paying people with real skills to do all the work). And while she was parading around the manicured lawn in a tailored linen dress that accentuated her petite hourglass figure, you wandered out the back door half-asleep in cut-off jeans and flip flops, aching for a cold can of brewski.

"Oh my heavens!" Your mother exclaimed with a weary breath, her hand pressed delicately to her chest. She hurried gracefully to her new beau, the man you called Uncle Jack "Jackie!" She cried out in a hushed whisper, tugging him away from his socializing.

Jack did his best not to wince at the sound of your mother's affectionate nickname for him, and just follow along. He learned it was best to do whatever the woman said. "Whats wrong, darlin?"

"Why is she doing this to me?" Your mother cried.

"Who?"

"My daughter!" She pointed one long dainty finger in your direction.

You scratched your belly beneath the crop top loosely covering your chest. You nudged a few party-goers out of the way so you could dig through the cooler that was reserved for the more masculine revelers. You pulled out a silver can, popped it open, and started chugging.

Jack took one look at ya and sighed. 'There ain't no rest for the wicked, is there?'

"Alleged daughter, anyway," your mother huffed and shook the hair from her face. "That child must have been switched at the hospital," she murmured. "No daughter of mine would ever disgrace her mother like that. No, sir!"

Jack rested his hand on your mother's trembling shoulders. "Want me to go talk to her for ya, darlin'?"

"Of course I want you to go talk to her, you imbecile!" your mother strained to keep her voice low. "Take her upstairs and put some decent clothes on her!" She paused, rolled her shoulders back, and plastered a poised smile on her face. She turned about-face and rejoined the party.

Jack sighed again, jaw twisting. With a flurry of conflicting thoughts racing through his mind, he stomped resolutely in your direction.

---

You didn't know what the hell was going on. You had been out all night with your friends and suddenly you wake up and there's a bunch of people at your house. Once you made it downstairs, you figured your mom was having one of those little shindigs she likes to have sometimes and you figured you'd stay out of the way like you usually do.

But hey, if they were all gonna day-drink, you might as well join 'em. So you went and grabbed a Coors from the cooler next to the barbecue and suddenly Jack's got his big hand wrapped around your arm and he's tugging you back inside.

"Ow! What the hell, man?"

"What the hell is right," he growls in your ear, but nods quite politely to the people he passes by in the kitchen with you in tow. He yanks you all the way up the stairs while you desperately try to keep the beer in your hand from spilling on the carpet. He shoves you into your bedroom and slams the door behind you. "What is goin' on in that silly li'l head o' yours, sweetheart?" He points toward your window. "Your mother is entertaining guests and you show up lookin' like you just got ran through by some good for nothin' in the back of his pick-up truck."

You smirk. "Well, I see where your head is at, Uncle Jack." You giggle. "Picturin' me gettin' ran through." you flick your hips back and forth.

"I don't know what you're talkin' 'bout, li'l missy, but you better hurry up and get changed before comin' back down to this party." He stands there, between your bed and the door, with his hands on his hips. He doesn't move. He doesn't turn around. He's not leaving the room to let you change your clothes. He plans on watching you do it.

And you decide to let him. You've been teasing him for long enough. The poor man deserves it after all he's been through (putting up with your momma for the past 2 years).

You release an exaggerated sigh. "If it'll make you happy, Uncle Jack--"

"Oh it will," he spits. his nostrils flaring.

You shrug. "Then okay." You lock eyes with him and grab the hem of your crop top. He still doesn't move. You slowly bring the shirt over your head and toss it to the floor.

His chest puffs up. "You were down there around all those people in half a t-shirt and you weren't even wearing a bra?" He snarls.

You cup each breast and pinch at your nipples. "What? A grown man like you has never seen titties before?"

He stomps closer to you. His breaths start heaving. You think he might strangle you with how wild his eyes get. It's kinda cute when he gets all mad at you. "Get. Dressed."

"Well, I'm guessin' Momma doesn't like my shorts, so I gotta take these off, too." Your eyes never leave Jack's. Your gaze is tethered to one another. It keeps you both from looking elsewhere. You know he's hard. You can see it out the corner of your vision. You wonder how far you can push him before he does something about it. You undo your shorts and shimmy them down below your hips--enough that they fall to your feet and allow you to step out of them.

Jack's eyes finally shift down. He turns livid. "And what the hell is this?" He grabs the red strap of your underwear and snaps his against your skin. "What is wrong with you walkin' around like some two-cent whore?"

"Uncle Jack!" you roll your eyes and laugh. "I only wear 'em 'cause of how good they make my ass look." You turn around and bend over onto the bed, sticking your rear in the air. You look at him over your shoulder. "See?"

Next thing you know, your yelping and falling forward from the powerful smacks of Jack's hand against your ass--slapping you again and again. "WHAT. IS. WRONG. WITH. YOU." His fingers grapple your g-string and he rips it off your body. "After all your momma's done for you?" He growls in your ear, his warm body heavy on top of you. You feel his hard cock pressed against your leg. "This is how you treat her?"

You try to shove him off, but he's too heavy. Your ass stings and all you can do is turn your head to the side and growl at him back. "You have NO IDEA what my momma's done to me!" You cry, tears prickling out.

He yanks you by the hair so he can look you in the eyes again. "I know there ain't no mother on God's green earth that deserves an ungrateful whore of a daughter like you."

Your tears turn into outright sobbing.

He shoves your face into the mattress and gets off of you. "Cryin' don't work on me, little girl. Not no more." You hear his belt buckle jingle and turn over on your back. Your soft sheets feel rough on your sore bottom. "You need some goddamn discipline fucked into you." His zipper is loud as he undoes his pants and pulls out his raging cock. He strokes it above you and your pussy drools. You go to touch yourself and he slaps your hand away. "Goddamnit!" he spits. "Turn over! I can't even stand to fuckin' look at ya right now." You do as your told and he wastes no time spearing himself into you. "Jesus fuckin' Christ," he curses and sets a relentless pace. "Your cunt's wetter than a goddamn slice of tres leches. All that spankin' just turned you on? Huh?" You moan and whimper into the thick of the bed beneath you. He stops thrusting and pulls you up again by the hair. "Hey! I'm talkin to you, girl! You better answer if you know what's good for ya!" You nod fervently, scared by the crazed look in his eyes. "No, no. I need to hear it, li'l missy!"

"Yes, Uncle Jack," you blubber through your tears.

"Yes, what?" he grits his teeth. his cock pulses as it sits inside of you. your insides burning deliciously as they accomodate his girth.

"Yes, I--" you swallow your spit. "Yes, a-all that spankin turned me on."

He shakes his head and huffs. "Nothin' but a two-cent whore," he mutters and goes back to fucking you. "Fuckin filthy," he says as one of his hands wraps around your chest, groping and pinching your breasts with imprecision. "Let Uncle Jack's big cock get you right, darlin'." He grunts, his cock stroking your walls and waves of pleasure coursing through your body. "I'll give this tight little cunt what it needs." He groans and leans back. His hands grip your hips and you can feel his balls slapping against you. You wanna reach back and hold them in your hands, lick up the seam of skin in the middle and glide your tongue along his dick. "Goddamn. That cunt's got me lassoed up real tight." His fingers dig deep into your flesh as he hammers into you. "'M 'bout to shoot. Nnnggh--"

"Yeah?" you whimper, excitedly.

Jack's quick to react. His body falls on top of you, wrapping a hand around your mouth, the other around your waist. His thrusts grow deep and erratic. "You shut your goddamn mouth, little whore. This ain't about makin' you feel good. This is about makin' you shut up and do as your fuckin' told, alright?" He doesn't wait for your answer. He's got you wrapped up so tight you can't even move if you wanted to. He stops speaking and all you can hear is him hissing and his teeth clacking together every so often. Then with a loud, deep groan, his hot spend begins pumping inside of you and coating your walls. His grip on you loosens and before you know it, he's gone. Your body is cold. All the goodness you had been feeling has disappeared.

You turn over and see Jack tucking himself back inside his jeans. You both watch as his sticky white cum leaks out of your hole and soaks into the bed sheets. He buckles his belt and asks, "Now what do you say, huh? For makin' Uncle Jack put you right?"

He won't look you in the eyes, still staring between your legs. So you reach down with two fingers and scoop his cum back inside of you. "Thank you, Uncle Jack."

He clears his throat. "That's right." He turns around and before leaving your room he says, "Next time you need to get put right you come find me." He looks over his shoulder. "You don't wanna find out what's gonna happen if I gotta find you first, li'l missy. Now, get dressed." He adjusts his t-shirt in your doorway and the next thing you hear are his bootsteps echoing through the hall and down the stairs.

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

additional tags: @xdaddysprincessxx

[cer-rata]

Cerata's 2024 End of Year Artist shoutouts! (part 1)

Okay so this year was the first time I'd really participated in fandom in over a decade, but I'm truly glad I did because I met a ton of great people, and even got to work on projects with some of them. So I wanted to put all of the cool visual art that I've received last year, whether it be art trade, commission, part of an event, or...fanart? Because that happened somehow?

Anyway, there are a number of other people that I worked with last year, but a bunch of that art started near the end of the year, and as such is not finished yet, hence why this post will be two parts, one now, and the second when everyone else finishes up.

No particular order, all of these artists are great, and lovely people, so do go check out the rest of their work and tell them how cool they are, yeah? Also, some are currently open for commissions, so keep an eye out for that.

(Also, this is my first time trying to do ID text, so bear with me if they're a little rough, despite being a writer, I hate words?)

So first we have @fiyaharts with a lovely illustration of a number of the my favorite Krypton and Krypton-adjacent children. Shadi is lovely to work with and fast to the point where it spooked me a little bit, go off girl.

Next we have two pieces from my favorite Evil Woman Apologist, @vivictory-draws, one of a divorced Barbara and Kara being totally normal about it, and the other of my child and blorbo that haunts my waking hours, Conrad. Love N to death, which is why I haunt her with threats of commissioning Joker/Desaad Yaoi.

...Maybe for the next list, who knows...

So next we have the art created for the last @womenincomicsminibang (which is going to be returning with a reverse bang in a few months, keep an eye out on that.)

The lovely and evocative cover was done by the talented @breakingthespacetimewall, and the scenes of Cassie trying and failing to get her life together were done by the wonderful @soop-jpg

Working with them was a pleasure and honor, and their dedication and kindness really helped me through finishing that fic, and I remain incredibly grateful for that.

The first person I worked with this last year, and the one who really helped solidify the core of a lot of my projects, @nicodrawings drew a glorious cover for my mania-induced first longfic, and also a character reference for the aformentioned disordered young man who haunts my waking hours. She's a professional through-and-through, with wonderful instincts and great communication. She's also working on a fan-comic project of her own that I think is wonderful and am excited to see continue.

I lucked out and was paired with the super chill, super talented @byeara on my first fan project ever, and they hooked me up with this super fun and detailed cover for the fic I wrote for that one kon-centric minibang. I loved working with them, and would love to do so again, logistics willing.

This jerk @vnekey made me cry by drawing really sweet, totally unexpected fanart for that mania-fic I wrote. I'm still a little speechless really, I'd never gotten fanart of any sort for any reason before, and to receive something so lovely as the first thing really touched me deeply, and honestly kept me writing through some rough patches.

...Fight me!

My first ever art trade! Kind of! @spider-jaysart is super sweet and supportive and made my...second biblically (is there a Source bible? Are there religious Coluans?) cursed son and his hapless, frankly narratively cursed best buddy look so precious that they ALSO made me cry, can we stop that actually--

Speaking of my cursed son and his narratively cursed Kryptonian, @spicy-apple-pie created this really pretty piece that's...a number of weird deep cuts smushed together into something really specific, but neat if you have the context, which nobody does :3

She was so wonderful and patient and I really enjoyed seeing her run with her inspiration, the Kryptonian mural is super neat and not something I would have ever come up with on my own.

@mediaraiz Is really stylistically flexible, and their "Blob" style really scratched that itch I had for something cute and playful, and they were so game in taking on a larger project, and then went above and beyond in making my lanterns looks truly special.

Finally (for now), @riverdeansart drew a sweet little scene of two horrifyingly stressed totally fine spacebros chilling and chatting about how everything is completely okay!

I was super vague about this one and Dean did a great job getting the vibes right anyway, and with haste.

...So yeah, that's if for now! I'll circle back in a bit when I'm forced to let more artists out of my basement everything else is done!

[like-tears-in-rain-storms]

Ok just had to share because I've been seeing these people all around and yet it had never happened directly to me.

So, great review of Nosferatu, and I get into A Situation with a person claiming that Orlok is a psychic pdfile rapist of child-Ellen and what's more, the covenant he tricked her into making with him symbolizes a marriage contract,thus Ellen is the analogue of a child bride and a denunciation of the buying and selling of women as brides through history and during that period in particular - also class analysis of how he's a parasite that sucks people dry, yadda yadda, we all know the class analysis. Now that's certainly....a take, and tbh I can see some elements of it sleekly fitting in with the way Eggers structures his themes, but to treat it so absolutely as THE explanation of such an intricate narrative....yeah. I had some issues with that.

And the whole affair ends with that person telling me verbatim, I kid you not, "you should examine why it is that you have a romantic reading on such an one-sided relationship between an undead rapist killer and his teenage victim".

And I'm like....what is this supposed to be? An own? Is it supposed to make me stop dead on my tracks and go "oh yeesh. Why am I romanticizing the goddamn gothic romance????? Am I some kind of monster? A ticking time bomb who'll listen tomorrow about a teen grooming victim of some degenerate and go "yeah but consider that she might have called on him on her dreams to liberate her and spread Covid around"???

To make a long story short, that passive-aggressive urge to self-psychologize with the hint that there's something wrong with myself did absolutely nothing to me,and I can explain it already as I did.

I had a romantic reading because I like gothic romance.

That's it, that's all the answer needed.

But I'm feeling rambly, so I'll elaborate. Because I like sounding the depths of the human mind and will and I like imagining it against powers that defy human measures. Because I like to imagine human nature as a universe, full of it's own destructive phenomena, natural disasters, secret cave systems and toxic geysers. Because in fiction I am free to do so, and can taste flavors that I would never seek out in the real world, like the vertigo of fulfilling the need for self-destruction, or the grandeur of being worth more than the entire world to someone, and what's more, I can acknowledge they exist, and can safely follow them to their logical limits from behind the safety of a book cover. Because on the page we can live out what can't be lived out in the real world even if we tried and because "some things belong on the page, others in life, and it's a blessed fool who can't tell the difference" and I don't know how others see themselves, but I am neither blessed nor a fool.

So needless to say, that wasn't the one it was probably intended as. Really interesting, though, to see such limited-minded puritanism take the stand on the event of Nosferatu coming out. Really interesting how, somehow, they are sounding more and more like crusaders of moral purity for the easily-deceived masses, only now dressed in some righteous "anti-abuse" garb, like abuse in the world will be affected if someone on the internet says that maybe the devouring embodiment of darkness that was rotting alive in the movie had some lasting and fatal effect on Ellen, and it didn't have to be love for it to be defining.

The real question is, why when your limit is the sky and you can make playgrounds out of your mind, do people feel the need to bring everything down to the unromantic, pedestrian and depressive reality that surrounds us whether we want it or not? As far as passive-aggressive urges for self-reflection go, I think that's a much more potentially productive one.

[lordofmelancholy]

Modern Timebomb HC:

HC that even in a modern setting, regardless on whether or not the life she lives is "better" and less tragedy filled, that Jinx still has her issues which only tend to get worse when she get's older. As a result of it, she's a bit of a gassed out wild child who while sure is still good at her classes (surprisingly) even though she is one of those funny ha ha clowns, is still very much not into good coping mechanisms which as a result have exacerbated the issues she goes through.

Drugs, booze, multiple sabotaged attempts at companionship and a handful of toxic relationships surely don’t help her cause. And of course seemingly to add a nail to the coffin, is the fact that everybody knows her for the same reasons mentioned, but no one actually knows her. Even her sister doesn’t fully understand her, and that’s sad cause Vi wants to, it’s just hard. So as a result, Jinx basically becomes that one person. Whose somehow still so alone in a crowded room.

However, even with everything going against her, the one constant she tends to always have is whenever she's having a bad night or day, she ALWAYS sneaks off to go see Ekko.

Who knows why it’s always Ekko. Even after so many years even Ekko is unsure why it’s always Ekko. Hell even Jinx doesn't know why, but Ekko for the longest time has always tended to be her safe space. She always finds herself calmer and more in-tune with herself whenever she is with him. That's NOT to say her family doesn't help. But their help just doesn't FEEL the same compared to his.

It’s always Ekko who’s there for her. Who’s there to pick her up off the bathroom floor at some seedy club or some shit. Who’s always there while she throws up everything but her memories. Whose with her during the multiple hospital visits when the “fun” gets to be to much and she over does it. She hates to do that to him of course. She hates to make him sad. He doesn't deserve that. So when they get older she tries to distance herself from him, to put space between them to save him the heartache and trouble. But they always manage to somehow find a way to get back to each other.

(They could never stay so far away from each other for so long.) Its sometime around then, that Ekko was quick to realize, or perhaps he already always knew, that he was her safe place, a soft comforting place to fall. And she fell often, and she often fell hard. . .and he's very sorry he's all she has to fall on now.

But oh. . . he would never have it any other way. . .

But thats not so easy for Jinx to admit. . .

Drugs booze, clubbing. None of it is “fun” anymore because it’s run out the fun for her. She’s literally just doing it for the same reason she started

escape

So whatever you do, Don’t picture jinx on the bathroom floor of some seedy night club. Don’t picture jinx on the bathroom floor bathed under the moody blue of club lights. Don't picture her shaky and sweaty and sick because she over did it again. Don't picture her taking out her cellphone, and going through her contacts and stopping at just one number in particular.

Just one Don't picture her ready to press call only to stop halfway because does she call him?

should she?

She feels like death has keeled over. She knows she needs help, but him? Does she really do that to him again? Does she really wanna put him through that again?

Hasn’t she done enough to him already?

Is it easier to just forget? To leave it be? To make it easier on everyone?

It’s late he’s probably asleep. . .

Does she leave it?

well. . .of course she does

Don’t picture her putting her phone away

Don’t picture her curling up on herself, crying like the mess she is.

In fact, Don’t picture her at all. Cause she’s not so sure if she really wants to be remembered at all anymore

She doesn’t want to remember anymore She doesn’t want to be remembered anymore. And how scary it is that she’s so content with the idea of dying forgotten, dying here alone, that she doesn’t even bother to call anyone as if the idea of it is second nature.

How easy it is for her to just put the phone away. Curl up and let the world go dark. And she does do that. Because it is easy. To just slip away like this. No one knows she’s here anyways. It’s so easy

Or at least it would have been. Had someone not forgotten about her. But of course, what did she suspect? He always did seem to have a six sense when it came to finding her. Knowing when she needed him.

So it really shouldn't come as no surprise to her, that when she wakes up (tragically), even tho she expects to be picking herself up off the bathroom floor of that seedy club right before closing time when the lasting club music throbs her skull into pieces, that that’s not what she wakes up to Instead it's too a breeze instead, and the low thrum of a car's engine and her head lying against the window and all she sees outside of it is the slowly passing amber lights of street lamps. The suns coming up but it’s still dark. And if she turns her head just slightly, and forgets the headache that’s blasting in her brain, she'll see him. And there he is

There he always is.

One hand on the steering wheel, the other on her knee. The gesture is familiar. And perhaps she's too drunk and drugged up to know any better, but she will cry, and she will apologize to him for doing this to him again. And maybe later they’ll argue like they usually do, about how insistent she is that he should just leave her and go on with his life and forget about her.

But for now she’s tired. And she feels his hand on her knee, thumb rubbing her kneecap and she cries and she apologizes and all he can say is

"I know love. . I know"

And there’s no malice in his tone because he does. . .he does know, and he does understand. . . he always did know her better then the others. Perhaps even more then she herself did. And jinx is not sure if she’s happy about that or not.

But for now she'll just sleep in the passenger seat. Sad and miserable and sick But not alone

[winksasleeplesseye]

SUMMARY: Leon is falling deeper and deeper into perceived bliss, but something else is at play. Is he really with you or is something else more complex going on?

PAIRING: Leon Kennedy x F!Reader

WORD COUNT: 2.8k (just about)

WARNINGS: slight smut, noncon voyeurism

[PREVIOUS][MASTERLIST]

"She's an intriguing figure, isn't she?" Thompson's voice cut through the sterile hum of the machinery, clinical yet there was an underlying tone of fascination. But he couldn't control the set of his jaw, perhaps a…hesitation? The observation room was so quiet, a pin could drop and every person present would hear it.

Most all the scientists watched as Leon turned again in his bed, fingers twitching against the sheets, reaching for someone who wasn't there. Brows furrowed, a soft murmur of your name falling from his lips.

"He's predictable. His attachment patterns, but one can see why he is so…enthralled by her," Dr. Morales noted, running a hand in a through line of his vitals as they pulsed with longing. "Let's see how far he's willing to go. Increase the sensory fidelity."

Thompson's eyes lingered on the photo of you, caught in a candid moment as you entered a government building. The tilt of your head as you wore a more reserved smile, less like the figure in their dream reality. Your physical attributes certainly left an impression on anyone you encountered so he could understand this….fixation? Not to mention, your shared history with Leon.

Raccoon City. That's where you had met, shared a connection of some sort. The pictures didn't lie.

The motel you had escaped to, another girl and a child, and Leon. Both of you to one room, them to the others. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to put the pieces together.

He gripped tighter to the clipboard, "This tampering of this nature….it's…."

"Necessary," Morales interrupted, not tearing his eyes away from the screen. Data poured in every minute, every part of it valuable. "Don't you know that when you know your enemy, what drives them…that trumps ethicality? Would you concur?"

Thompson couldn't respond, he shifted his gaze back over to Leon. A twitch, another smile. Breaking through tension that lived on his face in his waking world. Raw, real human emotion displayed in front of them, yet none of the scientists moved from their positions. Eyes laser sharp focused on the data.

A knot formed in Thompson's chest but in the end, he was in no position to question this.

Leon threw on his jacket, one not too dissimilar to the brown one he'd lost in Spain. He figured you'd have liked to steal it from him. "You wear that like a badge of honor," he heard you again, voice laced with playfulness. The sound of your voice cut through the silence of his apartment, his hand lingered on the zipper.

He can't keep doing this.

He audibly groaned, "Give me a break."

It wasn't that he was frustrated by you, just frustrated how he'd come to enjoy the intrusion of the version of you he knew didn't exist. If he were to tell anyone about this….especially Chris, they'd throw him in the psych ward, and Leon and a straitjacket should never be in the same sentence.

Shaking his head, he grabbed his keys and stepped out for the day.

The office was no different than it was the day before, same beige walls and same dull sunlight filtered through the window. Leon's office streamed in some of that light but somehow it didn't compare to how it was with you. While in the midst of his daydreams and repeated routine of paperwork and reports, a knock at his open door caught his attention. He never really liked keeping his office door closed, something in regard to cramped spaces unsettled him.

His eyes turned toward the door to find—oh, for goodness sake. Chris.

Chris was dressed more casual than usual, not wearing his standard tactical gear that Leon had seen so often. Leon fought the urge to roll his eyes at his presence. Did Hunnigan snitch on him?

He wore an awkward smile, "Sorry to interrupt, you got a minute?"

If there's one thing Leon knows about Chris, it's that he doesn't let up so if he didn't indulge him now, the guy would not leave him alone for the foreseeable future. Just the thought of not hearing the end of his lectures was enough to get Leon up. He's definitely letting Claire know that maybe she shouldn't have introduced them.

"What do you want?" Leon questioned, pushing himself away from the desk. He tried not to sound too frustrated but it was seeping through.

Chris' face screwed up momentarily, "What's got you so tense?"

An image came to him uncontrolled, one he'd felt, seen, heard just earlier as he showered. You stood behind him as the water streamed over both of you, your arms wrapped around his bare torso. You rested your cheek against his back, your touch a balm against the weight he'd carried.

"You're always so tense," you had murmured, your voice soft, your hands trailing over his shoulders. He had turned in your arms and kissed you then, slow and unhurried, allowing the world to melt away. The memory still clung to his skin. God, he really needed to get a grip.

"Nothing's got me tense," Leon responded, voice becoming more defensive than he'd like. Way to rouse more suspicion, Kennedy.

"Sure. And I'm retiring next week," Chris wore a half-smile as he stepped further into the room. "I know you probably don't want to hear this, but you look like hell. Have you been sleeping?"

The itch of Chris' gaze on him was like a weight he couldn't shake. The shift in the air was subtle but not subtle enough for Leon not to notice.

Leon fidgeted with his pen, running it between his fingers. "Plenty. I took a great nap during my morning existential crisis."

Chris crossed his arms, sitting in the chair accross from Leon. "Ha, ha. Hilarious. You're not fooling me, Kennedy. I've seen guys walk this line before, it doesn't end well. If something is going on, talking about it can't hurt—"

"There's nothing going on," Leon cut him off, sharper than he intended.

Deep down, Leon is aware he's being a bit of a dick but right now all reason and logic wasn't computing in his head.

Chris sighed, his more relaxed demeanor giving way to something more serious. He leaned forward, as if trying to bridge the gap between them. "I'm not here to lecture. You've got people who'd go through hell for you that you're pushing away. Don't forget that. But just know…I'm here too."

"Thanks, Doc. Should I lie down on my couch now, or later?"

Chris raised a brow. "Your choice, but I'm not writing a prescription for more whiskey."

Leon didn't look up as Chris left. His words sat like a weight in his chest long after the sound of his footsteps retreated further and further away.

Damn it. That was a lost cause.

Chris couldn't shake the feeling in his gut that something was off with Leon. More so than usual.

He hadn't been answering the phone and Leon would at least call him back once to assure him he hadn't done something stupid. It's why he came to the office, better that way so he can't avoid him.

But even a blind man could see how tense Leon had become. Jumpy, even. Leon was never one to be jumpy. He certainly was more of a dick than he usually is, too.

Chris could only walk away from Leon, letting him stew in whatever he had going on. That didn't mean he had no other options. He walked with purpose to the only other person who'd give him something. Hunnigan. The polished, poised woman sat at her desk, fingers flying across the keyboard and screens lit up with reports that reflected off her glasses.

Chris actually hated to disturb her work flow but he had to talk to someone.

"Hunnigan, hey," Chris greeted, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Got a moment?"

She glanced up from her screen, eyebrows raised in surprise but maintained her composure. "Sure, Chris. What's up?"

Chris hesitated. "You…talk to Leon much lately?"

Hunnigan could only scoff, "When don't I talk to Leon? Is everything okay?"

"That's the thing, I'd have thought you knew something. He seems off."

"What's your definition of off? This is Leon Kennedy we're talking about, he thrives on bad decisions and enough caffeine to stay awake for 20 years."

Chris wanted to laugh but decided against it. "Have you noticed anything? He seemed distracted. Denied anything was wrong, but I know him."

Hunnigan paused for a brief moment, a flicker of concern crossing her face.

"Now that I think about it…he did seem a little spaced out a week or so ago. Nothing too crazy. Just looked like he was in another world at the coffee maker. I don't usually tend to point out his appearance but his eyebags had eyebags."

"You think he's not sleeping?"

"That or he's having some late nights. But if you're concerned then so am I." Hunnigan's face softened only momentarily before reverting back to a strong resolve.

"I think we're in agreement." Chris spoke, a more serious tone to his voice. "Can you get me anything you can on his last mission?"

Hunnigan nodded, expression set in determination. "I'm on it."

If there was a point of no return, Leon is sure he'd made it there. The evening began like any other, lulling himself into the dream he never wanted to end.

He'd be lying to himself if he pretended he didn't want all that was offered to him in this dream space, the more he dreamed of you, the domestic life you'd shared with him…he wanted you in his life like this. It was undeniable. He craved it more than anything he had ever craved.

His decisions held no dire consequences in this place. No longer did he hold the fate of the world between his fingertips, they could slip through without so much of a grasp to pick up the pieces.

Tonight, somehow, things seemed more vivid, more alive. And certainly more passionate than all the other times he'd stumbled into moments with you. Your nails scratched down his chest in a way that sent chills down Leon's spine, an almost overwhelming tingle. Your warm breath fanning against his neck—it felt so real, too real. Your front molded against him in a way that made his heart pound. Could you feel how hard it was hitting against his rib cage?

A knot of guilt twisted in his chest, but he pushed it aside, letting your kiss consume him as though it could anchor him here forever.

"Look at that," Dr. Morales said, a grin tugging at his lips. Their connection was becoming more real than they anticipated. Data continuously streamed in as they watched the scene from the monitor. "It's like he's getting more than emotional satisfaction in this…it's almost physical. Like he thinks Y/N is really there in the room."

Dr. Erickson snorted, uncharacteristically. "If you think about it, Mr. Kennedy is getting action…even if it's just in his head."

Dr. Morales head shook as the scene on the monitor continued, juxtaposed with Leon as he laid in his bed. There was no hiding it what was going on. Leon's body responses aligned with the dream. Leon's hands splayed all over your bare skin as he held onto you desperately. This wasn't their intended goal, Leon getting the dream girl and living a dream life. The dreams were meant to test parameters for psychological breakdown. The data was baffling, to say the least.

His heartbeat spiked, body temperature rising the more and more he lost himself in the taste of you. Your fingers tangled in his hair. Jesus, did you know how much that drove him crazy? Without another word, you pushed him down onto the mattress, the springs creaking underneath his weight. Every sound seemed louder in the space of the room. The rustle of fabric as you slowly undressed, the clink of his belt as you pulled it from his body, the hasty breaths between them as he kissed you once again.

He tried not to stare too long as you straddled him but he had to take in all that you were, "You're gorgeous."

Your smile is brief as you brace your hands on his chest, "And you're sweet, but enough talking."

Once ready, Leon guided himself to line up with your wet folds. With one last glance between them, your eyes screwed shut, the breathy sigh that left your lips sent an indescribable feeling through him. Leon wanted this to last but the way you squeezed around his length—shit, this couldn't be a dream.

But even still, his mind nagged him. Was it possible this is all orchestrated? That someone—or something—-was controlling it all?

He tried not to—

"Fuck…" He couldn't think clearly, why did he want to when you were making him feel like this?

On the monitor, not a single detail was hidden, every body part, every sound, every movement—it was all there. Some of the scientists at the monitors turned away, others scooted closer in a sick curiosity.

The sensations he was receiving translated to Leon's sleeping form. Cameras zoomed in as he gripped at the sheets, knuckles turning white as clung for dear life to the fabric. His face, stoic in waking life, was now etched in pleasure—eyebrows furrowed, lips parted, his expression a mixture of longing and ecstasy.

The camera feed zoomed in slightly, Dr. Erickson could see the subtle rise and fall of Mr. Kennedy' s chest as he breathed harder. All the telltale signs of physical arousal. His muscles tensed in response to sensations that weren't really there. His free hand running down your back, judging from the movement in the air where you certainly were not. Dr. Erickson noted a slight tremor in his fingers, as if he really believed you were there, that he was touching you. He could even see Leon's mouth moving, quiet murmurs that the audio didn't fully catch.

Dr. Erickson felt a prickle of discomfort at how intense it had become. Even the auditory data peaked through—your voice, crystal clear as you did not hide your pleasure at all, even simulated. Both of their voices, faces etched in a rapture. Your mouth parted as pleasure overtook you, breaths ragged.

"He's deep in it," Thompson muttered, observing the infrared screen as Leon's body temperature continued to rise. A typical human body displayed in colors in green, yellows, and blues but Leon had red spread across body from his torso to his feet. "His brain waves are almost off the charts. The sensory stimulation is overwhelming—this isn't just a dream to him. His body cannot tell the difference between this and reality. Should we stop this?"

"We interrupt now and we risk damage, let this play out." Dr Erickson instructed, he turned towards his colleagues, some actually taking his spot at the screens for a closer look.

Dr. Morales placed a hand on Thompson's shoulder, an almost wicked smile on his face. "Increase the duration next time, let's see what it takes to fracture his grasp on everything." Thompson could only watch as his boss walked away, he tried to ignore the lurch in his stomach at what everything meant.

The heat surged between both of you, Leon's grip tightening as he pounded into you. Stars burst behind his eyes, letting himself soak in every sensation. He gasped your name as if it might tether him, as if clinging to your hips could keep the world from slipping away.

His movements stilled, a final shudder coursing through him as he spilled into you, a guttural groan passed from his lips.

And like a splash of cold water, Leon jolted from his bed. An ache in his muscles, a warmth in his bones, your breath fanning against him that shouldn't exist. His hands rubbed at his face, trying to rub the remnants of the experience from his mind, running a hand through his sweat-filled hair. His heart hit harder than a drum against his chest, rhythm unsteady.

He lifted the covers off himself. A telltale spot on his sweatpants. His lower half still pulsed from what he had just…felt.

A wet dream? What was he, a 16 year old? He huffed at such an immature act, considering 16 is the last time he had a wet dream.

Something wasn't right. Despite the fire that burned his skin from where his fingers had traced the outline of your back, how the heat flooded his body from the deep, soul-deep release—it had felt so whole, so real…it still didn't feel right. The way his body responded to yours, yours to his. Like they were both there, together, in the same place, in the same moment.

"Just a dream," Leon spoke out loud, as if a mantra. But that didn't explain the feelings in his body that said otherwise. The lingering desire. The heat. The ache. A heavy ache.

Just a dream, that's all it is.

Just a very vivid dream. That makes the most sense.

But, if this was only a dream, why did it feel like someone else was pulling the strings?

[katethetank]

Rating: 18+, minors gtfo Chapter Summary: Eddie meets the family! CW: None? Tell me if I missed anything Tags: Alternate Universe - modern setting, Rock Star Eddie, Counselor Steve, Eddie is gay, Steve is bi, slow burn, eventual smut Word Count:3,308

Chapter 9<<Masterlist>>Chapter 11

Mama Steve: Hey dickheads, does The Dungeon close at 5 on Sunday?

Dustybuns: It always has asshole

Mama Steve: Watch your mouth kid!

Mama Steve: Stick around after close

Mike Fucking Wheeler: You’re not the boss of us

Mad Max: Listen to your mother Michael

🧙Will the Wise🧙: What’s going on Steve?

🏀Lucas🏀: You’ve been MIA man, you alright?

Dustybuns: So you blow us off for weeks and now you’re making demands? Some mom you are 

😇El😇: We’ve missed you Steve!

Mike Fucking Wheeler: We have?

Mama Steve: Thought you assholes might wanna meet my boyfriend, but forget it

Dustybuns: YOIR WHAT

🏀Lucas🏀: I need you to be so serious right now

😇El😇: Steve I’m so happy for you!

Mad Max: Holy shit, you actually locked that down?

Dustybuns: STEVE!! 

🧙Will the Wise🧙: whaaaaaaaaaaattttt

Dustybuns: WHAT US HAPPENITN

Mad Max: I think you broke Dustin

🏀Lucas🏀: Omg are you bringing him to the shop?!

Dustybuns: STEVENNN ABSWRS NOW

🧙Will the Wise🧙: Yeah Dustin is malfunctioning

😇El😇: Do we really get to meet him?

Mad Max: This is hilarious omfg

Dustybuns: STOP IFNORING US!

Mama Steve: Are you assholes gonna behave?

Mad Max: No

😇El😇: Yes!

🧙Will the Wise🧙: The odds are not in your favor 

🏀Lucas🏀: You better not be fucking with us

Dustybuns: [voice message] Steven Angela Harrington I swear to fucking Christ if you’re fucking with us I’m gonna be so pissed! Tell us NOW what the fuck is going on!

Mama Steve: Sunday after the shop closes I’m bringing Eddie to meet you guys 

Mama Steve: I’m gonna regret this aren’t I?

Dustybuns: [voice message] Did I ever tell you you’re my favorite brother?

Mama Steve: You’re an only child

Dustybuns: How dare you

🏀Lucas🏀: We’ll be there!

😇El😇: I can’t wait!

🧙Will the Wise🧙: This is gonna be great

Mad Max: This is gonna be a disaster

Mike Fucking Wheeler: I’ll believe it when I see it 

“Oh my god this is total chaos. I love them already.” Eddie is reading the texts over his shoulder as they blow up his phone. These kids will be the death of him.

“I’m totally coming, I have got to witness this.”

Steve grabs a fry off of Eddie’s plate and throws it at Robin. He told her immediately that he and Eddie had made it official (ok not immediately, there may have been another handjob before he texted her) and she insisted on meeting them at Wayne’s on Steve’s lunch break so she could congratulate/grill them in person.

“Don’t get grouchy with me Dingus, you’re gonna need all the support you can get. Both of you!” She pointedly looks at Eddie.

He points to himself, “Me? Why me?”

Robin straightens up in her seat explaining, “These kids can be great, but they can also be total assholes. And it might look like they just give Steve shit all the time, but they’re fiercely protective of him. He’s seen them all through different rough patches of their lives and he’s been there for them in ways that nobody else has. They might be fans of yours, but that doesn’t mean they’re going to worship you. You bagged their mom, Eddie! You’re going to need someone in your corner to vouch for you.”

Steve turns and takes in Eddie’s profile. He looks nervous. “Robin, stop scaring my boyfriend!”

That actually gets a smile out of him and a kiss on the cheek. “God, I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of hearing you say that word sweetheart.” 

“Good, cuz I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of saying it,” Steve replies.

“Ugh gross, you two are disgustingly cute.”

“Thank you,” Steve says and flips her off.

Eddie turns his attention back to Robin. “So Rob, you’d  have my back with these hellions? Have I proven myself worthy of Steve’s hand?” Under the table he laces their fingers together. Steve gives him a squeeze.

“Oh my god you are such a dork. You might actually fit right in. But yes, you have. I can see how happy you make Steve, and you’re obviously obsessed with him. You've shown that you’re committed to this, you’ve been respectful of his boundaries, Wayne doesn’t seem to think you’re a dick. Just keep making him happy and we won’t have a problem.”

“Nope, just the same old pain in my ass he’s always been.” Jesus, Steve didn’t even notice Wayne approaching the table. He’s gonna need bells for both of the Munson men. “Good kid though, you don’t got nothin’ worry about darlin’. He’s been all moon eyed over his boy here since day one, won’t shut up about him.”

“Wayne, what the hell!”

“Don’t deny it son, you’re a shit liar. Steve,” he says looking down at him, “he ever do you wrong, you come to me, understood?”

Steve has to hold back his glee at Wayne’s protectiveness. “Yes sir, you got it.”

“None of that ‘sir’ shit, you’re practically family now. And ya ain’t paying either! You and Birdie here both.”

Robin looks ecstatic, but Steve feels a pit in his gut. “Wayne, I can’t do tha-“

“Shush! I ain’t gonna fight you on this! Just watch some Sunday games with me when you can and we’ll call it even. Ed here ain’t got no interest and just complains the whole time.”

Steve laughs at that, it sounds absolutely accurate. “You got it Wayne.” Wayne pats his shoulder and heads back to the kitchen.

“Christ, I think he likes you more than he likes me,” Eddie grumbles.

“What can I say? I’m like the son he never had!” Steve beams.

Eddie gasps, dramatically offended. “Rude! That’s rude Steven! Just for that, I’m going to steal all of your children’s favoritism.”

Like they share a brain, Steve and Robin tell him, “Good luck!”

Sunday rolls around faster than Steve anticipated. He won’t say he’s nervous exactly, more anxious of how the kids are going to act around Eddie. He just hopes they aren’t total buttheads. He pulls up to Wayne’s house and Eddie is sitting on the porch smoking a cigarette. He doesn’t smoke often, and Steve has a feeling Eddie is more nervous about this than he thought.

He gets out of the car and walks up to the porch, offering Eddie a reassuring smile. “Hey baby. You ok?”

Eddie nods his head and puts out the cigarette in an old coffee can. “Yeah I think so. Sorry, just a little anxious about this. Didn’t wanna smell like an ashtray, but I needed something to level me out a bit.”

Steve shakes his head. “No, it’s ok, I don’t mind. You ready to go?” Eddie nods again, looking anything but ready. “Kiss first?” Steve asks.

That gets a smile out of him. “You don’t mind smokey kisses, sweetheart?”

“No. Not from you. C’mere.”

Eddie steps off the porch and puts his hands on Steve’s hips. It always makes him feel small. He cups Eddie’s face and smiles into the kiss. He can already feel him relaxing.

“Mmm, I think I needed that more than the cigarette. Ok, now I’m ready.”

They climb into the car and Steve pairs Eddie’s phone, offering him DJ privileges this time. Driving guitars pump through the speakers as they make their way out of the neighborhood. Eddie turns the volume down after a couple minutes and turns to Steve. “I don’t know how to ask this without sounding like a dick, so I’m just gonna ask. How does a counselor at a community center afford a BMW? God, there’s no polite way to ask that, is there? I’m sorry, never mind, forget I said anything!”

“It’s ok Eds! You’re not a dick. I definitely don’t make a fortune working there, but it’s whatever. You know how I said I was a trust fund kid? Yeah. I had a trust fund. My grandparents set it up when I was little, and even though my parents basically disowned me, they couldn’t touch it. I got access to it when I was 25 and got myself a car. The rest was better spent.”

Ah fuck. He realizes he just opened a can of worms. He hasn’t told Eddie about this yet because to him it doesn’t really matter. But people are weird about money.

“Yeah, you treat yourself to a trip around Europe or something?” He laughs. Steve pauses for a moment and Eddie makes a questioning face.

“No. I uh…I gave it to the kids so they could open The Dungeon.”

Eddie just blinks at him for a minute.

“Stevie. Are you serious?”

“I know! I know it was probably stupid, but they had this dream and didn’t know how they were gonna get it started, and I didn't really have much use for all that money, plus the guilt I had even taking it meant I couldn’t even really enjoy it, so I figured that was the best thing I could do with it.”

“Pull over.”

Steve glances over at Eddie, bewildered. “What?!”

“I said pull over.”

Steve pulls the car to the side of the road and the second he has it in park, Eddie is on him. He’s so surprised that he doesn’t even kiss him back for a second. Steve pulls back to ask, “What is happening right now?”

“Steven Rebecca Harrington-“

“Not you too!”

“-You are the most selfless,” he gets a kiss to his cheek, “caring,” his forehead, “generous,” his nose, “man I have ever met!” Eddie plants a firm and passion kiss to his lips.

Eddie breaks the kiss and holds Steve’s face in his hands. “You gave all that up so you could help the people you love. You’re incredible, sweetheart, do you know that? You need to know that. Those kids better fucking know that! I am completely, unbelievably in awe of you. How the fuck did I get lucky enough to call you mine?”

Steve never thought he’d be crying on the side of the road in the arms of a rock star, but here he is. Eddie embracing him while tears slip down his cheeks. “I’m the lucky one,” he whispers. It’s true. He’s never felt so appreciated or adored or seen. 

They take a few minutes for Steve to calm down and then they’re back on their way to The Dungeon. They park and get out, and Steve takes Eddie’s hand in his, giving it a squeeze. “You ready for this?”

“Nope! C’mon, let’s get in there!”

Steve guides him through the front door and he’s struck with the memory of their first meeting. The last time they were in here together they were strangers. Now Eddie’s his boyfriend. Who’s about to meet…oh fuck, the whole family! Not only are the kids and Robin here, with eager looks on their faces, but Hop and Joyce are here too.

“Uh. Hey everybody. This is Eddie!”

The silence lasts about 1.8 seconds.

“Jesus it’s about fucking time!”

“Finally!”

“He’s taller than I thought.”

“This is crazy.”

“Oh he’s handsome!”

“Looks like trouble.”

“Hi Eddie!”

“Are you our new dad?”

They all rush towards them, Dustin leading the charge, sticking his hand out to Eddie and introducing himself, “Dustin Henderson, Steve’s honorary brother!” It’s the most aggressive handshake Steve’s ever seen. 

Max stands back with a smirk and her arms crossed. El gives Eddie a hug because she’s a fucking angel. Lucas shakes his hand like an actual human. Will gives him a shy finger wave. Mike is standing nearby, scowling at Steve. 

Steve looks at him and asks, “You believe me now, asshole?”

Mike steps closer and asks, way too loudly, “Have you been crying?” Steve wants to smack him. Then Mike turns to Eddie with fire in his eyes like he’s never seen. “What did you do?!”

Eddie looks like he’s ready to flee. “N-nothing! I swear! Stevie?!”

Steve’s flabbers are gasted, he’s never seen Mike get so definitive like this. At least not towards him. “Mike, I’m fine!” He doesn’t look like he believes it. “Seriously, I’m ok. Just had a moment before we got here. Eddie didn’t do anything, I swear.”

Mike shrinks back only slightly and mutters, “He better not have.” What the fuck got into this kid?! 

Joyce shoves them all aside and heads right for Steve, throwing her arms around his waist. He hugs her back and it’s just one of those things that makes his heart smile. “Steve sweetie, it’s been too long! I can’t believe I had to hear about your new beau from the kids!”

Steve gives her a squeeze before letting go. “Sorry mom. I’m glad you guys are here though. Missed you.”

“We missed you too, baby. Now! Introduce us properly to your boy here!”

Steve smiles at Eddie, who already has a fond look on his face as he’s taken in their interaction. “Eddie, this is my mom Joyce. Well, not actual mom, but you know.”

Eddie takes her hand, kissing the back of it like some Disney prince. “It’s a pleasure to meet you ma’am. Steve has spoken very highly of you!”

Steve doesn’t think he’s ever seen Joyce blush. He's definitely seen that look of annoyance on Hop’s face though. “Oh, honey, you don’t have to be so formal. Just Joyce is fine.” She looks back and Steve and mouths so handsome! Steve just wiggles his eyebrows back.

Hop steps in and grabs Eddie’s hand with one of those bear paws of his. “Jim. You can call me Chief Hopper.”

“Dad, Jesus,” Steve sighs.

“Hop, enough!” Joyce looks up at Eddie with her can you believe this? face. “He’s harmless, ignore him.”

Hop still hasn’t let go of Eddie’s hand. Eddie looks mildly terrified. ”It’s nice to finally meet you sir. I’m glad to know that Steve has had someone like you in his corner.”

Well fuck. He’s never seen Hop fold so quickly. He’s actually got a ghost of a smile on his face. Hop relents, letting go of Eddie’s hand and taking a step back. Why is this such a turn on?! Eddie turns to look at him and immediately clocks the desire that must be apparent on Steve’s face. He leans and whispers directly in his ear, “Save it for later baby.” Yeah that’s not helping.

They finally sit down at one of the big wood tables where Robin has been observing the entire interaction with glee. Dustin plants himself on Eddie’s other side, no doubt ready to grill him about something nerdy. The rest of the kids are scattered around the space, and Will comes up to ask, “Did you guys want a coffee? We still have everything up and running.”

Eddie smiles and tells him, “That would be great actually! Thanks…Will, right?” Will nods eagerly. “Just a coffee with cream and sugar would be awesome. Thanks man.” 

Will turns to Steve. “You want your drink, Steve?”

“Yeah, thanks bud.” Will nods and heads behind the counter to get started.

Eddie quirks an eyebrow. “Your drink?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies. “The Paladin? They made a drink for me. It’s a vanilla latte with like, caramel and shit. You should try it!”

Eddie just stares for a moment. “And it’s called The Paladin?”

What is Steve missing here? “Uh…yeah? Something from their nerd game or whatever. I never got into it.”

Eddie shakes his head and says under his breath, “Of course it is.” He turns completely to fully face Steve. “Sweetheart, do you know what a Paladin is?”

Steve furrows his brows. “It’s like a fighter guy or something, right?”

Eddie scoffs. “A fighter guy. It’s more than that honey. Paladins are holy knights that are sworn to fight evil and uphold justice. Divine spellcasters who train in combat, and wield the power to heal and protect. They’re self-sufficient, and they serve as defenders of the party. So no, it’s not just a fighter Steve. It’s a position of honor.”

Steve can’t swallow the lump in his throat. He looks away from Eddie to try and ground himself again, but that’s when he notices everyone has gone quiet. As he takes in the faces around him, his found family, his people…he sees it for the first time. How much they love him, how they see him. Their champion, their protector, their knight. 

He never thought he’d be crying in a coffee shop with his family and his boyfriend around him. But here he is. Robin grabs his hand from across the table. Eddie’s hand wraps around the back of his neck as he kisses his forehead. Mike gives him the softest look he's ever seen. Lucas rubs his back and Will sets down their drinks with a smile and a handful of extra napkins. Dustin, speaking in a much more subdued voice says, “We thought you knew, Steve.”

He dabs his eye with a napkin and laughs through a sob. “Clearly I didn’t! Fuck! I uh…I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t have to say anything, baby.” Eddie whispers to him. “Just have to accept it.”

Careless of his family around him, Steve leans in and kisses his boyfriend, hoping it can communicate all of his appreciation. The room erupts in cheers and complaints.

“Aww, they’re so sweet!”

“Sweet my ass”

“Ew, get a room!”

“Ugh, that’s my mom!”

“Get it Steve!”

Eddie caresses his cheek and asks, “You ok Stevie?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Very ok.”

The rest of the night goes smoothly without any more emotional breakdowns thank god. Dustin talks Eddie’s ear off about D&D - Steve, did you know Eddie used to run a D&D club in high school? It was called Hellfire right?! We do campaigns here once a month Eddie, you should come! Will is our DM but if you want you could do it sometime! He loves the kid, but yikes.

If Eddie hadn’t already won everyone over with his charm, he’s definitely doing it with food. As the night goes on, he suggests having pizza delivered. Steve tries to offer to pay for it, but Eddie isn’t having it. “Sweetheart, no. Let me do this. You take care of them all the time, let me have a turn.”

Everyone gets stuffed with pizza, breadsticks, and somehow Eddie gets cupcakes delivered. He even promises Dustin that he’ll DM for them the next time they play. As they’re saying goodbyes Mike pulls Steve aside. “Look, I know I can be asshole sometimes-“

“Sometimes?!”

“Ok, a lot! But you’ve always been there for us. You've looked out for us for years, helped us get all this off the ground. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. So. I just wanna make sure you’re…happy or whatever.”

Steve didn’t have Mike warming his heart on his bingo card. “Thanks for that, kid. And I am. Eddie’s amazing. I haven’t been this happy in a long time. Maybe ever!”

Mike nods and avoids eye contact. “Good! Good, I’m glad. I wanna like him. He seems cool. If he hurts you though, just wanna let you know, I’ve got your back.”

Steve chuckles, “Don’t think we’ll have to worry about that, but thanks man. I appreciate it.” They share a quick bro hug, complete with back slaps and Mike scurries away to be closer to El.

Robin steps up to his side and throws her arm around his shoulders. “Damn, Dingus. I didn’t think it would go this well! Your man’s little speech about how amazing you are sure won everyone over quickly. Didn’t see that happening.”

Steve wraps his arm around his best friend and smiles as he watches Eddie say goodbyes to everyone. Hugging Joyce and the girls (and Dustin), exchanging a much more amicable handshake with Hop, excitedly making plans to play the nerd game with the boys. 

“Yeah. Yeah, he did great.”

Chapter 9<<Masterlist>>Chapter 11

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