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e1e4n0r5 · 21 days ago

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Their Little Plaything: 3

Part 1, Part 2

Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends

Pairing: Bullies Cait & Vi x Loner Nerd Reader

Words: 4650

Synopsis: Cait and Vi introduce a few new things to you

Warnings: Bullying/mocking, power imbalance, FFF threesome, secret filming of sex*, mention of masturbation with toy, fingering (r! receiving), sex toys (anal beads, nipple clamps, butt plugs, vibrators, dildos) strap-on, strap-on referred to as cock, description of masturbation with sex toys, squirting, mild degradation, mild spit play, dirty talk, praise kink, finger sucking, anal fingering (r! receiving), anal sex (r! receiving), double strap usage, mild choking/breath play

Notes: We've got more of this to come!

Secret filming of sex*: I don't want to spoil the story but I need to disclaim this now: this is not a revenge porn/public humiliation scenario. Those recording do not intend to release the footage or show it to any third parties. It's a toxic behaviour that will be addressed in a future chapter. I do not condone or encourage this behaviour.

A few days later, and thankfully without a second visit from Sky, you got a text in the group chat. You still hated the chat name ‘Plaything’ but your tummy always got fluttery when you saw a message come in.

It was Cait, sending you an address.

Caitlyn K: 7pm?

You: That works for me

Caitlyn K: You remember we talked about those toys of yours?

You: …Yes? 😳

Caitlyn K: Bring everything you have, we’ll see what we like when you get here

At 7pm, the Uber pulled up outside a large ornate house. Not quite a mansion, but a house most people would dream of living in. You thanked the driver, then walked up to the front door, admiring the house as you went.

Ringing the doorbell, you waited.

Cait answered a few seconds later. She looked as perfect as she always did, tight-fitting navy blue blouse pristinely tucked into tailored pants. “You’re on time. Good.” She stepped aside, letting you in.

“This is your house?” you asked in amazement, looking around at the marble floors and ornate decorations. Art covered the walls, expensive rugs protected the shining floor.

“Her family’s rich,” Vi explained, leaning against a doorframe as she looked you up and down, “remember?”

“My parents purchased the house in the summer before we started at Piltover, so we could live somewhere suitable.”

“Live somewhere forever? Because this is beautiful,” you gushed, not even noticing Cait taking your hand and pulling you into the kitchen.

She chuckled. “Don’t be silly; this is just our college home. We’ll move somewhere else when we graduate.”

“Another family property,” Vi smirked, joking, “I’m gonna be a trophy wife.”

“Is your wife single?” you joked back.

Cait eased the Piltover Uni tote bag off your shoulder. “Is this all of it?” she asked, not looking through it yet.

You blushed, suddenly remembering why you were there. “Yeah, that’s everything.”

Vi leant one elbow against the kitchen island. “Hey, sweetheart,” she called to you, “come here.”

You walked over, standing in front of Vi. And waited.

She smirked back at you, looking you up and down ravenously. “Pretty skirt.”

You looked down, touching your blue flowy knee-length skirt. “Thank you.”

“Bend over,” Vi instructed, nodding her head to the counter.

You flushed. “Bend…?”

“Bend. Over.”

You hesitated but obeyed. The counter was a little higher than your hips, so you had to pull yourself up a little, your feet dangling off the floor.

Vi lifted your skirt over your hips and snickered when she saw your underwear. “How many times do we have to tell you, sweetheart?” she teased, pulling them down and stuffing them into her back pocket.

“Are you going to take them every time?” you demanded, trying not to blush as Vi’s fingers spread your pussy, exposing your moist hole.

“Damn right we are, until you learn not to wear them.”

“But people will see-”

You gasped as, in a split second, Vi bent down to your pussy, spat on your hole, and slid two fingers into you.

Cait laughed as she looked inside the bag. “I said bring what you have, not go and buy out a sex store.”

You trembled as Vi turned her fingers inside you. “I didn’t!”

She did a double take at the bag’s contents. “You already had all this?”

“Yes,” you whined.

“And you’ve used all of it?”

“Most of it.”

Cait laughed, rummaging through the toys inside. “Well, you were a horny little freak.”

Vi curled her fingers inside you. “Don’t keep me in suspense, Cupcake; what’s she got?”

Cait just shook her head in disbelief, laughing as she started pulling out items, placing them one by one on the counter next to you. Multiple sets of anal beads; nipple clamps; half a dozen butt plugs; several vibrators of different sizes; different brands of lubricant; and an unopened beginner’s leather bondage kit, including a blindfold, ball-gag, wrist and ankle cuffs, a small paddle, and a small flogger.

Vi’s fingers stopped in your pussy. Looking over the array of toys now spread out on the counter, she grinned at Cait, then into the camera recording you all from the side from its hiding place in an outlet in the wall,. “Well, well, sweetheart. You are just full of surprises.”

“This,” Cait said, picking up the bondage kit, still in its clear packaging, “I’m curious about. You clearly haven’t used it; were you too scared?” she asked in a patronising tone, bending down in front of your face, holding up the kit.

You shook your head, lip trembling as Vi resumed fucking you. “It was a joke gift-”

“A gag gift, you mean?” Vi mocked with a chuckle.

“From some people I worked with over a summer. They said it would get me out of my shell.”

Cait ran her thumb over your bottom lip. “Oh, but you had no-one to use it with,” she taunted.

You shook your head, your clit throbbing as Vi started curling her fingers.

“How about we open it when we go upstairs? Finally put it to use?” She slipped her thumb into your mouth, and you sucked it with a moan. “Which of those is your favourite?” she asked, nodding her head to your collection but keeping her eyes on yours.

You blushed as you glanced at them from the corner of your eye, Cait’s grip on your mouth keeping your head straight. “Lots.”

She raised an eyebrow at you. “Tell us.” She kept her grip on you, turning your head to the side so you could see more clearly. “How did the lonely little virgin spend her Friday nights?”

“I’d…” Vi started thrusting faster, like a woman on a mission, “Oh god…I’d put the clamps on.”

“Hmmm,” Cait nodded.

“Put in some beads.”

“Any particular ones?”

“I like those ones best,” you pointed to the average sized black beads connected by a flexible thread.

She nodded again, feeling her own pussy grow wet at the thought. “And then?”

“And I’d play with my pussy with that vibe,” you finished, pointing at a relatively small pink realistic vibrator.

“Very nice,” Cait praised. “Shall we recreate that upstairs?”

“Not yet, Cupcake, we’re not finished here,” Vi insisted, reaching a hand under you and starting to rub your clit.

A strange feeling started to build up inside your pussy, making your legs shake. “Wait, Vi, stop! I-I need to pee!”

“No, you don’t,” she ignored you, continuing her thrusts.

You gritted your teeth, fighting against the feeling. “No, really, stop! I don’t want to pee!”

“Sweetheart,” Cait said softly, turning your head back to look at her, giving you a firm but reassuring look. “You are not going to pee. Just let go, and see what happens.”

You wanted to resist – it seriously felt like you needed to pee! – but they were both so sure you wouldn’t. And they would know better…

You forced your body to relax, taking a deep breath, allowing the feeling to build up inside you. You panted as you rocked your hips on Vi’s hand.

“Good girl,” Vi praised, rubbing your clit a little faster, “Just let go, baby. Let go.”

With that, your pussy clamped down on her fingers and violently squirted all over her hands and the floor. You gasped for breath as your hips writhed on the counter, your feet scrambling for purchase against the cupboard doors.

“Fuuuck,” you breathed out, moaning as your eyes rolled back, flopping down on the counter.

“Good girl,” Cait praised, placing a kiss to the top of your head. “Let’s take a few things upstairs.”

You sprawled across the counter as they moved around you, Vi washing her hands in the sink, and then helping you up on shaky legs. You looked down at the floor, seeing the large amount of liquid splattered there.

“Oh god!”

“It’s not pee,” Vi assured somewhat testily, holding you against her front.

How could it not be?! you wanted to ask. “Are you sure?”

Vi’s hand cupped your cheek, turning your head to hers. “What did we say before you came?”

You whimpered. “That I wouldn’t pee.”

“So, are you calling us liars?”

Your eyes widened. “No! No, I swear.”

“It’s squirt, not pee. So, stop fussing.” She started pulling you upstairs, leaving Cait in the kitchen to choose some toys.

Their bedroom was just as finely decorated as the kitchen and foyer. A large rug covering most of the marble floor, one wall covered in spotless floor-to-ceiling mirrors, a bookcase filled to the brim with books and knick-knacks on another wall. Against the wall in front of the door was an extra-large bed covered in fresh sage green sheets, a violet-coloured throw spread across the end.

You were only able to marvel at the décor for a second, before Vi nudged you further inside, pulling her shirt over her head. You watched in awe as her torso and breasts were revealed, your hands automatically reaching for her.

She chuckled. “Eager, are we?”

You just nodded, cupping her breasts.

“Good,” she said, cupping the back of your head and pulling you in for a deep kiss. You moved your arms over her shoulders, running your hand through her hair as she cupped and squeezed your ass. Pulling you against her front, something hard rubbed into your lower tummy.

You pulled away briefly, giving her a playful squint. “Have you got something in your pocket?”

“Something that’ll wipe that smile off your face,” she challenged. “On your knees.”

Your cheeks turned redder, but you obeyed as Vi opened her jeans. Around her hips was strapped a larger toy than before, thicker and more detailed. Without Vi saying it, you sat on your heels, opening your mouth and waiting patiently.

She chuckled as she looked down at you. “Oh, such an eager little slut, aren't you?” You didn't blush; you nodded. She was impressed at your eagerness. “Then get to work.”

You leaned forward, taking the tip of the toy into your mouth. You slowly slid your mouth up and down the toy, unsure of your movements but enthusiastically trying your best. You couldn’t get very far down before you coughed and gagged, but Vi soothed you, stroking your cheek until you tried again. You didn’t get any further, whining unhappily.

Vi laughed, pulling out. “Don’t worry, sweetheart; you’ve got plenty of time to practice.” She sat down on the floor, only a few feet away from the large mirrors, pulling you into her lap. “Open again,” she held up her middle and ring fingers, sliding them into your mouth. You moaned around the digits, moving your tongue over them, keeping your eyes locked with hers.

Pupils blown wide, her own cheeks flushed, she smirked at you. “Little slut,” she said affectionately. Pulling her fingers out, she moved them to your pussy, sliding inside again. “Gotta get you warmed up for this strap.”

“I’m warm!” you protested, riding her fingers.

“Oh really?” she raised an eyebrow. “You think you can take this?” she nodded down at the toy glistening with your spit.

“Yes,” you whined. “Just fuck me!”

She laughed. “Alright then, you asked for it.”

Pulling her fingers out, she aimed the toy at your entrance, pulling your hips to slowly lower you onto it. It stretched you immediately, making you gasp and groan. Your breath caught in your throat as she forced you further down, not stopping until your hips pressed against hers, the toy pushing against your cervix.

“See? I told you,” she mocked, rocking your hips back and forth a little, letting you adjust.

“Fuck,” you breathed, trying to hide your wince.

“Think you’re a big girl now? That you can take any cock you see?” she challenged.

You shook your head. “No,” you pouted.

“You gonna believe us in future when we say you need warming up?”

You bit your lip, nodding. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Good, so you’ll listen to me now.” Cait appeared in the doorway, your tote bag hanging from her hand, a strap around her own waist. Looking closely, you saw your small pink vibrator attached the harness.

“Cait?”

She approached you seductively, her hips swaying as she walked. “Where do you think I’m going to put this, darling?”

You paused, opening your mouth as a guess when she stopped in front of you.

They both laughed at you.

“Try again,” she taunted, kneeling behind you.

“What?” you squeaked, trying to look around but Vi held your cheeks, forcing you to look at her.

“You can’t dangle those toys in front of us and not expect us to play with your ass,” Vi smirked.

“But you’re already in-”

“And this is why I’m going to warm you up,” Cait chided, taking a tub of lubricant out of your bag, “If you’ll allow me to, Your Highness,” she mocked.

“Ohhh…” you moaned, a little worried.

Vi held you tightly, moving you both to lie on your side, her hips sliding her toy in and out of you slowly. “Just relax, baby,” she soothed, kissing your neck. “We’ll take care of you.”

Warm fingers pressed cold lube to your back hole, making you twitch. Cait rubbed the lube around, before gently sliding a finger inside. It was so much, with the toy already stretching your pussy, but not enough at the same time. They both filled you slowly, carefully, letting your body adjust to both of them.

When you were moaning loud enough for them, your head thrown back and eyes closed, Cait reached into your bag, pulling out a small camera. Half the size of a Rubik’s cube, she turned it on and angled it between your legs, directly at your holes. Vi pulled your top leg up, holding it back to your side, opening and exposing both your holes.

Slowly, she added a second finger, making you gasp and shudder as she stretched your ass just a little. “Breathe,” she coaxed in your ear. “Well done.” She pumped her fingers inside you gently, turning them slowly, stretching you a little. With her free hand, she coated your toy with some more lube, moving onto her side behind you.

“Ready?” Cait asked softly in your ear, pulling her fingers out of your ass, holding the base of the vibe to your hole.

You nodded desperately. “Yes. Please!”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck my ass,” you begged, and were rewarded with Cait sliding the toy into your waiting hole. You moaned softly, your eyes closing as you felt Cait turn on the vibe, the sensations moving through your body.

Cait rocked inside you, letting you adapt to the feeling of being filled fully in both holes. “Are you alright, darling?”

You panted. “So full,” you whined when Vi slowly started moving again. You let your head hang down to the side, too weak to keep it up.

Vi gave Cait a look above you. “Sweetheart, look in the mirror,” she said, knowing you were too tired to do so.

As if you’d planned it together, you whined sadly. “I'm too tired.”

“C'mon, try for me,” she encouraged, knowing you wouldn't be able to see anything anyway.

You weakly lifted your head up, but you couldn't see around your propped up leg. “I can't see,” you complained, flopping your head back down.

Vi hummed thoughtfully. “Do you want us to show you later?”

“Show...later?” you asked weakly, your clit throbbing from the sensations in both holes.

“We could record it? Show you later?”

You whimpered at the thought of them filming you. “But…Who else would see?”

“No-one,” Cait promised firmly from behind you, kissing under your ear. “No-one else gets to see you like this.”

“Just for us, sweetheart.”

You hesitated. That sounded risky…

Vi continued. “Imagine having something you can look back on, something to remember this moment.”

Cait added, “And you’d remember how your body felt, how we feel inside you right now, filling these little holes. You could remember that every time you watched it back.”

You whimpered again, it did sound fun when they said it like that. “O-Okay. Just for us though!”

Cait smiled at the successful ruse, reached for her phone inside the bag, and resting it on the floor between all your legs, next to the small camera that was already recording. She angled it directly at your holes, pressing the record button. When the timer started counting, she returned to kissing your neck.

“You’ll look so pretty for us, sweetheart, our star of the show.”

“You wanna say how this feels?” Vi asked, stroking your thigh as she supports it.

“It feels so good,” you whined weakly.

“Louder for the camera, baby,” Cait coaxed in your ear.

You trembled at the mention of the camera, even as it made your pussy leak. “It-It feels good,” you said louder. Vi raised an eyebrow at you, urging you to continue. “It feels good in my pussy. In my ass too.”

She smiled proudly. “You like having a vibe in your ass?”

You nodded. “It feels really good. It's making my clit throb.”

Cait smiled against your cheek. “Well done, sweet girl,” she praised. “Reach your hand down, play with that button for us.”

You moved your hand down your body and rested it on your clit, rubbing gently. You didn't want to cum straight away.

“Good girl,” Vi praised, looking down at you rubbing yourself. “Show the camera how much you want to cum.”

You moaned loudly, rubbing faster as you imagined what the camera was capturing. As you drew closer, your holes started clenching on the toys, your hips rocking between the two women.

“I’m cumming,” you gasped, your fingers moving faster.

“Wait for us, sweetheart,” Cait breathed in your ear, chasing her own climax as her strap vibrated against her clit.

Shaking your head, you panted, “I can’t.”

Vi took hold of your throat, squeezing firmly. “Cait said wait, baby. Do as she says.”

The blood rushed to your head as Vi kept her grip on your throat, both women working themselves towards orgasm. You’d stopped rubbing your clit as it threatened to send you over the edge too soon, but Cait took over, forcing you to hold yourself back until they were ready.

When they were just about to cum, Vi released your throat. The sudden rush of air and blood, combined with Cait’s manicured fingers on your aching clit, sent your brain into overdrive. All three of you climaxed simultaneously, all writhing and moaning together, your bodies moving as one.

When you all settled down and caught your breath, Cait gently pulled out of your ass, earning a groan from your tired throat. Sitting up, she picked up the small camera off the bed, stopping the recording. Switching it to photo mode, she quickly pointed it at the three of you, taking a few post-sex selfies, you and Vi clearly visible in the background. With your head down and breathing deeply, you were none the wiser about what Cait was doing, but Vi smirked at the camera, kissing you or rubbing your body, at one point giving the camera a ‘rock on’ hand sign as she stuck her tongue out. Pointing it at you, she took a few more, then stood up, heading into the bathroom. She hid the turned off camera in a drawer, slipping the harness off.

Heading back into the bedroom, she picked up her phone, stopping that recording. Stroking your leg gently, she called your name.

“Sweetheart? You want to take a look?”

It had been a few weeks since that night, since Vi and Cait had finally asked, out loud and deliberately, if they could film you. You’d said yes, conditionally. From then on, you always said yes when they held up a camera or their phones, and they grinned like you were giving them a gift each time.

At first, it felt like control. Like a choice. And the look in their eyes, how hungry they were to capture you, to remember you; it had made you feel flattered, even powerful. You’d flushed under Cait’s praise as she scrolled through shots afterwards, and Vi’s rough kisses had made your heart flutter in ways you hadn’t expected.

After that, it became something regular. Not constant. Not predictable. Just often.

They’d ask. Usually. Cait with her soft, coaxing tone, or Vi with a smirk and a tilt of her phone. Sometimes it was during sex, sometimes it was after, when you were curled up in their bed, bare-chested, blinking blearily as your brain tried to function again after being fucked dumb. Sometimes it was video, sometimes pics. Sometimes both.

You tried to keep track. Tried to remember all the times you’d agreed. You told yourself it was fine. That you trusted them. That the way Cait sometimes didn't ask was just forgetfulness, or heat-of-the-moment urgency. That the one time you noticed Vi filming from the side of the bed as you ate Cait out on your knees…Well, maybe she’d just assumed you’d be okay with it, since you always were.

Your stomach always twisted after those moments.

But you didn’t stop. You never stopped.

Your dorm room was quiet, late afternoon sun stretching long and lazy across the carpet. The warmth clung to your skin as you sat on your bed, your phone buzzing steadily in your hands.

Cait had been sending more photos again. A drip-feed of images from the past few weeks. Ones you remembered approving. You tapped through them slowly, mouth watering. As they had told you during the first time they asked, your body flushed and throbbed as you remembered what you were doing when the photos were taken.

You saved each one.

Your phone buzzed again. Another image. You tapped the screen.

It was from two nights ago: their room, soft lighting, Cait’s fingers splayed across your bare stomach, Vi’s hands on your breasts. The photo was angled from above, beautifully framed, almost cinematic. You remembered that moment. You remembered saying yes.

A knock on your door broke you out of it. Heading over, you opened the door for Powder.

“Hey, babe!” she greeted cheerfully. Holding up a bag of snacks and drinks, she stepped inside. “Ready for that new season?”

The two of you lay together on your bed, her phone connected to a mini projector, casting the TV show onto your ceiling. The volume wasn’t too loud – you were still paranoid about a formal noise complaint, even though the three of you had stopped having sex in your room. Cait had added you to her Uber account, so you go over whenever you wanted, her family's card footing the bill.

Your phone buzzed every so often, but you ignored it. It was most likely Cait, sending you more things. You couldn’t open those messages next to Powder!

After about the tenth buzz, Powder paused the show.

“Just answer that, would you?” she teased, sitting up and getting a drink.

You sat up too, turning a little so she wouldn’t be able to see your screen. You were right, it was Cait. And the photos were rather intimate. She’d sent a few photos, but also made some GIFs from videos. Your own body parts and theirs filled your group chat.

“What are you looking at?” Powder asked teasingly, seeing your blushing face.

You held your phone against your chest. “Nothing!”

“I don't think ‘nothing’ makes people blush like that. Oh wait, is it Vi?” she grimaced.

“No. No, it's Cait.”

“What's going on?”

“Just some pics.”

Powder oooh'd playfully. “What kind of pics? Naughty pics?”

You blushed. “Maybe. Of us.”

“Of you? Together?” You nodded. “Like, sex pics?”

“Uh, yeah,” you laughed nervously.

“Oh my god, show me! Nothing with Vi in it!”

Your eyes widened. “Really? You want to see that?”

“I bet you look hot! C'mon, show me,” she winked.

You supposed one pic couldn't hurt. You held your phone close to you, so Powder couldn't see – to which she groaned dramatically and looked away – and looked through all the pics Cait had shared with you over the weeks. You flicked through, looking for one that was either just you or just you and Cait.

You found one, turning your phone to Powder. “For both our sakes, don't swipe!”

“Alright, alright, jeez...”

The pic you'd selected was of you and Cait. You both knelt on the bed in front of the large floor-length mirror, her front pressed to your back as she filled you with a strap. You couldn’t see her breasts or pelvis, only her side profile, so you’d felt comfortable showing Powder. Her hand closest to the mirror held the phone by her side, her other hand turning your face to the mirror and the phone. She was smiling, you looked blissfully fucked out.

“Wow! Holy shit, Y/N, you're gorgeous! Look at your tits, they’re so perky. Why do you hide them under those clothes?”

You blushed but enjoyed the compliments.

“What's that?” Powder asked, zooming in on the image.

“Don't zoom in! You might see something you don't want to see! What if Vi’s in the background?”

“Well, what's that? Is it a camera?”

Your head shot up, grabbing the phone from her. You squinted at the zoomed in image. Your slightly old phone didn't cope very well with the pixels but even you could tell what you were looking at. In the back of the room, obscured on a shelf in the back, was undeniably a small camera. Pointed directly at the bed, a small red pixel above the lens. Had the camera been recording? You remember that day, Cait hadn’t said anything recording videos, she only asked for that one photo.

“You guys record too? Jeez, I don't even want to imagine what footage you have. You could probably make a fortune online though.”

You felt sick.

And you continued to feel sick for days. You felt like there were bugs crawling all over your skin, and your stomach twisted and flipped anytime you thought of the women. You'd successfully avoided them since you made the discovery of the camera in the background of that photo, telling them you’d caught a stomach bug and were recovering in your dorm. They wished you well but didn’t come over, though Cait had sent a courier with rehydration meds, anti-nausea pills, and some food packs.

Since then, you'd spent hours trawling over every frame in every photo and video Cait and Vi had sent you. You didn't find any other cameras, but some of the files felt off to you. You couldn't always remember when they'd been taken.

Most of them, like the one with you and Cait on the bed, you definitely remember happening. You remember seeing one of them pick up the phone or camera, ask you if they could take something, and the files matched what you'd been doing in the moment. But some other files...You weren't sure you remembered. One video was you on your back, Vi riding your face as you fucked yourself with a toy. Cait had been with you, but she had supposedly been pleasuring herself too, not taking videos of you. Some photos of either woman using a strap on you, normally with your ass up, face buried in a pillow or the covers.

Like you hadn't known the camera was there.

You went to the coffee shop early one morning, hoping to get your mind off those images. You knew it was too early for Vi or Cait to be on campus; on Thursdays their first class was at 11 and they stayed home until then.

You sat at your usual corner table, quietly and miserably reading a textbook, trying to get back into your study habits, when a soft accented voice spoke.

“Sorry to bother you; are you Y/N?”

You looked up, really not wanting to talk to the pretty redhead with freckles. “Can I help you?”

“Sorry, we haven't met before. I'm Maddie. Can we talk?”

@sevikas-whore, @djstinkyfartz, @jinririz, @abbyandcaitlover, @ayuxiru, @bebeluvvv, @youdoyou-andiwilldome, @kittymrtnezz69, @wyprettylilone, @jlb20416, @autisticratbagtm, @theoreticalfreak, @riotstemple29, @zaunite-516

#arcane #vi arcane #arcane vi x reader #vi x reader #arcane au #arcane league of legends #arcane violet #their little plaything #caitlyn x reader #vi and caitlyn #caitlyn kiramman #caitvi #caitlyn arcane #caitlyn x vi

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valentinegab3 · 1 year ago

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BTS story recommendations

This is a list of fics I have personally read and a mix of fics I still have to read. It will continuously be updated with new quality fics that I read or see on my for you page. All of these are so good and the authors are absolutely amazing writers. I hope you enjoy!

a - angst | s - smut | f - fluff

Jungkook

Never Been a Friend > brother's bsf!jk, bratty!reader

Raven Unit @themfchase - Series [6/6] | 60.9k | political au, taskforce au, war crime, suspense, feat OT7, president’s daughter!OC, soldier!jungkook | s, a, f

The Good Soldier@thewanderingalias - Series [12/12] | 44k | military au, war au, medic!reader, sergeant!jungkook | a , s (heavy angst, minor char ☠️)

We Can't Be Friends @joonberriess - Oneshot | 9.8k | exes to lovers | a , s

Coquet @shina913 -Series [11/11] | 77.7k | Escort!JJK x Fem-reader, Fake-dating!AU; Strangers to lovers | f , a , s

Just Take It @ahgasegotarmy116 - Series [6/7] | Inexperienced f!reader x Best Friend's Dad Jungkook (20 year age gap), cheating, pregnancy | s, a

Horny for My Bestie @jkslipppiercing - Oneshot | 8.5k | Bsf!oc, horny!jk. | s , a

Dont get attached @xoxomoonlightxoxo -Series | 6.8k | ex-boyfriend jungkook x y/n, toxic relationship, cheating, attachment issues, possessiveness | s , a

Strictly Platonic @jeonqkooks - Oneshot | 19.4k | best friends to lovers, college au, fake dating au | f , a , s

Lonely Hearts Club @joonbird - Oneshot | 18k | tattoo artist au, angst, smut, dystopian/sci-fi AU | A , s ( I dont think this ever got completed so if you enjoy open ended stories this is your cup of tea)

Lemon Sherbet @extravaguk - Oneshot | 15k | summer!au, ex highschool classmates, kinda frenemies to lovers, tattoo artist/piercing artist!junkook, popular!reader | f , a , s

Set On You @bymoonchild - Oneshot | 18.1k | volleyball!AU, college!AU, setter Jungkook x manager reader | f , s

Cat Got Your Tongue? @jessikahathaway - Oneshot | 18.1k | College!AU, FWB to Lovers, Romance | s , little bit of a

The Reaper @deepdarkdelights - Oneshot | 14k | Yandere Mercenary Jungkook x Reader | s

Está Dañada @aquagustd - Oneshot | 20k | neighbor au, slow burn, singer!JK, strong language, pining, dog dad JK, really soft JK, toxic relationship + mentions of infidelity (not between Y/N & JK) | S , a , f

Stay @lolabangtan - series [16/16] | 155k | mutual pining, jock!Jungkook, ex queen bee!noona reader, college AU, enemies to lovers, roommates AU, side Jimin x OC, fake dating, pining, bets, slow burn, forced proximity.| s , a

Tantalizing @littlemisskookie - Series [ 8/8] | 48.3k | Past highschool classmates in college, fwb!jungkook and nerd!reader | a , s

Microwave (Mis)adventures @bymoonchild - Oneshot | 20k | college!AU, roommates/housemates!AU, enemies to lovers!AU, | f, a , s

Cruel Intentions @explicit-tae - Series [5/5] | 80.7k | Mafia!Jungkook, x reader, yandere themes | s , a

The Devil's Change Up @jungblue - Oneshot | 41.3k | Pitcher!Jungkook x reader, baseball player au, college | s , f , a

Candles & Flames @taegularities - Series [4/4] | 100.8k | enemies to lovers, royal!au, fake dating, fuckboy!jk, royal!jk, lies, jealousy | a , f , s

Employed @personasintro - Series [tbd] | tbd | ceo!jungkook x reader, enemies to lovers | a , s , f

The Art of War More @kpopfanfictrash - Oneshot | 42.4k | Jungkook x reader, Enemies to Lovers/ College!AU, Hockey!AU, | a , s , f

⭐Ideations Concerning Real Life Relations @venusiangguk - Oneshot | 40.9k | jungkook x reader / fuckboy!jk x hopeless romantic!oc, heartbreak | ANGST, s , tiny f

Safety Net @pradaksj - Series [2/2] | 40k | Jungkook x reader, enemies to friends, friends to lovers, roommates au, boxer!jk, pining | a , s , f

After I left You @latetaektalk - Oneshot | 38.9k | Jungkook x reader, exes!AU, fake dating!AU, enemies to lovers-ish!AU, unrequited feelings-ish!AU. | a , f

Glitter and Disquiet @joheunsaram - Series [2/2] | 38.8k | ceo!Jungkook x youtuber!Reader, chaebol!au, virgin!Jungkook, open relationships | a , s , f

It Takes Two @junghelioseok - Oneshot | 29.8k | fake dating!au, roommate!au | s , a , f

A Holiday Snowdown @kpopfanfictrash - Oneshot | 36.3k | Jungkook x reader, Enemies to Lovers, Ski Resort!AU, Snowboarder!AU | s , a , f

How To Get A Guy @taeshobipop - Series [2/2] | 35.9k | Jungkook x Reader | [slight] Yoongi x Reader, roommates!au, college!au, fuckboi!jk, enemies to friends to lovers, basketball player!Jungkook, basketball captain!Yoongi | a , s , f

Twelve Hours @whatifyoulivelikethat - Series [2/2] | 23k | jungkook x reader; implied taehyung x reader, film director!Jungkook x wealthy, burlesque dancer!reader — ft best man, art trader!Kim Taehyung; dancer's bodyguard!Kim Namjoon and bodyguard!Kim Seokjin. Distantly knew eachother since highschool. | s , a , f

Airplane, pt.2 @xjoonchildx - Series [6/6] | 22.4k | criminal!jk, koreanamerican! jungkook, unrealistic af but good | s

By It's Cover @gimmesumsuga - Oneshot | 21k | jungkook x reader | s

ungodly hour (six parts) + drabble @explicit-tae - Series | 21.5k| Jungkook x reader | s

Hidden Stars @jungblue - Series [5/5+] completed | 37.4k | jungkook x reader, idol!AU | a , s

Lost and Found @kooktrash - Oneshot | 18.7k | Jungkook x reader, mid-20’s friendships | s, a

And They Were Roommates @hoseok666 - Series [6/7] In progress | 70.5k | jungkook x reader/taehyung x reader strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, college!jungkook AU, college!taehyung AU, tsundere! jungkook, warm personality taehyung, slowburn | a , s, f

Chasing Cars @oddinary4bts - Series [7.5/17] |182.9k| jungkook x reader brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader, Hoseok x female reader, Namjoon x OC, Jin x OC, Jimin x OC, Taehyung x OC and others. | a, s

Falling @starshapedkookie - Oneshot | 31.4k | jungkook x female reader, soulmate/destiny au, college au, photographer jungkook, | a, s, f

Love Alive @jamaisjoons - Oneshot | 17k | Jungkook x reader, post break up au. exes to lovers au | A, s, f

⭐Falling Skies @fortunexkookie - Series [6/6] | 50k | Jungkook x reader Angst / Hurt and Comfort / Grief and Coping / Fluff / Smut / Frienemies to Lovers | s, f, a

Sugarplum Elegy @bymoonchild -Oneshot | 17.9k | Junkook x reader, College!AU, Idiots to lovers!AU, FWB!AU, Soundcloud singer!AU, pining, constipated feelings, emotionally constipated Jungkook | s, a, f

Neighbor Blunder @awrkive - Series [undetermined] | 17.8k | neighbor!jungkook x reader, bff!jimin, accountant!oc software engineer!jk, jk and jimin are chaebols lol, mature language. | a, f, s

I Need You @smoljimjim - Series IP [32/39] | 82k+ | married dilfJK x OC named Siri, strangers-friends-lovers, cheating au, slow burn romance, happy ending | a, f, s

Espresso @joonberriess - Oneshot | 14.6k | boxer!jk x idol!OC , jealous!jk, possessive!jk, oc’s a pillow princess | f, s

Obsession @94blazed - Twoshot [2/2] | 21.8k | Seven wednesday jungkook x reader. Fwb!jungkook, ft. Jungkook's ex. | s, f, a

For The Birds @yoonieper - Series IP [1/14+] | 12.6k + | Jungkook x reader, cheating, toxic jk, slow burn, CEO jungkook, fluff | a, s, f

Cold Nights & Blurred Lines @awrkive - Oneshot | 26.6k | Basketball player Jungkook x reader

Jimin

Peaches & Piercings @jkangelic - Oneshot | 20k | cheerleader!reader x punk!jimin, punk!jimin, e2l, college au, jimin is a whole asshole. | s, a

Lover to lean on @sketchguk - Oneshot | 20k | neighbor!jimin x florist!reader, neighbor AU, flower shop AU, pining, unrequited love 🤔| s , f , a

[Unnamed] @honeymoonjin - Oneshot | 25k | jimin x reader roomates, cabin in amazon rainforest, shy young graduate student!jimin, butterfly studying, subby jimin | f , a , s

Oh, What a World @cutechim - Series [16/16] | 140k+ | f. lawyer!reader x solo artist!jimin, fake marriage au, fallen idol au, fuckboy!jimin, possesive!jimin, unrequited feelings | f , a , s

Believe it @writtenwhalien - Oneshot | 28.7k | mechanic!jimin x reader friends to enemies to lovers (it’s more complicated though) | (high school + bet AU) | f , s , a

Florezco @honeymoonjin - Oneshot | 25k | Jimin x reader, cabin roommate, college graduate jimin studying the forest | f, a, s

Remote Access @fortunexkookie - Oneshot | 11k | Jimin x Reader | AU: Sex Worker AU + Roommates AU + Enemies to Lovers | s, a, f

All that Glitters @deepdarkdelights - Oneshot | 19k | Soft(ish) Yandere Jimin x Reader, 18+, Yandere, Obsession, Fear, Non-Consensual Touching, Symptoms of Panic/Anxiety, Stalking, Murder, Blood, Abandonment Issues, Attempted Sexual Assault (Not By Jimin), Tsundere Reader, Insinuation of Smut (It’s spicy just not very descriptive),Bullying | s?

Lover to Lean On by @sketchguk - Oneshot | 20k | neighbor!jimin x florist!reader, neighbor AU, flower shop AU, explicit language, pining, unrequited love 🤔, accidental voyeurism, unhealthy eating/sleeping habits, praise kink, body worship | a , s

Failure to Communicate @stutterfly - Oneshot | 21k | Jimin x reader, Enemies to Lovers/ College AU/ comedy | s

Blue Blood @joonbird - Oneshot | 26k | Jimin x reader, royalty au, slowburn, drama, angsty | s, a

Into the Wilderness @gukyi - Oneshot | 27k | Jimin x reader, camp counselor!au, unrequited love!au, friends to lovers!auunrequited love, camp shenanigans, awkwardness, secondhand embarrassment/hurt, ot7 cameos | a, f

Lets Get Quizzical @taleasnewastime - Oneshot | 28.6k | Jimin x reader, friends to lovers | A, s, f

Taehyung

Exchanging Heat @jinfizz - Oneshot | 25.1k| Korean exchange/visiting student!Taehyung x (slight) tsundere!reader, mutual pining, slow burn, S2L, college au | f , s , a

The Good Boy @jkeuphoriadreamland - Series [9/9] | 43.1k | Taehyung x reader, Librarian! Taehyung, Yandere!Taehyung/ Obsessive!Taehyung, heavy flirting, unexpected advances, pining, stalking, possesive themes | s

Love Me Or We Both Go Down @gukyi - Oneshot | 32k | Kim Taehyung x female reader, enemies to lovers!au, arranged marriage!au, rich kids!au | s, a, f

Ruined @taegularities - Oneshot | 24.4k | Taehyung x female reader, strangers to lovers, fuckboy!tae, pining | a, f, s

All I Want For Christmas Is You @ladyartemesia - Oneshot | 17k | Kim Taehyung x Female Reader, Brother’s Best Friend (Reader is Jimin’s Sister) • Enemies-to-Lovers, jealousy and possessiveness | f, s

Seokjin

the ex not missed @kithtaehyung - oneshot | 26.9k | romcom ; holiday au, strangers to lovers au, fake dating au | a , f , s

1K notes · View notes

edenspoem · 1 year ago

Text

copy that, romeo

— ellie williams was supposed to be your supervisor, not your object of infatuation ~ ♡

⋆❝ this is cordero tower, calling in.❞⋆

CHAPTER ONE: SUMMERTIME INTERLUDE . NEXT CHAPTER > ♡. pair; firewatcher!ellie x recruit!reader

♡. summary; it's 1995, and the angel crater national park welcomes you; a retrograde lookout all to yourself, a space nerd for a supervisor, and a whole summertime job spent in hues of sepia and juniper, waiting for the first sign of smoke. ninety–three days. you don't know her face, you share no breath— but by walkie–talkie, you know her voice.

♡. a/n; READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. CLICK HERE. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS. ALSO THIS.

♡. content; EVENTUAL SMUT, narrator present, silly fourth wall breaking, a dash of comedy, slowburn (somewhat), living alone, long–distance pining, reader/characters are similar ages(mid–late 20s), depression, heavy metaphor usage, complicated poetry styles, mentions of organs, mentions of weaponry, metaphorical death, grim humor, drinking alcohol, drunk!ellie, drunken flirting (vaguely and bluntly), ellie jumpscare, uh-oh sassy masc apocalypse, she's corny and cheesy too (a dork), awkwardness, humiliation, lighthearted bickering, nicknames used. [lmk if i missed anything] . SERIES PLAYLIST .

WC; 6.1k+ ✮ thank you @trackinglessons for your sexy brain and beautiful ideas + custom art ✮ masterlist ✮ series masterlist ✮ ellie ref sheet

Summertime is the interlude between misery and Mondays.

May was a rough patch for you. A coagulated chapter within the spring world, a shunned ponder, red jello in the gradience of passage. Tempus, time. Early months hence were just as pessimizing, doubt is an arid reservoir in you. But, as a maypole sits a svelte giant in the sweet Beltane soil, braving an invisible smile whilst little ones— little laughters, spun prances and wraps of dainty satin to an ensnare on its long body, it weeped for its delicate capture. You; flesh coarse like timber, relate to the log standing, ensnared. Sunk in that gelatinous texture, unmoving as pressures collided with the surface outward, ripples everywhere yet incapable of sprinkling through you. Something would have to delve itself to drag you out.

Chapters; cusp of autumn to April, every single month, wound ‘round you. They each had separating colors, and spared turns to soundly fold your limbs and bulge your skin in ribbons. It snipped your circulation, shriveled the ripe breath in your skull and traded it for a pressure. A throb. Weight upon the cranium, you felt the narrowing cradle inside wilt from thought, drain from consciousness, and soften your stiff eyes locked on drywall. Hour to hour.

But those weren't the only things taunting you with a dance— expectations danced faster. Expectators, paired minds heaping expectations; yourself and the selves blackjacking their wants expressed as worries onto you. Stressful creatures, they are. Bosses, co–workers, energy vampires disguised as lover boys prowling about your workspace, general creatures of the retail world. God, they're like ravenous wolves snarling hunger through their teeth, slobber moonlight–bright of that dire carnality for variety meats. Depression just took the first serving before they could.

Even the domesticated places are a wilderness untamed.

Stress drained you of life. It softened your desire to even try. Gods are dulling, blamed you, on another dull morning where the trickling sound of coffee pouring drilled irk into your ears, rather than simply a trickle. Caffeine, a roast so void–black was brewed to un–drain you. Yet, it fuckin didn't.

Impugning was your everything, until it could no longer purify; Elaine. Emptiness. Hmm, you gave this state of vacuum–headed hollowness a name, keenly because it deserved so by its dismantling of your autonomy. You don't want it. It's not you. It's Elaine. A some–angel fallen out of grace, weary of its wander upon a washed up cove, beige toned and swept shivering–cold. Interested by the warmth your sundry organs pushed into its light silhouette.

And perhaps, if the bird was never freed from its heavenly cage, it would be powerless to pester you, to poke the meat inside with the pointy end of plumage.

Elaine was an organized assault on your wellbeing, moreso against the pulpy, pinkish-gray blob sitting ugly above your throat. Believe it, or assume it. A paralysis, moving shoulders from bed sheets proved farcical, running bristles over your teeth twice a day rhymes with nonsense, and midnight ink born to swirl and curtsy to convey thoughts gone rancid, goes unused atop the white flutter between your journal hardcovers. You have a morbid case of the seasonal blues, except this time, the season is beyond its blue hues. Spring, a fuckin’ kaleidoscope embellished. Blotches of big fuck you greens so vibrant you'd long to die from your tears, and an abstract spit of smell me reds thorny as your stomach brought to a scream for something. Anything.

It was a slow, banal descent into the jello.

January, floating atop the sweet delicacy, atop your bed.

February, the solidity gave out beneath you, goo subtly etching around your ankles, calves, elbows, unforgivingly cold when it first hit. When in reality, the bed was heating from your lay.

March, marrow goes heavy, your limbs at this time could not lift, your efforts waned, and satiating the rumble in you with sustenance was forgotten, as that rumble got so, so.. quiet.

April, the jello had stuffed your nose, your sockets, and lullabied your ligaments. You let it happen.

May.

You let yourself sink. Let yourself decompose and go mush in the head. Like a zombie.

The descent doesn't taste of sweet delight, but it also fails to churn your lips with a heavy saccharinity. Neutral, your hopeful side did say. Nothing, rationality slapped past your lips.

Five months, either a misery, or a Monday.

Yes Eve, a bite out of the Apocrypha will indeed fill this human abysm in me. Forbidden knowledge is my craving. Contraband of truth, bite to bite, I envy that I could not cope with its coating of my empty gut earlier.

Innocence is so dull. You are depressed, not a fucking saint for staying indoors, starving your rage.

But on came a crisp bouquet of biker–boy newspapers; ‘Hiring’, and a few scans further; ‘Do you harness a great love for the evergreen?’

A honed section in Missoula's local print— jobs. A publisher boldens and compresses enthusiasm sporadically; writing–on–the–wall hollers speckle themselves meticulously on the newsprint that strike a sense of obligation into the susceptible and soft–of–heart chunk of the population. A pert voice read with persuasion between your ears, gritty in tone and stereotypical of a middle aged ranger, vocals fried by cigarettes but as booming as a cannon.

“Do you care for the animals inhabiting our national sanctuaries?”

Abutting small paragraphs, the sagging belly of a black bear, tender caramel snout and snoopy–faced, fitted on its head a mustard yellow campaign hat labeled, ‘Smokey’. Its burly, blundering frame on all fours stood out over a comic–style vista of the Montana rockies, paws obscured by blocks of thickset text reading ‘Only you’.

Huh, a realistic depiction of Smokey Bear— over a not–so–realistic background, avant–garde.

Tree greens sprawly that didn't shout ‘Fuck you’ on your poor, sunken eyes searing for sleep and a twilight darkness. Sagey lichens that didn't draw out the spasms above your own bones, calling your regard to bring pin–sized problems and blemishes sprawling your own flesh out of the bliss of ignorance. Brunette muds with only a fleck of sun, a slice of earth dull, humble and unprocessed enough from benevolence to leave you unconsumed, unsunken. A mere slop and pudge in the future and wake of your walk. Nothing obnoxiously grand, nothing sanctimonious. Nature is by birth— righteous, regardless.

“Before we can be proud of our nation, our nation must be proud of us!”

The advertisement gropes for a summertime made free. A cyclopean sinkhole in the becoming of time. Recruits–in–waiting are called to bargain normalcy and the bustling cities plump with lumbering limbs of sheen–tight pantyhose shaded under short shapes of plaid skirts for boot–cuts n’ backpacks hefty with gear that could either save you the trouble of mountaineering by path, or trouble your time with a faulty snapping of two things. Rope and neck.

Too grim?

A months’–long moment of tension snapped at the pressure joint— Summertime the snapper. You'd be devoting ninety–three suns, ninety–two moons, and some two–million breaths of fir laden air up in Angel Crater National Park, northwest of here. Pupils flickering the double-page setup, you continue: A pictographic, old–fashioned lookout taller than the timber spires surrounding would be your station, your core of operations, for those three young and sunny months. Boxed provisions and supplies are guaranteed to ship every other week, and testimonies encourage even the anxious, balmy buzzes of your brain to sigh in solace learning that the weald creatures there— are mostly harmless, if you aren't bred an imbecile. Alongside, an appointed supervisor, whose name was never disclosed duly except for a scratch of text gingerly clasped in quotations reading, “E.R.W” trailing the mention of said supervisor. What’s required of you was delivered plain written and patent on that shoddy newspaper, held thick in your intrigued thumbs; Keep the forest from catching wild fire.

You fiddled the idea. Should I? Or should I wallow the summer away? Fiddled it anxiously, fiddled it needily, bumped the clumped rim of the newsprint on your cupid's bow in bending rumination, steadied it cause newspaper smells oddly good— but next to minutes racing hours upon musing, a conclusion had to knock your static looping of gloomdom in the butt.

One phone call, and the bird would be barred again. Pesterer, Elaine the Terrible, would be cast back where eyes can't roll over the cottony clouds. Just a couple fucking prods to your number–pad, might genuinely un–drain you.

Luckily, you aren't an idiot reared to take bullshit longer than meritted.

You took the job.

May 30th, 1995, 7:28 PM.

What does any clever pedestrian traipsing capricious terrain store in their pack to avoid total gangly–branch–grips–of–nature butchery?

Item one; Black nylons— scratch that, you aren't getting paid to snag at every kink and curl of the forest, tighties of gossamery fabrics are a no–go. Citywear stays citywear. Double scratch on those sweet, blackberry Mary Janes too prized and polished to muck up in shit of the earth. Immolating the rigid underside of some chunky hiking boots to the unruly woodlands is the adrenaline pinnacle of out–worlding, come on. It proves you've got a hardy backbone and the right row of teeth to chew what you've bitten off, sullying boots ‘till the color is forevermore stained. Backup boots are tradition, so that's item number two. Best get used to cargo, ankle–length overalls and miscellaneous graphic tees, cause the rockies’ fashion gurus can't get enough of ‘em!

Clothing, check.

Swathes of ropes twined pumpkiny orange and plenty of clanging anchors to bolt them in, goddesses and gods forbid you be tight on anchors. Medical kits— duh, did you trudge all from yonder just to die out here? This country is dicey, at the cuddly claw of a bear, or not. Hair ties, scrunchies you hoarded as a teenager in the eighties, disposable camera to suit your flaky memories, and an eclectic dump of nutty and fruity cereal bars galore. Unless you're allergic. Substitute.

Accessories and essentials, check.

Ah, and a spare pistol and switchblade in replacement of newcomer paranoia! Keep that hush–hush though. No matches or lighters, obviously.

True American, illegal weaponry, check.

All this paraphernalia bangs and clangs heavily on the polyester holding of your backpack, straining your scruff uncomfortably as you tiptoe, scarcely tumble, and tread lightly across a log. It creaks, it groans, it wobbles slightly over the blaring white rush of a stream, suctioning your heart–to–stomach when it grinds a wee bit louder than you thought it should.

“Shit!” you crimp your torso in and dart wary hands on the timber beam at your feet, assuming a gawky newborn–bambi–pose in hesitation, shuddering in cracked tones, “This can't be the right way..”

Hoping on an evaporated sun, you frazzlingly testify in repetitive thought that the map mailed by the rangers a week prior led you on this perilous and incorrect path.. for the last two days. Winding and wounding, literally— your bruises are measureless and on top of that ache your skin to want no more of this. But, you have to. A boulevard of brown, short and stout, wrung unyielding from one gray side to the greener other, a shortcut. Assumed to be a shortcut, based on the route drawn by utter confusion.

Oh yeah, and remember the advertisement stating the park was twenty-five miles out?

Nothing about that hot-press, black-cat inked newspaper accounted for the extra eight weighing your ankles down and your motivation dead low. Twenty-five only stretched out unto the ranger parking lot. The entrance, for fuck's sake.

Shaky flit of your digits, they float gently off the carve–veined surface of the wood, unfolding your spine as you rise. “Wrong way—” you utter to your chest, oven–warm as it puffs, “—gotta be the wrong..”

Tentative–ism is normal here, right? Like, no way you're cautious and sweating at the brow for nothing. Right?

One foot— creeakkk— in front of the prudent other, two sailing lunges, three hurried hops and a matched thud soft as marshmallows plants your shoes to hallowed ground. Blades of verdant whiskers so innocent crush under, and it feels fucking— demeaning, actually. All that gulping and pausing.. for nothing.

You tuck a shoulder–glance to the makeshift ricket of a bridge, and blankface, “Didn't feel like killing me today?”

The tree bears no reply.

“Hmph, surprising. Seeing as someone killed you,” a sigh parts, fading into the whip and straightening of your head, “figured the pursuit of revenge doesn't stop at ghosts.” and the hoist of your boot up, carrying onward.

Sundown paints, crescent layers repose approaching moonlight and dying sunlight sprawls psychedelic limbs above you. Balance ambling in tiny bops only made the swirling grasp of those gradient rays more trippy on your eyes and coercive of daydreams, rot–nip for the brain. You spot nutbrown brick— a fireplace in your mind, fevered heat roasting on the inside wall of your forehead too. It was Christmas before the storm, a subzero December. And it was, in fact, colder than the unreachable heaven. Dad was hunkered down in front of that innocuous amber crackle, his right leg slack to the ground and his left arched in the neck of an acoustic guitar, arms plaiting its hollow curve into his chest. 1971, when the veil through and within was thin, and love–vomit poured so easily through. A time of justified ignorance; Childhood.

Stood you adjacently, legs short and posolutely not stout, dimpled in the knees. Aged two years, and mushy as ambrosia, contorting your mouth jubilant as you're told for the camera, contrary to your father with his expression drooping to his strumming fingers. Sickly sweets, adult–you unpurposefully neglects to twirl lips at, your extraordinary grins now turned ordinary flat–lines. Holiday memoirs, those spoiled ripe quick after adulthood bolted itself in the slabs of your tender spine and instilled an artificial love for labor and country, displacing nostalgia from ever being seen as a flesh existence.

“Say cheese!”

America is sub–human, and sub–humans created America, the imperfect cycle. Families tear, eagles outcry, friends drink their death, and the days continue to unfold without a trace of acknowledgement. Days exist where you soak festivities and stave off the pointer–finger poking at so called slack you relish, and some twenty dwindling years ahead the slowly deadening oak grove road, carousals will be criminally known as layabout–makers.

Joy is a luxury now.

A blockage prevents your foot from winching clean forward, meeting the bone–hard kiss of a boulder to sore your toes. “Fuck!” you brand your throat walls to a shout, pissed at the rock rather than your woolgather that lead you to said rock, “Fucking fuckhead rock!”

Woolgather means daydreams, by the way. Funner to use words that don't make a split of sense. Yay for English.

The sunset clouds dripped with a mania of fascination and had strung your brain to its hypnotic whims, like a siren had soloed a trance, drifting your mind somewhere utopian and phantasmagorical. It sounds silly, but, blanking out seems so often out of grasp from your control, you usually could never flag what caused it, when it started, and why. Nothing practical surfaces. Fuck, your head is so tangled upon memories, you haven't even noticed the progression of scenery twelve o’clock from you.

Ponderosa boughs band together where your eyes brush shapes and forage for a clue of what scene wants to greet you ahead. The sequestering silence of rustles indicates a clearing, possibly. Possible as it could be, you fully expected this cruel footslog to wallop your ass into a minefield, so you bet cards and course carefully beneath the crowns of pine, completely bent to the chance of another obstacle threatening your tender ankles. Leafy whispers above strum your ears brimmed with its sotto voce song, and then— colors it silently behind.

“Holy shit.”

Presence crumbles above you, and opens before you. The lookout. Wood shafts slant in opposing directions, up and up along four brawny beams in three consecutive layers, like a blocky cone. The face closest to you overlaps the backing rest, giving the illusion of tufted wooden legs sketched under all lackadaisical. Endgame daylight spies from behind this one–roomed cyclops, gushing final spurts of citrus rays as if it truly was an orange squeezed to pulp. So, the flank and forehead of that towering, mountainscaping lookout rolling a cold shoulder to the sun, paves in a tattered tapestry of garnet smokiness instead. Shadow of sundown. From where you sow feet, a football field apart, petty details are difficult to squint into clarity, but the window panes appear tawny, too.

An intimidation, “So much for a tiny room.” A beaute intimidation, “And no actual bathroom.” it makes you feel like a genuine insect compared.

A sort of stairwell serpent faintly chokes the foot, the calves, the thighs, and punctures kindly a mouth leading up to the skirting balcony hedged in many gaunt teeth. Tamping gravel closer, subtleties and fine points fade as the tower's plank–lined and flat underbelly turns to you. Larger and larger, it dips darkly from miniscule masquerade.

Bringing your decently aching foot to the first step, you press into the curb and meander your cruder aching— thanks to a random boulder— foot weirdly on the outer ridge of your boot. Making it up the stairs to fund yourself a fucking break was a palpable mockery in itself. Like, ‘Hey! Climb this long–ass stairwell for a teensy break before doing it all over again the next day!’.

Un–fucking–believable.

Fifty years of history and past rangers grate in your walk, the floorboards thump with their stories, thump into your skin— verse you a wordless eulogy. Each step is a sentence, and every sentence branches into a whole tree of genealogy, lives. Lifestyles you can't understand now, but will.

Really redundant of me to highlight the generations alive in those floorboards. The walk up there isn’t that exciting.

After the last step, you're met eye–to–frame with a scratched door, pygmy window centered and paper–screened from within, and the stories predating your stay inspire a comical theory, “Jeez— bears make it up here?” you half–suppress a snort, palming a fist on the doorknob coldly before rotating and giving sympathetic pressure to the door.. jammed.

“C’mon..” knuckles pulse into the knobs plate, gradually upping the force you pushed, “.. losing light out here..” eventually adding your other hand to sweeten the push.

Sure, a whole year has gone by since it homed somebody, and it's retro, but come on.

Breaking splinters into the door was your last intention, so you try so–so carefully— to some extent, “Please..” now butting the tip of your boot on the rim to ease it— ease, and finally pry, a clapback of wind blowing dusty, nightfall air past your crescent cheeks following the snap of the fallow door.

Thank goodness for your grace and balance, some days, avoiding a timely trip face–first to a floor so powdered in light dust, any kid would mistake it for a good time sweeping snow angels.

Not so good for the respiratory system though.

Muggy space filtering your lungs tightly, you cough out, “Gah— fuck!” nothing higher than the level of a guttural wheeze, your chest punching into your throat. Gaping out the last flock of butterflies clumped at your collarbones, the tickle inside calms, and you find your sights taking in a dark box. A dim orb of lily silver glow rests in the middle of the pall room, raising the natural, “Where's the ligh— ah, big clunky thing—”

Flicking the off–white and stubby nub attached to an impractically sized lightswitch, which frankly resembles an electric box externally, an essence of Apollo ladens the room. Lemony–gold light, passably bright off the redwood ceiling, and murmuring a low buzz through one ear, and out the other, your pupils caper along the contrasting shades awakened.

“Definitely retro, but.. no roommates.” spoke you, gingerly content with the colors piecing this camper pad together. You observe.

Forget–me–nots bled the cotton bedsheets baby blue, leavening the mattress with a tidy emotion as it's tucked, folded at the top and draped in a complimentary quilt— benevolent blues, hues your lids soften on. The bed beelined from the doorway, a corner counter fawn–brown as the wood extends adjacent to it, covering the northeastern angle of the room. Magpied brands of canned food clutter shelves, spines spanning thick books of epic poetry to sci–fi comics create a ribcage of literature along a compact bookcase perching that countertop, and sunken in the east side of it, a steel sink. It shimmered sunflower bands of light as you moved, a rainbow–arched faucet brightened completely.

Step by step, you draw near a circular table in the middle. Strange rods and gadgets stuck out of the borders, inlaid glass protecting a local map so sleek you could see a phantom of your face in it, and a black bar looming the width, so it rings with tangible importance. Of which you'll gauge about later. Truthfully, the journey by foot here? Dead–beating, your knees bloated, throbbed flesh hot, and almost buckled; fatigues infamous way of scolding you to sit the fuck—

“Sup Maple lake, you there?”

A pang hammers to your heart, and a crawlish wave of startled blood pales from your face and drops to your jaw, “Jesus!” sweat hitting you a blink after, every normal function just— flunked. That voice, more like a ruptured stereo sizzling, caught you the fuck off guard. Now you dither, dumbassery taking your eyes through a new loop of figuring out where–why–how and what the robotic intruder wants.

But pre–realizing, your ears perk to a more coherent, and outstretched string of static, “C'mon, know you're checked in.” and post–realization tugs your eyes to a mustardy n’ black cased device; a walkie–talkie.

Okay, way to creep recruits out. Whoever, for whatever reason— at the nick of night too, gimme’ a break. You wry, knitting raisin crinkles above your nose, trying to discern your palette of options; pick up the walkie, tap in and feign politeness in the shortest and sluggiest scraps of small talk to be done with the day, or rant off the bat— highlight how fucking late it is, and how taxing a double–goddamned–day hike made your head and patience feel. And right now, the second response route feels arguably more tempting than—

“This is Cordero Tower, calling in. Can see ya’ standing by the Osborne, by the way.”

Its staticy feedback has waned completely, densening a thick husk and tilting towards a honeyed undertone. Relaxed sounding or not, what the fuck.

You react predictably, flicking your chin west, then east only for you to meet the dead of night— thanks mountains— stalking perfectly in every single window. So, useless to check. Answering it was a yes–go, it would be sickenly awkward to thrust it under the rug now. Your knees pull forward, eyes calligraphing the power buttons tinted in cherry light, palm drawing to meet your focal point.

The case is ribbon gentle under your fingertips’ graze, fresh and in store–new condition. Maybe the only thing hot from the pot of newfangled technology. Plastic intricacies roll under until you settle on a swollen button, denting the plush of your finger as you press, hold, and speak. A crisp crackle activates your line, tuning you in.

Breath hesitates between your chords, “Maple.. lake.. speaking,” off–the–tongue words manifesting on–the–spot, “you can see me?”

“Yeah.” the walkie chuckles, sugary curl pitching up and through their tone, “Look out ur’ north window, you'll see her.”

Her?

Nooking your nose north, you only widen pupils on that same, starless coast of darkness nosing the rim of your window sills. What do they mean to—

“Nh–no,” You literally said north, “get closer to the window, n’ look up.” What, are you a fucking sparkling, rasp–voiced eagle?

“Fuck are you talking about,” mouthed you void of voice, stumped on what this person was getting at. Wedging your knuckles below the meshy underside of your backpacks right strap, you wrangle it down your arm as you glide rubbery sole along croaking oak, tossing that bag so cumbersome atop a lily white pillow— looking fresher than a daisy, and clamber the mattress pliantly dented to your knees to grasp a broader panorama.

And with that window hood washed over, a convoy of fireflies focus a tiny constellation in the murked glass. Little pinholes of light, dots in the distance. They rough–hew a blur, but the excess seconds taken to brood squints and balance the blurry blotches, an outline crops up. Another fire lookout, sprouting from rock and rise of a berg. Offspring of the distant cordillera that gives this whole park its sense of a cradled–woodland, but either way thought, a lookout hosts it home on top.

“You can see me from all the way out there?” you wondered, truly. I mean— at minimum, a sore sprawl of miles bridges you both.

“Mhm..” a pause loiters that fluid hum, then some really throaty syllables, “Binoculars~” you could almost envision— nah, feel the stare of those binocs, undoubtedly taking note of every contort in your body right now.

“Oh thats, totally.. not,” you blunt your tone, shying a few inches from the glass, “.. creepy.” awkwardly. “Uh, who are you anyways— are you like, uh, another recruit?” as you engage small talk, grumpy frown pouting, the habit of kissing your wrist to your jaw as you would a piglet–tailed telephone overruns your burnt out focus, having to wince the walkie away when your eardrums nearly burst.

Ouch.

“For one, I'm actually your supervisor. I know, I don't sound like a typical smoker–lunged, middle–aged white dude.” their tone gruffs and deepens to impersonate, finger air quotes practically radiating from the other end, “And two, my name is Ellie— Ellie Miller–Williams, if you care.”

“Don't.” you heave out the pain stretching your head, aching each time you simply thunk.

“Straightforward,” her timbre ups in approval, seemingly, “I like it. I like you, recruit I dunno’ the name of.” and a bubble hics her throat, quite audibly.

“Not single.” Wrong, just uninterested. Hooking two fingers in the fabric handle of your bag and craning it to the ground, with scattered grates of plastic buckles skating the floor.

“What?”

Oh, shit she wasn't— oops, ‘course she meant that platonically, heads so damn muggy, “Uh, it's—my name.. sorry I’m just a bit out of the loop—” Dumbass, unscramble your brain alphabet soup, will you?

“That’s a long ass name, what were your parents thinking? Haha.” Her duo–beat chuckle flares your humiliation, and then proceeds to pinch its swollen parts into total inflammation, “Where does it originate from?”

Cheesy bitch, “Can you not— I like, pfhh..” you temper yourself with a moon–cool blow to chap your lips and inflate your cheeks, ending up with a draw of an even more loosened tongue sour as it complains, “Did a whole two–day hike through the most torturous terrain just to get here, I really don't—”

Please.

And if gripes trudged through teeth aren't persuasive enough, you recess your bone–ache bod avidly in the springy haven of your bed which chirped at your weights shifting motions, collarbones packing down on your vocal chords. You shouldn't sound up to chat whatsoever. Instead, vehemently drained, “I just wanna get some shut eye, talk me over n’ the mornin’.” your thumb lying a button away from disconnecting.

“Hey, hey—” Ellie ushered, her slurry breath fogging up the mic. Lips squeak softly into it, smacking before an intone, “Can't I be a little curious?”

You synchronized in noise, sucking teeth behind heart–pursed lips, “Do you think somebody this exhausted has the appetite to entertain you?” stilling your thumb–pad on the power off key.

“If I keep bothering you,” that alone ticked you, her blatant drive to carry on when your brain rejected its substance, “.. yeah. Maybe you'll be nicer then too.. huph!” a heartier peep hicced up on the speaker, and right then that noise jogged a discovery.

“Are you drunk?” has to be.

Of course, she ignores the naked and sorely obvious, “Did your boyfriend break ur’ heart or something— an’ that's why you're out here?” bottle sloshing in the background of her mumble.

Dumbstruck, you furrow a miffy expression, “W–what, boyfriend?”

“Said you weren’t single.” she recalls, warmly unspinning the fuddle that knit your brows, “Think I forget so easily?” drawled like a sultry retort, baking your ears.

You a hundred percent forgot though.

Gosh, short–term memory sucks, or it's just your energy drought making you woozy. Blame it on lethargy, “No no, that was just.. tired talk. I thought you were hitting on me.”

“Oh? That's cute.” her choosing to say that latter statement unfolded discordantly, you seriously couldn’t gauge if that was a flirt, or another paper daisy— mock honey, a platonic notion. Even so, it sounded so damn smooth, lace to the ears. “But no, I wasn't— m'not like gay or ‘whutever.” stammered her, light snort fanning.

A stifled chuckle hops from your chest, mixing with hers, “Uhuh, cool.” halfway uncaring and halfway amused, bafflement working your facial muscles.

“Yeah, um, but seriously..” her voice drifts into a ponderous rasp, the faint rustles of flimsy paper licking page to page subtler than her speech, “what's got you out here, newbie?”

“Newbie. Really?” A brow pricks.

“I mean, you're new— new to the lookout, new to the job, in need of my phenomenal supervision and my wide range of knowledge. Yeah, a newbie.”

Then your brow mellows, tension held in your face dropping dead on backhanded flattery, “You are funnily agonizing.”

“Aw.” her scratchily suave coo has your jaw set like stone, “That's so sweet.” but her short–lived song has your heartstrings soaked in ripe honeycomb, touched to the core by sweetness nebulose and an assortment of some foreign threads. Thickened heart, tighter ribs, a churn to weaken your stomach, a maverick of things unfamiliar to you.

Momentaries, but still noticeable even if your senses were twisted backwards.

Chewing over how you'll begin to explain, a few letters sift through your chords, until you hook on a sigh, “Ah, well, I'm out here for a fuck ton of reasons—”

“Reasons, or— huhp, problems?” Ellie blurt–hics, nosy.

“..”

A brief gulp and exhale wheezes from her, “Sorry, it's the bourbons’— super good. Continue.”

You loosely split your mouth, gasping to exchange a gale for words pressing out, “A series of reasons, and problems, that I don't bother to lay on a grand platter, so you'll get a summary tossed on an appetizer plate.” you preface. Allow an elliptical gap to cut through, rousing her hum to let you know her ears are as intent–peaked as a Chihuahua’s, “Contact with my parents’ has gone cold, my last job made me want to hurl into a pack of crocodiles— and the city became too loud and too heavy–handed. Saw this job on the local paper, and got the hell out of dodge.”

An omissive summary, you meant.

There’s more that eats the heart. People can’t just.. drop the burden of knowledge wantonly on randos like they’re idling under fertile treetops waiting for the apples to plummet, biting into a pulpy biography. She’s just a girl, not a therapist.

A discomforted purr lengthens into her reply, “Mmmmh, ever try a drink or two?” her intoxicated reply.

“Oh, see,” you flap your hand and slap it to your denim clad thigh, “you are drunk.” as if she could even see your gesture.

“No, I’m Ellie, hmhm~” comes with a giggle, and you consider her state of insobriety to be— wavering, but it’s stimulating to hear her fluctuate between groaned jokes and extra raspy comments, “Still haven’t told me your name though.”

Some moments during this whole ‘Who are you?’ seminar made you concerned for your future here— if you’ll make it out psyche intact, but some moments found by winnowing through the illogical backtalk touched you with inbound camaraderie.

Invisible touches that inhabit your neck with a leak of your name so— sincerely. It transforms into a fairer sound on your ears when she repeats it, affirming it. Nobody else's teeth clutches your name so welcome as she.

“Hmm, ‘name kinda fits your voice.” odd commentary, but since composed with her already peculiar and drunken tongue, the shoe fits.

That said, crabby confusion seems easier to articulate, “Thanks, weirdo.” but lips rebellious, they press an inevitable grin together.

“No problem, sleepyhead.”

So many nicknames.

Recognizing that downtick in hubbubs and breaths on the walkie, checking out for the night posed as a passionate option the burden weighing your eyelids couldn't or shouldn't veto. So you haul your torso up, kick and poke your toes over ankles to butt your boots off prior planting your heels, whisking toward the lightswitch and committing your lookout to swell with the outside's dark fresco.

Stygian tones.

“Speaking of sleepy heads..” you taper off speech, leaving the rest to her— touch wood— wide enough, hopefully–not–drunk–enough imagination to fathom as you slide and slip desperately beneath woolen blankets, sleepy worries, and sentences sailed to rest.

“Aw man.” Ellie bums so, so stupidly, for comical value.

“Yeah, man.”

“Mpht—” wetness smacks, “wanted to bore a pretty girl to death with recruit regulations and syllabi..”

How would you know?

In reality, Ellie was reaching a transcendent caliber of wasted, drinking up your atmospherics and drunken to her gutly core. Woods hatch forlorn people; forlorn people get thirsty, “But, mhh, heads’ nearly falling off, whoof.” she expresses a soaring of vowels, but it parallels a gruff howl more.

Drowsy, buzzy jubilancy, plucking her flirty strums. You sugarcoat the flare in your chest hearing ‘pretty girl’, ears clicking to the swallow convincing your heart that Ellie was not flirting. As established; She’s under the influence, and not gay. Your brain repeats that, over and over, repeat, repeat, she isn’t flirting.

“Hey, here's a tip..” you inch the walkie a penny away from your flopped head, clefting your lip open, “Don't get drunk on the job. They didn't hire you to decoct your brain the day before chaperoning a recruit in the literal wilderness. So, stash that shit, n’ let's both get some shut eye, yeah?” and saying all that, may have just cashed in your last dose of breath and brain cells for the night.

Ellie being Ellie— well, what you suspect is a ‘her’ thing after these few speckled minutes, dopily laughs at you. And dammit if she wasn't glamoring a dopey smirk in accord, you’ll have gleaned wrong.

A voice, “Who’s the boss again?” her witty and cruel wisecrack, “They didn't pay you to boss the— hup, boss around.”

They will pay you to confront and reflect your spectrum of limits if this girl brushes their seams, that's for certain. Or, play God and lambast her, tender as milk.

There's even a stroke of a chance, that your crooked lips poached her dopey grin instead, “Kay, well, maybe they'll reimburse me for your poor services.”

“My services are not poor. You'll see, tomorrow.” the volume of her melts away, going muted under liquid swills clanging on glass.

“Please tell me that's the sound of you putting the bottle away.”

“Mhm!” came out plugged, the bottle confining her garble, then popping clean as a cork, “Fuck— okay,” she siphons air in, pure little clink tinting the end of her sharp–edged sniffle, “Make sleeping in earlier worth it t’morrow, wanna drive you nuts with my questions.” she nasals, drawing near the mic again.

Such a magpie, “Cause you're lonely?” and weird.

“Shut up,” she shushes you, a satin whisper light–hearted and quick on beat, “M’not lonely anymore, right?” The type of softly spoken outcry that would balloon your cheeks with soreness if you were face–to–face with the throat that conducts it. Involuntary smiles plague you everywhere. But there is no mouth, no larynx, no throat that you view the swallow of. Just a walkie, so you settle in stoicism.

You tug your upper–lip and pivot your eyes, drumming up something clever to combat, “In a sense. Not like we’re bunkmates, thank goodness.”

“Fuck you,” Ellie breaks into a cuss spout so serenely, she sounded small and harmless, “just go to bed.” reduced to birch in winter shed of its brittle autumn arguments.

“Don’t gotta tell me once.”

By the first full and emphatic giggle she cast just now that wasn’t suppressed nor achieved by humble pie, you take it that Ellie found you funnily harrowing just as her, two peas in an outstretched pod. Fault be with her, for getting wasted. Otherwise, you might have pried her skull open with questions dolled up as a pruner, clipping the forelimbs that are foliated in a messy breadth of first glance leaflets and attitudes until you piece it prettily, in a way that thralls you to never shrink your eyes back into their sockets. Drunk people are like prone beehives though, so you don't prod them.

Tomorrow, you can paint her portrait, or vice versa.

“Whatever you say, newbie.”

And with the whirry crunch of the walkie shutting off, Monday, came to a close.

if you enjoyed this chapter, please lmk what you thought!! i love getting asks about my content ♡

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