#always after the wild man hours strangely enough

[moghedien]

He only accepts the firmest of pillows

[kentopedia]

piece of cake

FEATURING. nanami kento x f!reader — wc: 9.8k

SUMMARY: nanami can't help but notice your strange behavior, and he begins to grow suspicious (aka you throw him a surprise birthday party)

CONTENTS: sorcerer!reader, nanami's bday, husband nanami, reader & nanami povs, gojo being the bestest friend, also everyone loves nanamin!! very very light angst, slight misunderstandings, and ofc nanami being the love of my life. sfw!!!

note: this ended up way longer than i intended! the ending is a bit rushed, but i really wanted to finish it before his birthday ended. i love this sweet man so much :(

Nanami didn’t want to be that kind of man.

He knew that letting his thoughts wander into accusations were a one-way ticket to unfounded miscommunication. It was senseless to even go there; coming up with wild solutions that he couldn’t back up would only cause problems that didn’t need to happen in the first place.

With his whole heart, Nanami trusted you. He loved you, and he had never doubted that you felt the same. Honesty was important, and you were both mature enough to understand that communication was the only way to make a relationship work.

He reminded himself of that whenever his mind was clouded with uncertainty.

There was still a small twinge of doubt that wouldn’t leave him alone, and day after day, it became more and more difficult to convince himself that he wasn’t concerned. Every time he tried to speak with you about your strange behavior, you’d talked him into circles, bringing him right back to the beginning of the question like he’d never asked it at all.

Nanami tried to tell himself he was creating something out of nothing, but for weeks, you’d been coming home late, you were always on the phone, and he would have been an optimist or an idiot if he truly believed you weren’t hiding something.

When he really put his mind to it, he could stop himself from coming to unfathomable conclusions. You’d never given him reason to doubt you, even if your behavior had become suspicious as of late.

What he couldn’t diminish was the deeply buried fear that, maybe, you wanted someone more than him.

The entire mess had started just a month ago, when he’d stumbled into the lounge at the high school, a book tucked under his arm and a coffee in his hand. Lunch hour had just ended.

Nanami visited you at the school often, and at this time, you were almost always training Maki, or switching off a class with another sorcerer. Your schedule rarely deviated, and if you weren’t in the middle of teaching, it was because they’d needed you elsewhere.

So, of course, he was surprised to see you were doing neither of those things. Instead, you were in the lounge with Gojo, talking in hushed voices while you stood strangely close to one another.

Your back was turned towards the door when Nanami entered, and you gesticulated wildly with your hands. Between your speed and the low volume of your voice, Nanami couldn’t catch a word of what you were saying. It was obvious that you were excited, and Gojo leaned up against the back counter with an indulgent smile, placing his fingertips to his chin thoughtfully.

Nanami wasn’t sure whether or not to announce his presence, so he let the door slam shut behind him, breaking up your enigmatic conversation.

You whipped around in surprise, your eyes wide. In a similar manner, Gojo’s head darted up like he had no idea Nanami had entered at all. The scene would’ve been comical if it hadn’t been so unfamiliar.

“Nanamin!” Gojo stumbled around the first syllable of his name before recovering smoothly, smiling that cheeky grin of his. “When did you get in? I thought your assignment wasn’t until later this afternoon?”

As Nanami slid into the room, he glanced between you and Gojo with pinched eyebrows, attempting to ignore his unusually awkward behavior. Gojo slid across the countertop, slowly inching away from you until he hit the edge.

“Kento!” you said, in a voice that was much squeakier than your normal tone as you shattered the silence. “You’re here early.”

Nanami had long since given up on trying to understand Gojo Satoru’s behavior, but you were a different case entirely. Your smile was lopsided and uncomfortable, and you wiped your hands on your sides like you weren’t sure what to do with them.

He couldn’t tell if you were disappointed or glad to see him. His features pinched tighter, and he shook off the nasty voice of mistrust that threatened to cloud his logical mind. “I’ve been asked to take Itadori with me today. Apparently, someone’s been telling the principal that I’m a good influence on him.” He took off his glasses, meeting your eyes pointedly. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

You smiled sheepishly, drawing closer to him like a magnet. As you left Gojo’s side to stand beside Nanami, that sharp coil of irritation within him released. The lines in his forehead smoothed, and everything was just as it should be.

“I had nothing to do with this,” you said with a small shrug, fixing the tie that was already straight, as if looking for a reason to touch him. “What would make you think that?”

Nanami rolled his eyes at you, knowing you’d had everything to do with it, and gave you an exasperated smile.

You released his lapels shortly after to check the time and frowned when you realized how late it had gotten. “I have to go.” You pecked him on the cheek with a grin, and though Gojo was watching from behind the dark blindfold, Nanami couldn’t bring himself to care. “Maki’s meeting me soon, and I don’t want to make her wait. See you later, Kento.”

He squeezed your hand, the action almost imperceptible as you waved to the other man over your shoulder. “Bye, Gojo.”

Gojo returned the action, his lips pulled together playfully as he returned his focus to Nanami. Although he’d seen the two of you together on numerous occasions, his favorite pastime was teasing the younger man about any sign of affection.

Nanami sighed, suspecting that he’d have to tolerate Gojo for the next half-hour until Itadori was back. He took a long sip of coffee that scalded his throat and sat down on the couch.

The silence lasted until Gojo crept unfortunately closer, lurking like a cat until Nanami huffed, the sign of irritation that Gojo had been waiting for. The white-haired man drew out Nanami’s name like a song, and then plopped himself down on the chair across from him, blabbering on about things that Nanami really didn’t want to listen to.

When he realized five minutes had passed without Gojo even taking a breath, he gritted his teeth, and leaned back in the chair. “I didn’t realize you were such good friends with my wife.”

That wasn’t entirely the truth. Nanami had known that you’d gotten closer to Gojo since you’d started working for the school part-time, but you talked about him about as often as you talked about your other colleagues. About as much as Nanami talked about Gojo.

You’d never made it seem like he was the type of person you swapped secrets with in the lounge while everyone else was off on a break.

“Really?” Gojo drew out the word dramatically, his mouth curling into a pout. “I’d say we’re good friends, actually.” He tipped his head back, leaning against the chair with uncharacteristic seriousness. “We mostly talk about you, though. I know you better than I know her.”

“That’s a shame.” Nanami flipped the page, finishing the last bit of his coffee, and feigned irritation, even if he was warmed by the thought of you talking about him so much. “She’s much more interesting than me.”

Gojo laughed, and it seemed to be genuine. Nanami began to grow frightened that he might actually be roped into an actual, amicable conversation with the man.

“Aww,” he cooed sympathetically. “Don’t worry, Nanamin. I know you’re probably worried we’ll become better friends, but you were my friend first.”

Nanami glanced up, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Trust me, I’m really not worried about that.” He kicked his leg out, the beginnings of a headache forming in his temple. “I’m more concerned that she’ll invite you over for dinner. I’d like to refrain from any interactions with you outside of work.”  

Gojo made a face and then whined dramatically. “You’re so mean to me.” He wiped a hand over his eyes like he was shedding tears.  

Nanami sighed.

A few days later, when he took Itadori out for another training session, he began asking Nanami too many questions about his personal life. That fact wasn’t as suspicious as it was frustrating. He couldn’t help that Itadori was curious, but he could’ve asked him these things on the ride over, or while they were at the school.

Invasive questions in the middle of a potential life or death situation were not exactly ones Nanami wanted to tolerate.

“So… what kind of places do you like to shop?”

The question was completely unrelated to his lesson and completely out of the blue. Nanami stopped, eyeing the teenager with undisguised skepticism. “Itadori. I’m not answering that kind of question when we’re in the middle of something serious.” He thought about his words, and quickly rephrased them. “Actually, I’m not answering that question at all.”

Itadori stared back, his face falling theatrically. Nanami could’ve guessed from that expression alone that he’d been spending far too much time with Gojo. “Fine.” He relented, drawing out the word as he scurried to catch up with Nanami, who was already paces ahead.

He let a few minutes pass before his next question.

“Where are your favorite places to eat?”

Nanami closed his eyes to regain his patience. “I’m not answering that either.”

A huff of disappointment. “Well, can I ask about your favorite—”

“No.”

Itadori’s glower turned into something more like a realistic frowny face. Nanami tried to refrain from snapping at him in order to regain his focus. “What can I ask?”

“Anything that you will gain valuable insight from.” Itadori opened his mouth, and Nanami quickly sensed his next words. “Insight that isn’t about me.”

He deflated once more. “Okay, fine.” For a few more moments, he surrendered, letting the conversation stall. Nanami should’ve known better than to expect peace and quiet for long. “So… what days will you be going on assignments? Do you have like… a set schedule, or do you usually get called in?”

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose, hearing the creak of a floorboard upstairs. There were curses nearby, and if Itadori continued yammering on without paying attention, that would spell a lot of trouble for him and the kid. “Why are you asking me this?”

“I’m just curious.”

“I shouldn’t have to tell you now isn’t the time.”

Itadori opened his mouth, but then seemed to register the sound of cursed spirits, and he finally sobered his attention. His expression changed to one of seriousness, and, thankfully, he let the topic go.

After a particularly stressful mission, Nanami went to the bakery that the two of you frequented, the one that had been the site of many of your dates throughout the years.

It was a quiet little café at the edge of the city, a perfect middle-ground between your home and the school. When he’d been working in the office, and you were still a sorcerer, you’d met him there on numerous occasions, usually bruised and battered, but never without a beautiful smile.

He stretched his back behind him as he headed through the door, his clothes dirtied from fighting and his hair in disarray. It was barely afternoon, and he was already exhausted, wanting just to go home and curl in bed to await your return.

It was a small daydream that would carry him through his last few hours of working, so long as no cursed spirits popped up in his vicinity of patrolling. There seemed to be more and more lately, and if he wasn’t being called off to go fight, then you were, leaving no time for either of you to be with each other.

As he crossed the threshold, another man was exiting, seemingly in a big hurry and carrying a coffee that he almost splashed all over Nanami’s chest.  

Reeling in his irritation, Nanami began a polite, “Excuse me,” before realizing who had nearly trampled over him. “Gojo. What are you doing here.”

“What a coincidence seeing you here,” Gojo greeted with a wide grin, like he wasn’t the one infiltrating one of Nanami’s sacred, headache-free spaces.

Nanami cringed, looking at the coffee in Gojo’s hand and the white pastry bag, immediately recognizing the contents. It was your favorite drink, the dessert you got once a week; you’d been ordering the same thing for the past two months, always getting hooked on new things before you eventually tired of them. He knew the order by heart.

“Sorry, I really wish I could stay and chat, but I’ve got important goods to deliver.” He held up the bag and the cup, a receipt folded up between his fingers. Bitterly, Nanami noticed he hadn’t bought anything for himself. For someone with such a sweet tooth, it seemed hard to believe that he’d refrained from indulging.

Which, Nanami concluded with annoyance, meant that he’d come specifically for you. He checked his watch, pushing away the negative emotions. Even though you could’ve called him if you wanted something, like you always did, you’d asked Gojo instead. “She’s not on a break?”

“Some students wanted her help with some things. I told her I didn’t mind getting her something if she wanted to take a break later this afternoon.” Gojo flattened his blindfold over his eyes, the material bunching up around his nose. “Everyone’s out today, anyway.”

“I see,” Nanami said, hating the unnecessary sting in his chest. You knew he’d been working, and even though he told you where he was going, you probably hadn’t seen the message. If you were busy, then he couldn’t expect you to be checking your phone. “Well, tell her I said hello, then.”

“Will do,” Gojo saluted cartoonishly and flitted out the door, smiling with a kind of glee that Nanami, stupidly, wanted to wipe off his face.

Those separate incidents with Gojo had annoyed him, of course, but he knew they weren’t anything to get worked up about. In fact, he’d almost forgotten about the interactions entirely, until another week passed and Nanami slowly started to wonder if you spent more time with the white-haired man than the one you were in a relationship with.

You’d woken up before him that morning, and Nanami opened his eyes to a colder bed and the sound of hushed music softly playing from behind the bathroom door.

It was a cooler day for June. You’d opened the window, and there were dark clouds gathering in the sky, a sign that it was going to storm any time now. He stretched his stiff back, padding to the hallway, where he could see the light coming from the bathroom, the door cracked open. The smell of your perfume wafted through, and Nanami had half a sense to drag you back to the bed and keep you there until the weekend was over.

He pushed the door open further, leaning against the threshold to watch you swipe pink gloss over your puckered lips. Your makeup was freshly powdered, your hair done up in its usual manner.

Nanami smiled, leaning against the door frame as he watched you finish getting ready. “Where are you going this morning, pretty girl?”

You blinked at him through the mirror, putting the tube of lip gloss back in the bag before turning to him with a smile. You looked so sweet, and he yearned for you, almost in disbelief that you’d been together for so long. “I’m taking the kids shopping in the city with Gojo today.” You wrapped your arms around his stomach, tilting your head back to look up at him. “I’ll be home before dinner. Want me to cook tonight?”

Nanami brushed your cheek, feeling that annoying wave of irritation return to claw at him. He didn’t care that you were spending time with Gojo—he shouldn’t care. Your students would be there too, and you’d been happier ever since you started working at the school. The first and second years cared about you so much already, and Gojo was a much less annoying friend to you than he was to Nanami.

He liked seeing you so happy, despite the toll that the job often took on you. “Don’t worry about it. We need to pick up groceries, anyway. I’ll do that while you’re out.”

Your smile widened, and you leaned up, pressing a kiss to his lips. Although you’d meant for it to be quick, Nanami had wrapped an arm around your lower back, pressing you closer, deepening the kiss. He ruined your lipstick, smearing it all over his mouth, but he didn’t care.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered against your mouth, holding you close to him.

“I’m still in my pajamas.” You laughed, your cheeks growing warm as you drew away from him, teasingly dodging his final kiss. “Are you sure you won’t miss me too much when I’m gone?”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I’ll probably miss you too much.” As you fixed your lipstick, Nanami went back to the bedroom, rifling through his coat pocket for his wallet. He tossed the gold card on the bathroom counter, where your purse was laying.

You eyed him over your shoulder. “No.”

He stared back, just as seriously. “Yes. Buy yourself something nice, sweetheart.” He thought of the young teenager he’d been mentoring, who’d been putting in his best effort, and who he’d, unfortunately, come to care about quite a lot. “Itadori too. Just don’t tell him it’s from me.”

You blinked, before your expression changed into something so bright, Nanami would’ve done everything in his power to keep it there. “I knew you liked him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

With an affection so full that it threatened to burst out of your chest, you jumped towards him, wrapping yourself up in his arms. He kissed your temple and breathed, remembering just how much he didn’t want to lose you.

You were true to your word, always. You came back when you promised, you told him where you were going, but Nanami noticed that you’d been even more secretive since you went shopping with Gojo and your students. When he asked your plans, you were even more vague. When you didn’t return with any shopping bags, he found it odd that you smelled of a cologne he didn’t wear.

He reminded himself of how much he trusted you—he really, really didn’t think you would lie to him, but he couldn’t deny that your behavior was confusing him.

Nanami finished off his tea, eyes across the room as he watched you type wildly on your phone, your brows crinkled. You sent a message then waited for a response, impatiently pacing across the kitchen.

He called your name, but you didn’t respond, too enraptured in whatever it was that you were doing. You seemed to be attached to your cell phone these days, always having a call to respond to, and always jumping when he was a little too close to seeing your messages.

Yesterday, Gojo’s name had popped up on your screen with a message, and you’d crawled across Nanami’s lap to get the phone before he could even think to hand it to you. Nanami had done nothing but stare back at you, and you’d smiled at him, embarrassed, still hiding the screen from him as you read the message.

He really, really didn’t want to jump to conclusions. But these days, you were spending all your free time with Gojo, and you grew defensive every time he tried to bring it up.  

“Are you done with the tea?” Nanami asked again, piling up the dirty dishes from where he sat, noticing your cup was still half-full, but lukewarm.

You chewed your thumbnail anxiously, bouncing your leg as you waited for the person on the other end to reply. The phone shook in your hands, and you read through it again, obviously disappointed by the short response. He could’ve guessed who you were talking to, even if he didn’t want to.

Nanami frowned and called your name one more time. Finally, you looked up.

“What?” you asked, and then came to understand his question. The tea sat, unenjoyed, and shame marred your features. “Oh. I’m sorry. No, I’m not finished.” You frowned, tucking the phone back into your pocket before rushing over to your seat. “I didn’t mean to…” you trailed off, and Nanami stared, waiting for you to finish your explanation, even though you let it die there. “It’s been busy at work.”

Nanami hated how easily he could tell you were lying. He sighed, rubbing his temples as your phone rang again. This time, though, you kept it in your pocket.

It had been like that for the past couple of days. He closed his eyes, trying to come up with any possible explanation other than the most distressing one.

“Kento?” you asked in a small voice, noting his obvious discontent. “Is everything alright?”

He looked up at you, your eyes so wide and full of concern, and even if he wanted to be mad at you, he couldn’t. His chin fell, arms resting limply at his sides as you looked back at him, waiting for a response. “Is everything alright with you?”

“I’m okay,” you said, shifting where you stood. “Just busy. Like I said.”

The two of you stared at each other, waiting for the other to say what they really wanted to. Never once in your life had you had a problem with communicating, but it felt like now, you were hitting a wall.

All he could do was try his best. If you didn’t want to answer him, he couldn’t make you.

“Okay,” he said, taking your hand in his own. He brought it to his lips and kissed your palm, then the inside of your wrist, before massaging the center of it. “I don’t want you to feel like you need to keep secrets from me. If anything…” he steadied himself for his next words. “If anything changes between us, you can tell me. I’ll understand.”

Your eyebrows creased, before understanding seemed to dawn upon you. “Kento,” you said, dropping his hand to come around the table to climb into his lap, placing your hands on both of his cheeks. “Kento, no.”

“You’ve just been a bit—”

“I’m sorry,” you said, and he couldn’t help but draw back into you, smile when you kissed him all over his face, pressing the affirmations into his skin. “I’m not trying to be distant, really. Things are just busy right now, I promise.” You curled your fingers into his hair, scratching at his scalp, and Nanami brought his arms around your hips, settling you on his thighs.

“Okay. I just wanted to make sure.” His eyes softened at your frown, and he brushed his thumb under your shirt, grounding himself against your skin. “I love you.”

That put a smile back on your face, and you kissed him, whispering the same words against his lips.

Now, though he wasn’t so sure he believed what you were saying, as much as he wanted to. Maybe you were just busy at work, but you were certainly hiding something from him.

He knew that everyone had their secrets, but maybe it would’ve stung less if you’d just admitted you were hiding something from him.

The following week was the same routine, and as the workdays ended, Nanami saw you less and less each evening. You spent the majority of your time in the city center, and though you were often with your students, you were also with Gojo, and something about that fact was difficult to swallow.

Nanami felt a little sour that you never asked him to go too. He began to wonder if you were purposefully avoiding him, or if the students disliked him as much as he’d thought they did.

It was stupid, he knew it was stupid, and he didn’t want to be overbearing, to seem like he was the kind of man who wanted to control where you were going and spending your time with. He just wished you spared a little bit more of it for him, was all.  

He woke with that thought in his mind as he rolled over on the cold bed, reaching out to wrap his arms around you. When he realized the spot beside him was empty, he blinked himself awake wearily, adjusting his eyes to the dark.

The hall light was on, a yellow glow peeking through the cracks under the door, and he frowned as he heard the sound of your voice, low and hushed.

Nanami weighed his decision. It was almost two o’clock in the morning, and though you often went to bed much later than him, a phone call at this time was pushing it. He climbed out of the bed, padding quietly over the door to see if he could catch a part of the conversation.

It felt like a breach of trust, and he didn’t want to seem like he was spying on you.

He pressed his ear to the door, waiting for your voice, though it was silent. Half a minute passed. His hands curled around the knob, and he shouldn’t be trying to listen in, he should just go out there and ask you if anything was wrong, and then—

“Gojo, I don’t know what to tell him.”

Nanami stopped, swallowing down his breath to still all noises from his body. He squeezed his fist tighter until his knuckles had gone pale, hearing you murmur under your breath. There were a lot of words he couldn’t catch, and he wrinkled his forehead, trying to catch a hint of context in what you were saying.

“I’m not very good at lying to him, and if he finds out—”

Your voice dropped quiet again.

Nanami felt something fall in his chest as he released the doorknob. He was too tired to think about it rationally, and if he listened anymore, he wasn’t sure what he’d do.

He stepped away from the door, his lips etched permanently into a frown.

After Kento had fallen asleep, you’d grabbed your phone off the nightstand, going through the to-do list that you’d created for his birthday.

You hadn’t meant for it to get so out-of-hand. He didn’t usually like big celebrations, and he’d never made a big deal of his birthday in the past. Though in your eyes, that was exactly why you needed to do something different for him this year.

Things had been going so well, and from what you could tell, everyone in your close circle cared about him more than he realized. It was the only way you could think to show that to him.

You’d just wanted to do something special for him, and it had turned into long shopping trips with Satoru Gojo, and secretive meetings with your students to make sure everything went exactly as you’d planned it.

And things were going according to plan… Only, you were starting to feel like your attempts at secrecy were sabotaging your relationship, and you feared that Kento thought the worst of your late nights out and your newly formed friendship with Gojo.

It was obvious that you were lying, and every time he brought it up, he seemed to become even more doubtful of your actions.

You flipped the hallway light on, dialing Gojo’s number, feeling antsy in your own skin. After two rings, he answered, his voice groggy and obviously full of sleep.

“Hello?”

“Gojo,” you said in a panic, rubbing your hand over your face with a kind of distress that he couldn’t even see. “I don’t know what to tell him.”

A beat of silence as he gathered his thoughts. “What?”

You almost felt bad for waking him up, but part of this was his fault. He’d been insistent on being a part of the plan, and now, he needed to listen to your apprehensions about the entire situation. He hadn’t exactly been sneaky either.  

“Kento.” you said, pacing back and forth in the hallway, your voice rising to a high-pitched shriek, even as you tried to muffle your words. “He’s been asking me so many questions, and I’m so bad at coming up with answers. I’m seeming like a horrible person.”

Gojo hummed on the other line, and you hated how nonchalant he seemed about all of this. This was your relationship, and he was just sitting happily in his home, with the receipt for a cake that had cost way too much, and gifts for a man that had started to doubt you even cared about him at all. “Well…”

“Gojo,” you said his name again, sternly.

“Sorry.” He sighed. “Nanami’s a tough person to keep a secret from. Just keep telling him what you’ve been telling him: we’ve been assigned to more cases together, work is too busy, et cetera, et cetera. That’s fine.”

“But he knows that’s not true.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, frustration prickling at you. Either Kento was much too perceptive for his own good, or you were just awful at planning surprises. “I’m being too suspicious. I’m not very good at lying to him, and if he finds out, then all the secrecy would have been for nothing.”

Gojo was silent on the other end of the other line. It seemed he was absolutely horrible at consoling you, unlike the man in the other room who was sleeping soundly, unbeknownst to the fact that you were doing this all for him. “Look, it’s only for a couple more days, right? You can keep the secret until then, can’t you?”

You swallowed, steeling yourself for one last week of misery. You weren’t sure you could continue to stand the look of disappointment on Kento’s face every time you did something out of character. “I guess so. Thanks.” You yawned, rubbing your eyes. “Sorry, I woke you up, didn’t I?”

“Don’t worry about it. Goodnight.” He hung up, and you stared at the phone once more, trudging back into the other room.

You couldn’t help the guilt that had settled deep in your gut. Even if you were lying to Kento for something special, you knew how it looked on your end. You weren’t good at dispelling his accusations; every time you opened your mouth, you just incriminated yourself more.

You couldn’t wait until his birthday. Things would go back to normal, then, and he could finally see that everyone cared about him more deeply than he realized.

Rubbing your eyes with exhaustion, you crawled back into the space where you always slept. Although, this time, you realized Kento was not asleep like you’d left him but was blinking back at you with concern in his dark eyes.

You jumped, startled for a moment, before settling back down. “Sorry. Did I wake you up?”

“It’s okay.” He grasped your hand tightly, and you let him, let him drag you close in his arms as he curled around you. “Is something wrong?”

You tensed, and immediately realized that was a mistake. Fuck. You were so horrible at this. You should’ve just let Gojo and Itadori plan the entire thing, and maybe it would’ve been a disaster, but it also would’ve saved you a lot of unnecessary anxiety. “Everything’s fine.”

That didn’t exactly answer his question. Nanami turned on his side, the two of you staring face to face on the pillows. There was a wrinkle between his eyebrows, his eyes darting to each one of yours like he was trying to decipher a message. Then, he sighed. “Was… someone calling?”

“Just Gojo.”

“Gojo?” Nanami repeated, and though he seemed annoyed at the mention of him, at least he knew you were being honest about that. “Why the hell is Gojo calling you in the middle of the night?”

You blinked, realizing you actually had no good lie to cover that one. “Umm…” you played with Nanami’s hand, tracing the tendons and knuckles as he stared back at you patiently. “He wanted to know if I could cover for him in the morning. He’s… not feeling so well.”

You’d have to text him immediately so that he didn’t come to the school until later. Not that he would mind skipping out on a few hours of work, but even that didn’t seem to convince Kento. He opened his mouth, and shut it, as if trying to carefully put his words together. “That’s all?”

He said it in a way that made you think he was giving you an opening, like you had the option to tell him the truth if you wanted. Of course, you couldn’t reveal what you were hiding, but he didn’t know that.

You sighed, and smiled, kissing him as you curled your hands into his hair. “That’s all, Ken. I really am sorry I woke you up.”

Nanami stared back at you for a moment before forcing a smile, returning your kiss with all his fondness. He brushed your hair away from your face and kissed your cheeks before closing his eyes once more.

When the day of Nanami’s birthday arrived, you promised yourself that you wouldn’t panic if everything wasn’t perfect. He’d appreciate the sentiment, no matter what. Things didn’t have to go by the book for them to be meaningful.

Regardless, you went through your mental to-do sheet, made the final reservation for your dinner, and prayed that everything went as you intended.

Though you were usually not a morning person, you’d gotten up earlier than Kento to fix his coffee the way he always preferred, taking a quiet moment to still your excited nerves. When his usual alarm went off, at the same time every morning, you carried the mug back with you to the bedroom and smiled softly at his sleepy form.

You set the coffee down before he could fully gain consciousness, and sprang on top of him, peppering kisses all over his face until his surprise slowly melted, and he was hugging you tightly.

“Happy birthday.”

Kento smiled up at you groggily, his eyes still drooping with sleep as he curled a hand around your jaw. He pressed a soft kiss to your mouth, hugging you tight as he whispered, “thank you,” the touch of the words barely there at all.

You relaxed in his presence, sitting back as you handed him the coffee, to which his expression grew even more gentle. He brushed your hair out of your face and kissed you again on the forehead, making you melt, just as he always did.

“What do you want to do today?” you asked as you laid on his chest, staring up at him with every ounce of love you had to offer. “I have dinner reservations, but you’ve got all day until then.”

Nanami laughed, curling a strand of your hair around his finger. “It doesn’t matter. We can just spend it like any normal day.”

You frowned. “That’s not anything special. It’s your birthday.”

“It’s just a birthday.” He squeezed your arm before maneuvering you gently off of him so that he could sit up on the bed. “Besides, every moment I spend with you is special. I’m happy to just sit around and do nothing until dinner.” Kento seemed to notice your displeased expression, even though your heart had swelled at his comment. “Unless there was something you wanted to do instead…”  

He climbed out of the bed, taking one sip of the steaming coffee before setting it back down.

“It’s not my birthday.” You watched him gather his clothes up off the floor with a sigh, the muscles in his back clenching as he bent over. “I want to do what you want to do.”

“And I told you I didn’t care.” He smiled playfully at you, tugging his shirt on over his head. Then, he reached over and squeezed your hand, coming back to where you sat, your legs swung over the side of the mattress.

“Kento.” You pulled him back down with a pointed expression, your faces close, lips almost touching. “I’m serious.”

He stared back at you for a moment, before relenting. “Alright.” Kento bent down, kissing you once more before going into the bathroom. “Let me shower, and we’ll go get some breakfast. How does that sound?”

“Is that what you want to do?” you asked, eyebrows raised.

Although you could tell he was amused by your insistence, he softened, his eyes melting into hearts as he turned. “That’s what I want to do. Happy?”

“Very.” You shoved him away, laughing. “Go take a shower. You’re not getting any younger.”

He rolled his eyes and retreated into the bathroom, the door shutting softly behind him.

When the water started running and Kento was definitely in the shower, you hurriedly dialed Gojo’s number, begging him to pick up. After the third dial, when you were certain he wouldn’t answer, a short tone cut through the line.

“What’s wrong?” he answered, clearly amused. There was shuffling on the other end, and some sort of yelp. Your brows pinched together.

As you listened closely to make sure the shower water wouldn’t turn off unexpectedly, you frowned. Your leg shook with anticipation. “What do you mean? I’m fine.”

Gojo released a breath, though his voice grew mumbled on the other end. “Well, you normally only call me if you’re panicking about the birthday situation, so—”

There was a scream. You dragged your hand down your face, as he said something sharply to someone on the other side of the call.

“Gojo?”

“Yeah?” Another sound, this one of extreme pain. “Sorry, I’m in the middle of something.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re exorcising a curse right now.”

He paused, and then the sound stopped, everything going silent on his side. “Well… I’m not anymore.”

You wanted to say that you were shocked he’d bothered to pick up the phone at all, but… You weren’t, really. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Unfortunately, cursed spirits don’t know it’s Nanamin’s birthday, so they just keep coming.” He sighed. “What a bummer. If they were nicer, I’d invite them to the birthday party.”

You snorted. “Right. I’m certain Kento would love that.”

Gojo laughed. “So, what were you calling about? If it’s to panic over your much too long list of things for me to do, don’t worry. Everything’s in order.”

“Really? Did you wrap the presents?”

He hummed. “Megumi did.”

You closed your eyes, holding back a sigh. That was probably for the best, anyway. You’d never seen Gojo wrap a gift, but you weren’t sure how it’d look if he did. “Okay… What about the decorations?”

“Itadori is bringing those over once you two leave.”

A part of you wanted to get frustrated with him for doing absolutely nothing, but it wasn’t his fault he had to work, even if he’d promised to help you out. At least he was delegating the tasks. One way or another, it would get done. “Are you going to help him at all?”

“Have a little bit more faith in me than that. You’re hurting my feelings.”

“No I’m not. Did you get him a birthday card?”

“I think Maki offered to do that. And before you ask your next question, yes everyone’s going to be there on time. Kugisaki followed up with everyone.”

“Oh my god… Did you do anything, Satoru?”

“I picked up the cake.” A beat of silence. “Well, I haven’t yet. I’m going right now. I got a little side-tracked.”

He’d given you no reason to doubt him, really. But you were still afraid that something would go wrong, and you’d be left without a cake, in the middle of a very important birthday. “Fine, but just know that I’m texting Megumi in an hour to come check on you. I can only keep Kento out of the house for so long, so you need to make sure it’s perfect.”

“You got it, boss. I’ll let you know if I need anything else.”

Once you’d sent Gojo the final list of things that needed to be done, you put your phone away, promising yourself that it would not be a point of stress while you were at dinner with Nanami. You’d reserved a table at his favorite restaurant and dressed up nicer than you had in a while.

After breakfast, the two of you meandered around the city for the rest of the day until your reservation, as you tried to think of anything that could keep him away from home. Worried that he would catch on, you continued to diffuse his concerns, kissing him with a smile as you pulled him along to the next place you could think of.

And though he’d protested, saying that you didn’t have to dedicate your entire day to him, you couldn’t think of another way that you’d want to be spending it.

When the evening started to fall, you made your way to the restaurant, and the phone buzzed in your bag. You gritted your teeth and ignored it.

“Are you sure we don’t need to go home?” Kento asked you, swinging your hand in his between the two of you. Neither of you had ever been big on public displays of affection, but holding hands through the streets was one of the nicest feelings you’d come to experience. “We have time.”

“No,” you said a little too quickly, and he eyed you curiously, almost stopping in his tracks. “We better get there early, just in case. Don’t you think?”

Kento raised an eyebrow, but then nodded, squeezing your hand. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to be early.” He smiled, humming to himself happily. “You know, you didn’t have to do all of this for me today.”

“I wanted to. I wouldn’t do this for just anyone.” You laughed, but for some reason, there was uncertainty behind his eyes. You felt the phone buzzing more and more in your pocket.

The restaurant was packed, and even though you were early to your reservation, they got you seated immediately.

“You look beautiful, sweetheart. Did I already tell you that?” Nanami said once you were seated.

You flushed, your cheeks growing warm as he stared at you across the table with gentle, brown eyes. “Thanks, Kento,” you said in a quiet voice, knowing that you’d looked much better earlier, when your hair had been perfect, and your makeup hadn’t smudged. Your dress now had some wrinkles, and you were sweating with nerves and the heat outside.

He glanced down at the menu, perusing it, even though he got the same thing every time. You ordered a bottle of wine to split between the two of you.

The server brought the alcohol back and poured it, then took your order back to the kitchen. When Nanami ordered, you dropped your chin in your hands, watching him, distracted by the very sight of him.

He nodded at the younger girl politely, and she grew pink, scurrying off to the next room. Kento looked back at you as you laughed and started up another conversation. You talked about school and work and everything in between, the mood only shattering when you felt the incessant buzz of the phone in your pocket.

You were in the middle of a story, but your sentences started to blend together into something that didn’t make sense. You stumbled over what you were saying, feeling the weight of the phone in your pocket as you tried to refocus on your words, but remained distracted.

The phone buzzed again in your pocket. You gritted your teeth. Fucking Gojo Satoru and his idiotic brain—you’d told him not to contact you.

“Is everything alright?” Kento blinked as you took your phone out and set it in your purse.  

“I’m sure it doesn’t matter.”

He hesitated, thoughtful as he swallowed a sip of wine. “Well, I don’t want you to get in any trouble if it’s work.”

“I took off today. If they can’t handle two sorcerers being gone, then they’ve got bigger problems.”

Nanami sighed, drumming his fingers against the table. “I guess that’s true. Speaking of work, I—"  

The phone buzzed louder, then there was a pause. It buzzed again. You cringed.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you, but—”

The phone started ringing.

You were close to throwing the bag altogether, and probably would’ve, if it hadn’t been one of the most expensive accessories you owned. Nanami looked down at the bag, then back at you, eyebrows raised.

“Honey…” he said, eyes gesturing to the phone. “Just answer it.”

You felt a wave of guilt wash over you, and you dug your phone out of the bag, Megumi Fushiguro’s name was bold as it lit up on the screen. You held it tightly in your hand and began to stand, feeling sick and horrible and wondering if all the secrecy had just ruined his birthday. “I’m so sorry Kento—"

He shrugged; his voice was solid with gentle patience. “It’s alright. Take your time.”

You nodded, and waited until you were out of earshot to answer the phone, feeling horrible about leaving him all by himself. Once you were in the bathroom, locked in one of the stalls, you answered. “Hello?”

“Itadori dropped the cake.”

You took a breath before answering Megumi’s calm remark, wondering how close you actually were to snapping. “What.”

In the background, the pink-haired boy wailed over and over, loud cries that were, clearly, full of remorse. “It was an accident!” He shouted over Kugisaki’s berating, and you weren’t sure whether to laugh or cry, because that was the last thing you’d expected to happen.

“Itadori dropped the cake,” Megumi repeated, flatly, like you hadn’t gotten it the first time. “It’s all over the floor. Kugisaki’s trying to get him to clean it up, but it’s just making him even more miserable.”

You covered a hand over your mouth, wondering why your eyes were welling up with frustrated tears. Things were not going the way you’d planned. “Is Gojo there yet?”

“Yeah.” Megumi hesitated, and there was a pause, like he was unsure what to do now that he finally had you on the phone. “Want me to put him on?”

You nodded, before realizing that he couldn’t see you, and muttered, “yes.” Within a moment, the older man, currently in charge of three teenagers, was on the line.

“This may or may not be Gojo,” he said, and you were glad that he at least had enough intelligence to sound nervous.

“Satoru.” You tried hard not to panic. “Please, please can you try and find another cake? I know it’s late, but I’m not sure how much longer I can stall here. I’m trying so hard not to be suspicious, but I’m horrible at it.”

“I can try, but—"

“Kento already thinks I’m acting weird, and he keeps asking me questions that I’m doing a very bad job of answering. I feel awful because it’s his birthday, and I’m afraid he thinks I’m just getting ready to split up with him or something.”

“Ouch.” Gojo said dramatically, hissing like he’d been stung. “That’d be a bit of an asshole move, wouldn’t it?”

“Well, I’m obviously not going to do that!” You scrubbed your hands over your face. “He seemed upset today, and I just don’t want all of this to go to waste. Please, Satoru. It doesn’t matter what the cake looks like, but just make sure that you get something, so that—"

“Hey,” he said, dropping the theatrics when you choked back a sob. His tone grew serious. “Take a deep breath. I think you’re forgetting who we’re dealing with here.”

“What do you mean?” You blinked, dabbing your eyes, hoping that your mascara wouldn’t smear.

“Nanami is going to appreciate the gestures, even if they aren’t perfect.”

You inhaled and exhaled, realizing that Satoru was right. Out there was a man that you loved very much, who loved you in return, and this was not as serious as you were making it out to be. “You’re right.”

“Obviously. Enjoy your dinner. I can take care of it.”

“Are you sure? It sounds like a warzone in the background.”

“Everything’s fine,” Gojo swore, even if you didn’t entirely believe him. “I told Megumi not to call you, but he loves getting me in trouble. Please, don’t worry about it.”

You opened your mouth, but Gojo had already hung up.

As you left the stall, you sighed, seeing yourself in the mirror. Your eyes were red with unshed tears, but you’d already made Kento wait long enough.

Twitching nervously, you headed back to the table. Nanami was sitting patiently, scrolling through something mindlessly on his phone.

“Everything okay?” he asked as you sat back down, noticing the signs of tears and misery. He reached for you across the table, but then thought better of it, and just frowned.

“Everything’s fine. I’m just really sorry, Kento.” You looked down at your hands. “I didn’t mean to be so rude. It’s your birthday. I want you to enjoy it.”

A beat of silence passed. He smiled. “I am enjoying it.” He did reach for your hand, then, and pulled it tight against his own. “This has been the best birthday, sweetheart. Why are you upset?”

You swallowed. “I’m not upset.” You shook your head, trying to clear the unhappiness from your expression. “Anyways, what were you saying? I interrupted.”

Nanami’s face fell. You’d changed the subject so quickly; he hadn’t had the chance to ask you any more questions. “Right. Well, nothing important. I just have to be in Kyoto next week.”

You frowned. “All week?”

He nodded. “I wanted to let you know in case you wanted to make plans. You’ve been...” he paused, thinking over his words. “Seeing Gojo a lot lately, so I thought you might want to—”

You stared at him, and realized what he was getting at. Fuck, you felt so horrible. “Oh,” you said, scratching your wrist under the table. “Yeah. Maybe. I’m sure he’ll be busy too.”

That wasn’t the answer Nanami was looking for. He stopped, and then regrouped, nodding. “Well, either way, I wanted you to know. They didn’t give me advanced notice.”

You smiled tightly. “I’m going to miss you.”

“It’s only for a few days,” he said, releasing your hand to place it back onto his lap. “But I’m going to miss you too.” There was something distant in his voice when he said it.

On the way home from the restaurant, Gojo texted you obnoxiously, sending you pictures of the house, the cleanliness of it, the set-up of the gifts, the new cake, and you smiled to yourself, somewhat relieved that things weren’t a complete disaster.

You could feel Kento’s eyes on you as he drove home, his hand resting on your thigh as you turned slightly away from him, keeping his eyes off the screen.

Stop sending me things before he sees my phone.

Gojo’s response was much too quick.

Stop looking at your phone.

You sighed, clicking the screen off and finally relaxing against the window. The secrecy was almost over; you hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to keep this all hidden without causing so much dramatic suspicion.

Nanami pulled into park in front of your home, squeezing your leg gently before releasing it. You expected him to make a move to get out of the car, but instead he sat, contemplative, the key still in the ignition.

You swallowed, looking at him. “Is everything okay?”

He took a breath, turning back to you with some sort of determination in his eyes. “Have I done something to upset you?” he asked, his voice so incredibly gentle.

“What?” you said, laughing nervously. “Why would you ask that?”

His face fell as he looked back at the steering wheel. “I just thought this would be easier if I’d hurt you in some way.”

Your mouth grew dry. You reached for him. “Kento—”

“Look,” he scrubbed a hand through his hair, the strands coming loose, falling onto his forehead. “I’m not trying to… I don’t want to…” His words fell off, and though you knew what he was trying to say, you didn’t want him to say it, because there was no reason for it. “If something’s wrong, I just want to know. Let’s at least try to fix it.”

“Nothing’s wrong, I promise.” You squeezed his hand, trying to pull away from him. “Can we talk about this inside?” You started to get out of the car.

“No, wait.” He stopped you again, eyes wide with disappointment, like he couldn’t get his words out fast enough. “This is what happens every time. I ask you about it, then you find a way to spin my words around so that we never talk about it. I let you every time, because I love you, and I trust you, but I don’t want to lose you.”

Your heart squeezed. “Kento.” You began, feeling bad that you were forced to talk in circles just to get him to believe in your lies. “I promise, we’ll talk about it inside. It’s still your birthday, and I don’t want to ruin it by misunderstanding one another. Please, let’s talk about it once we’re both settled in.”

Nanami’s shoulders stiffened, then deflated, but he didn’t let go of you. “There’s not… Someone else, is there?”

“Of course not.” You said fervently, kissing his hand. “God, Ken. You think I’d want anyone else when I’ve got you?”

He smiled, though it was half-hearted.

“Come on, let’s go inside. I’ll explain everything. I owe you that much.”

You led him into the house, holding his hand tightly, hoping that this went over as you intended. Beside you, he was still contemplative, flicking on the lights as you continued into your home.

“You know, I really think we should still—”

As the lights came on, his words were cut off by some variation of everyone yelling happy birthday, and he blinked back at the students he’d recently met, and all the sorcerers he’d worked with closely in the previous years. His jaw opened, then shut, then he looked at you, then back to Gojo, and you could see the understanding in his features before he’d expressed it, when everything clicked into place.

A moment of silence passed where Nanami said nothing, and then Itadori decided to fill that silence with very off-key singing, and Kento’s cheeks dusted light pink, barely visible in the light, as he squeezed your hand tighter.

Everyone made the rounds, greeting him with varying levels of enthusiasm, while Nanami just thanked them with quiet politeness, even though you could see that he was secretly pleased, his lips curling up into a smile, the signs of stress dissipating from his features.

Itadori approached with a poorly wrapped gift and a hug that Nanami didn’t quite return, but he didn’t push away, either.

Nanami took the gift, holding it with soft eyes like he’d been given something precious. “Thank you, Yuuji. This is very kind.”

“You’re welcome.” Itadori said back proudly, smiling smugly at his two friends over his shoulder, obviously proud that he’d gotten such praise. “It’s probably going to be the best gift you’ll get tonight.”

You could see Nanami trying to refrain from laughing, but he snorted instead. “Is this why you were asking me about all those things that I liked a few weeks ago?”

“Uhh…” Yuuji smiled sheepishly, rubbing a hand on his neck. “No! Not really. But… Maybe.” He sighed. “I’d thought you’d forget about that.”

Kento’s eyes crinkled at the corner, and he squeezed Itadori’s shoulder, clearly touched.

You kissed his cheek and left him alone to talk with everyone that came to visit, going to thank Gojo and the students that had helped you over the past few weeks.

An hour passed before you found Kento again, after the cake had been cut and Gojo had insisted he opened one of the many gifts he’d gotten him.

He was standing in the kitchen, staring at a pile of wrapped gifts and the sliced cake that wasn’t exactly what you’d intended, but had received the same reaction, nonetheless.

“Kento?” you said quietly, and though you could tell that he was appreciative of everyone, you still weren’t sure how the surprise had gone over. He turned to you, his sleeves rolled up, a few more strands of blond hair coming loose. His cheeks were flushed, eyes soft. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been lying—”

Kento was to you in two long strides, backing you into a wall before kissing you deeply. Your hands curled into his hair, and you hummed into his mouth with a smile as his hands rested on your hips.

“Don’t apologize,” he whispered against your mouth. “I should be the one saying sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to ridiculous conclusions.”

You laughed, kissing him again and again, feeling things finally ease back into normalcy. “I know how it looked—” He looked away, embarrassed that he’d even thought of the possibility that you would leave him for Gojo. “I’m sorry I was so suspicious.” You sighed, leaning back in his arms as you held his cheeks with both hands. “Were you surprised?”

“I wish I wasn’t. It was pretty obvious now that I think back on it.”

“But…”

“But, yes,” he said, kissing your forehead as you preened, proud that it had all pulled together in the end. “I was surprised.” He gave you one last kiss, whispering, “thank you” and “I love you” on your lips.

From behind the door, you heard shuffling, and opened your eyes to see Gojo snapping a picture, to which Nanami groaned, pushing himself away from you reluctantly.

Gojo grinned, “Sorry. I’ll let myself out. Didn’t realize you two lovebirds were in here,” he said, even though he most certainly did.

“Please do,” Nanami gestured in the direction of the front door. “I hate the fact that you even know where I live.”

Gojo’s face fell. “After everything I did for your birthday, and you’re still going to pretend you don’t like me?”

“I don’t.” Nanami sighed, before swallowing down whatever antagonist words he really wanted to say. “But thank you. I really do appreciate it.”

Gojo beamed—you intervened before he could even think to throw his arms around Kento.

[didyoulookforme]

need you tonight

part of give me a moment (aka stylist au as briefly described in this tag)

warning: 18+, smut. probably grammatical errors, typos.

au masterlist here

-----

“sorry—‘m sorry”

you’re pretty sure those are some of the only words that stumble past his lips as you go down on him. perhaps an apology for his ring getting tangled in your hair, trying to keep you close. but to be honest, the more cynical part of you hopes it's pure regret for fucking someone else just hours before.

it was not strange for you to crave a nicotine hit at this time, more often than not stepping out the bus to smoke a cigarette or two prior to calling it a night, that first inhale always making your head buzz a little as the all-too-familiar warmth runs through your limbs, a much welcome sensation to try leave the tiredness behind.

every day was like clockwork. bus arrives at the venue. stage and lighting are assembled. band soundchecks. you have a quick dinner. then it's time for him. after all, it's what you're here to do, work as matty's own personal stylist during the tour.

you had no clue luck had finally struck when you opened those dms earlier this year.

(13:43) trumanblack: hey (13:43) trumanblack: i found your profile via my friend (13:44) trumanblack: i really like your style n you look pretty cool

(13:58) trumanblack: sorry if this sounds creepy. promise i'm a real human tho (13:58) trumanblack: x

you didn’t recognize him. however from a swift scroll through the feed, you gathered that his name was matty. apparently the front man of a seemingly popular band with a fanbase head-over-heels lusting for them.

mostly him, though.

you couldn't help but gaze at his lanky frame and pale skin adorned with ink, zooming in on certain posts to try decipher what they were. he definitely had a point of view when it came to dressing himself—sometimes a bit messy and chaotic, but for the most part pleasing to the eye, a quality you appreciated given your line of work. his seemingly playful demeanour across photos made it seem like he was perhaps younger than you, this time a google search confirming that, in fact, he was born three years later. april 1989.

countless press photos appeared under his name and you spent the next half hour swiping back and forth between articles, finding him intriguing enough and giving you the surge of confidence to respond.

and that's basically why you're leaning against this tour bus now. the friendly banter with a stranger led you to travel the world and do what you enjoy most. the fancy clothes. the colourful glitz. the wild after parties. this stuff that you always dreamed about was somehow now your own reality that you often had to pinch yourself to ensure you weren't just passed out cold on the sofa back home.

however, this almost too good to be true gig also led you to fall for a guy, the same one whose collar you straighten almost every night.

the most fucking cliché story. some assistant falling for her boss just months after being hired. it actually makes you feel sickeningly stupid, embarrassed. still you can't seem to stop digging yourself deeper into a hole with every hour you spend caring for him, not being made any better by matty being nothing but affectionate towards you behind closed doors.

you know he’s the reason your nicotine addiction has increased tenfold, always finding yourself alone at this hour enveloped in smoke, part of you still wanting to pretend you do so to numb out the sleepless nights. took you a while to finally admit you did it as an attempt to cloud out any thought of him.

tonight’s really no different.

you’re not sure how much time has passed, but it’s enough for the cold to start settling on your skin. perhaps it’s your queue to stop and go back in. you snub out your cigarette, watching the red embers fade just as a car rounds the corner. it halts to a stop only a few meters away, and you catch the faint sound of a door creaking open, followed by the murmur of voices filling the night air.

then you hear it. that unmistakable high pitched laugh that can pull you awake in a single second. him.

and, of course. you immediately know why.

you’d learned pretty early on this was a common end to the routine: matty picks up a girl at the gig, goes fucks her somewhere, and has her drop him off right after.

reminds you of the number of red and purple bruises you often cover up before his show. it wasn't rocket science figuring out the cause, yet he never really addresses it, choosing silence and averting his gaze as your fingertips dab foundation on tender skin, temporarily hiding any remains of nights prior.

you didn't even notice your eyes had closed. not until the car door slams shut, jerking them open just in time to see him blow a kiss in her direction. your heart fractures at the sweet gesture, but only hurts for a second before he's walking towards you, his stupid wide grin mending it better.

"didn't expect to see you out here.”

open button-up untucked. blazer over his shoulder. dark curls frizzy and disheveled. everything making it crystal clear he's just slept with someone else and still not you.

"only making sure you make it back alright so i can tuck you in." of course, you wish that were the case.

it's only a few seconds until he settles next to you, leaning over to kiss your cheek. soft lips gently brushing against your skin. the way he always greets you—but only when no one's watching.

"aren't you sweet, then?"

"trying my best." given the circumstances, it's pretty much all you can do.

he pulls out his beat-up cigarette box, flicking it open and offering you one. you decline, showing him the smothered tip of your own before finally tossing it aside.

"guess it must've been a pretty good time today," you lick the pad of your thumb before rubbing a lipstick mark off his jaw. it’s always ruby red or deep maroon. those same tones which he'll compliment you on. a similar shade you left on his lips the only time your mouth had been on his.

you finish cleaning the stains off his skin, matty murmuring a soft ‘thank you’ for having done so. it’s your turn to kiss his temple. “‘tis my job, you know? making sure you look good.” you should be mad, upset, have some sort of negative emotion. instead, you can’t help but have your heart intermittently flutter when he returns a sheepish smile, his arm wrapping around your shoulders to pull you close.

neither of you say much, but that’s alright. you rest your head on the crook of his neck, noticing how nice it feels. how nice he feels. you see the chipped nail polish on his fingers. the wrinkled fabric of his flowered shirt. the dark hair down his torso. the unbuckled belt at his waist. it’s only then that jealousy creeps itself back in and suddenly your shoes seem all that more interesting than the man standing by your side.

"why do you do it, matty?" the sweetness of your voice never fails to mask the envy you actually feel. or at least you hope it does.

"hmm?"

"the sleeping around.” you finally lift your head to look at him, surprised that his pretty eyes were already on you. the toothy smirk is gone, though, replaced by a thin, expressionless line at his lips. he doesn’t owe you an explanation. you know that. thus why you’re surprised when he actually starts to talk.

"dunno, really.” he lights up another cigarette and you notice as he gets lost in his mind. “i mean, it’s kinda difficult to say no to sex or a blowjob when they’re literally throwing themselves at you.” he seemingly tries to joke, but you don’t have time for funny right at this moment.

instead you wonder if it’s actually that easy.

“let me do it, then.”

“so—sorry?” he chokes mid-drag.

“let me give you a blowjob just like those other girls do. just like she did,” you point at the ghost of that green car from before, “ just tonight.”

it’s like his face cannot figure out which expression to land on, flipping between confusion, surprise, and something else that reads between need and desire.

“what the fuck?” his voice is shaky and it stings when he pushes you aside, yet, he doesn’t try hard to put much distance between you two so it’s not difficult to invade his space, standing right in front of him until your face is a breath away from his. large, calloused hands grasp your shoulders tight, halting you from inching closer.

“don’t.”

“what’s the difference between them and myself, then?” seems like a simple enough question to you. “why can they have you and not me?”

but he has no answer, at least not one that he can properly voice. his hold on you starts to lessen, perhaps giving you some permission to let you do whatever you want.

you bring your hands up to his and pull them away, kissing his knuckles before placing them on your waist. an almost incoherent ‘fuck’ leaves his lips, and, as if on cue, his head falls back willingly, giving you the space to kiss his neck. the faint smell of her still on him.

“please let me,” you whisper against his skin.

it’s not even a question at this point.

his fingers dig into your hips as you look at him once more, now noticing a mixture of lust and care in those almond coloured eyes. for a minute there, you get lost in them, admiring how his pupils dilate when your hands find the button of his pants, and how they shrink back as you finally undo the zipper. you don’t want to waste any more time—you’ve already waited too long—so you slide your palm down his pants to grab his half-hard cock, his eyes instantly rolling to the back of his head when you wrap your fingers around him.

“is this okay?”

you take the buck of his hips as a confirmation, giving you the courage to spread the precum along his length. he feels nice. having him in your hand seems just right and you only hope that he won’t regret this when he wakes up next morning in bed.

tonight is your turn to suck on the skin alongside his jaw, the thought of having to cover your own marks making you smile.

“fuck, baby.”

you’re not sure if he even noticed that sweet name leave his mouth, but you like the sound of it, and it’s all it takes for you to drop to your knees, dragging his pants and boxers down just enough to pull out his dick.

you look up at him once more, his left hand coming to tangle on your head, his other loosely holding his cigarette, almost done and fully forgotten. you kiss his tip, your gaze still not leaving his, thoroughly enjoying yourself as he bites his bottom lip each time your thumb hits that spot under the head of his cock. his scent is almost too much to bear so you take him in one go, feeling his cock twitch inside your mouth. it doesn’t take long before he’s fully hard and hitting the back of your throat.

the plastic taste of latex is still on his skin. a sad reminder that you weren��t his first tonight. that maybe you are an afterthought. just another girl who he uses to make himself come. but at least it means you get to have him even if it’s just this one time.

matty. that’s all that’s on your mind. once again. somewhat difficult to not think about him when you’re sucking him off, those heavenly sounds coming from his mouth making your own slick drip down your leg.

you pull away to catch your breath, using your hand to keep stroking him, pleasantly surprised when he pulls on your hair each time your red fingernails graze the underside of his cock. you do it again and again until he breaks and fucks your hand, apologizing for not being able to help himsel. it’s a sight you’ll commit to memory as long as you’re alive.

now that you’ve had a taste, it’s only so long you can go without having your lips around him. and that’s what you do, take him again, hands urging his hips to fuck your mouth. to fuck himself senseless in the hopes that you’ll be the one he turns to when he needs somebody else. he doesn’t deny your request, throwing away the wasted cigarette to guide you, setting a pace that allows him to stay steady on his feet.

purely drunk on him, you're barely aware when his phone vibrates in his pocket, matty muttering 'sorry' before grabbing and letting it drop onto the grass at your side. nosiness always gets the best of you, so you can't help but glance down, catching sight of a text from an unsaved number asking if he could fuck her again tomorrow.

you feel his hips falter. he knows you've seen it.

“’m sorry.”

this time it's a mix between a cry and a whimper. perhaps he did feel bad. perhaps some part of him did care about you in the way that you needed him to.

you reach back to place your hand on top of his, making him push your head further into him, to thrust into you until tears pool at your lashes just as he spills hard and fast down your throat. his taste overtakes every cell of your being as you swallow, feeling him soften against your tongue before you reluctantly pull away.

you didn’t even realize your knees were so sore until you stand up, not wasting a second to ask him is he's going to see her again the following night.

"do you want me to?" his thumb wipes away some of his cum off the corner of your lip. you reach out to suck it, slowly shaking your head in response.

he laughs nervously as his mouth clashes against yours, stealing both the air from your lungs. this wasn't the first time you’d kissed, but this wasn’t like before. the way he quietly moans against your lips. the softness of his fingers resting on your face. the crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he pulls back.

"can i see you tomorrow, then?"

you could’ve sworn you heart stopped. can you truly believe those words after watching him leave you behind all those nights? the soft circles his thumbs draw on your skin do feel sincere, the reassurance you need to perhaps let him in, give him a chance even though you know it’s a slippery one.

it’s your turn to brush your thumb against his mouth, slowly pulling at the bottom lip and watching it bounce back up into place. you kiss him one last time before confirming 'okay', immediately turning to finally head back in. not wanting to linger for too long in case he changes his mind.

you catch his reflection on the mirror, noticing as he tucks himself in, and it’s that slight smile on his face which keeps you awake for hours on end.

-----

for this lovely anon here. thank you for the inspo :) <3

[glorious-spoon]

hello!! happy tuesday!! requesting 💛 💗💜 for buddie :)

thank you!! 💛 - reunion kiss/relief

The Indiana Jones Thing [On AO3] 2.3K words | buddie | near death experience | first kiss

-

The horizon dips and sways in Buck's field of vision, salt stinging his eyes and lips. His whole world is shades of blue: the ocean around him and the cloudless sky overhead, the white sun beating down. His skin from the shoulders up feels hot and stiff with sunburn, but everything else is cold. Even in the middle of the day, the ocean is so fucking cold.

The Pacific Ocean is one of the warmest oceans in the world, second only to the Indian Ocean. He read that somewhere, but he can't remember where, or what got him on the topic in the first place. It might have been Chris, or it might have been one of his insomnia-induced late-night Wikipedia binges in those shaken weeks after the tsunami.

It doesn't feel warm. Not right now. His clothes cling damply to him—t-shirt, uniform pants, his boots long-since kicked off and lost to the depths. He doesn't know how long he's been out here, or how much daylight he has left. How much daylight they have left to search for him, if anyone is even looking.

They're looking for him. He believes that. He does.

It's just—he's been treading water for a long time.

Perspective is strange from the water. The waves move him, breaking against his face, blurring his vision, but all he can really see from this angle is the vast blue ceiling of the sky. Birds, sometimes, high and fast-moving. Contrails, even higher than that, sunlight glinting on metal, streaks of vapor spreading out behind. He has a crazy, futile urge to wave his arms and scream every time one passes overhead, like someone's going to spot him from a jet forty thousand feet in the air.

All he can do is keep swimming. The water slips around his arms as he moves, a steady repetitive motion that's as slow as he can make it without actually sinking. Frog kicking to conserve his energy. He's a strong swimmer, always has been. He can do this. They're out here looking for him—he knows it. That means it's his job to stay alive long enough for them to find him.

"Just keep swimming, just keep swimming," he mumbles, a cracked, rasping singsong, and the sound of his own voice startles him so badly that he loses the rhythm of his strokes for a moment and goes under. When he finally surfaces again, sputtering, there's a low, rising rumble, the waves around him getting choppier.

Tsunami, he thinks vaguely. But it wouldn't feel like this. Out on the open ocean, tsunamis are fast-moving but barely perceptible on the surface. It's only when they move into the shallow waters closer to shore that the devastation starts. Flooded streets. Toppled cars. A small, precious body clutched in Buck's arms, or falling away into the water with devastating finality.

The rumbling is getting closer. Buck spins clumsily and blinks for a few moments, wondering if it's just a mirage that's about to blur and vanish into the punishing brilliance of the sun on the water. But it stays, and it gets closer: the sleek white shape of a patrol boat cutting through the water toward him, U. S. COAST GUARD printed across his hull.

Buck starts laughing, ragged and breathless. Maybe he's crying, too, or maybe that's just the saltwater stinging his eyes. The sound of the engine vibrates in his chest, in his ears, as someone in a wetsuit drops into the water and starts swimming toward him with long, smooth strokes, RFD towing behind him. For a wild instant, Buck thinks it might be Eddie, but of course when the man gets close enough to make out any detail, he's a stranger. Older, weather-beaten face, no-nonsense expression.

"Alright, Firefighter Buckley," he says as soon as he's close enough, and it's the best thing, the best thing, Buck has heard in hours. "I'm gonna push this floatation device to you, and I want you to grab it and hold on. Got it? Can you do that for me?"

"Y-y-yeah." Buck's teeth are chattering now. He doesn't know if it's cold or adrenaline or both; a wave of weakness washes through him. "I kn-n-now the d-drill."

The RFD bobs through the water toward him. He grabs at it, clutching it to his chest with such force that he goes under again for a second.

God, it's a relief to let his legs go loose, to feel the buoy hold him up, to have his survival dependent on something else besides his own body and stubbornness.

The guardsman waits until his grip is secure to start towing him back toward the boat. After that, it's all a confused blur of harnesses and hands and the sudden chill of the air as his body leaves the water, sopping wet clothes clinging.

He nearly collapses when his feet hit the deck, the abused muscles in his legs cramping and twanging. His arms feel like two chunks of concrete dangling from his shoulders. Two guardsmen catch him before he can collapse—the man from the water, and a woman who's enough shorter that Buck has to tilt at an awkward angle to lean on her shoulder. Someone wraps a thermal blanket around his shoulders, and he's guided stumbling and clumsy to a padded bench. He blinks, squinting in the sunlight—it's past the arch of the sky, heading toward the western horizon now. It was early morning when the boat broke up and he went into the water.

"H-how l-l-long was I—was I out there?" he manages through chattering teeth.

"It's sixteen forty-five now," the woman says. "Took us a while to pinpoint your location. You're a strong swimmer, Firefighter Buckley. Good thing, too."

More than nine hours. Closer to ten. He's not sure it felt that long. Time sort of stopped having any real meaning out in the water, but he feels every minute of that time now. "Ju-just Buck. Is f-fine."

"Buck." She actually smiles. "Your team is going to be glad to hear that you're alright. Now I have a few questions, just to see how you're feeling. Are you up for that? Someone's getting some dry clothes for you right now."

He nods. His neck feels heavy, and his muscles are throbbing, and the shivering is worse now, even with the blanket. He stumbles through the assessment, and must reassure her that at the very least he's not about to drop dead on her watch, because after that he's released to change into a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants that are several inches too short for him but blissfully dry. After that, he huddles back into the thermal blanket and watches the horizon skid by as the boat makes a wide, looping turn. It looks different from this angle. Bigger. He can see more of the world from above the water than he could when he was trying not to drown, and there's a metaphor in that, maybe.

That's the last thought he remembers having before sleep catches him and drags him under.

-

He wakes to footsteps, the sound of voices. All of the sounds feel louder and closer now, and when he finally drags his eyes open, they're docking. It's nearly sunset, the waves reflecting shifting shades of red and gold. It's pretty, he thinks sleepily. Even if it did just try to kill him. Again.

Shouts. Footsteps on the deck. Then hands on his shoulders, gentle but firm, and Buck blinks up at Bobby.

"Hey, Cap," he mumbles.

"Hey, kid." Those might actually be tears in Bobby's eyes, but he's smiling all the same. "Glad to see you're alright."

"Glad those Navy SEAL tryouts actually paid off," says Chim from behind him, and he's beaming too, unabashedly teary-eyed. "You just saved me from having to make one of the worst phone calls of my life, my friend."

"They wouldn't make you notify Maddie," Buck mumbles. "Against regulation."

"Yeah, and I bet you can name the line and letter," Chim says, as Bobby sinks down and wraps an arm around Buck's shoulders, squeezing tight. Buck leans against him. His skin feels itchy and sore from dried salt and sunburn, but at least he's not shivering anymore. Bobby's here, and Chim. He squints past them, but no other familiar faces appear.

"Hen and Eddie are in the other boat," Bobby says, before he can even ask. "They should be here any minute."

"And you are about to be read the riot act, make no mistake about it."

"Wasn't on purpose."

"Yeah, I know." Chim reaches across Bobby to scruff Buck's salt-sticky hair. "Just the worst luck known to mankind. You've got to be down at least three of those nine lives at this point."

The guardsman who examined him reappears over Chim's shoulder as they bump to a halt next to the dock. "Just a few more minutes, gentlemen. We already called it in; the ambulance will meet us there."

"I'm fine," Buck says, more for form's sake than because he thinks it'll get him off the hook here. "Just tired."

Chim scoffs loudly, and Bobby says, "You're going to the hospital, don't fight me on it."

"Okay," Buck yawns.

He closes his eyes again, not quite sleeping so much as drifting, vaguely aware of the warmth and weight of Bobby's arm, the bustle around him. Then he's being coaxed to his feet, muscles screaming all the way. He tilts heavily into Bobby as Chim steadies him from the other side and they shuffle their way off the boat. Bobby delivers him into the hands of the paramedics, and Buck is sitting on the edge of the ambulance bay while his lungs and pulse are examined for a second time, when he hears a ragged voice shouting his name.

"Oh," Buck says, squinting in the dimming sunset. The lights are on around the dock, making it plenty bright enough for him to make out the tall, dark-haired figure sprinting across the lot toward them.

"Buck," Eddie shouts again, and then again, softer, as he stumbles to a halt in front of him. "Buck."

"Hey, Eddie," Buck mumbles. He blinks a couple of times, but his eyes are having some trouble focusing. Eddie's face blurs before him, then settles. Wind-burnt cheeks, wide, wet, beautiful eyes. Chest heaving like he's been sprinting a lot farther than across the parking lot. "Sorry."

Eddie swears under his breath and steps closer as the paramedic lifts her stethoscope away with a deep sigh.

"I'll give you two a moment," she says.

"I'm sorry," Buck says again, and Eddie says, "Fuck, Jesus Christ, don't be sorry," and heaves him into a hug. It's tight enough to be uncomfortable, as sore as he is, but Eddie is warm and breathing quick against his hair as his hands pat over Buck's back like he's checking for injuries and then just clutch at him, and Buck thinks he could probably happily stay here forever.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he mumbles.

A slightly crazed-sounding laugh escapes Eddie. His cheek scrapes against Buck's, warm, uncomfortably scratchy against his sunburn, and then he turns his head just enough to press his lips to Buck's cheekbone, bruising, barely even a kiss. It does something funny to Buck's insides all the same. "I thought you were dead."

"I'm okay."

"I thought you were dead." It's shaky this time. He's pretty sure Eddie is crying. He thinks he might be, too. Exhaustion and relief and the way Eddie is holding onto him like he can't stand to let go.

The kiss, too. That kiss, just now, that was barely a kiss.

"Eddie, hey." Clumsily, he reaches up. His shoulders ache, his arms feel like lead, but he manages to catch Eddie by the arms. "I'm okay."

Eddie nods against him. Then he kisses Buck's cheek again. This time it's softer, almost delicate; this time, it feels deliberate.

"Are we gonna do the Indiana Jones thing here?" Buck murmurs. "Because I'd be cool with that. For the record. If we are."

Eddie lets out a shaky laugh, which is what he was going for, and finally releases him. He keeps a hand on Buck's shoulder, thumb just brushing the side of his neck, the same way he's always held onto Buck. Over his shoulder, Buck can see Hen approaching, but she hangs back.

"Since when have you seen Indiana Jones?" he asks.

"Blame Chim."

"Okay."

"So," Buck stutters, and it's not the cold now, or exhaustion. This is just nerves. "So—so if you—do you want—?"

Eddie breathes out a quiet laugh. His thumb moves carefully against Buck's skin. And they're doing this, apparently, after everything: right here, on the tailgate of an ambulance with half of their family and a couple of mildly impatient first responders looking on. Buck will be embarrassed about that later, probably.

Right now, though, Eddie says, "Yeah, Buck, of course I do," in that fond quiet voice that Buck loves so much. Right now, Eddie leans down again to kiss Buck a third time, carefully, right on the lips.

It lingers sweetly for a moment. A few yards away, Chim wolf-whistles and Hen starts laughing, but Eddie doesn't pull back until Buck is light-headed and breathless and smiling like a dope.

Eddie looks pretty dopey himself: soft-eyed, a little stunned, even though he's the one who started this. Buck leans up for another kiss, and doesn't break it even when his shoulders and neck cramp into painful knots at the movement. He must make a noise, because Eddie pulls back a moment later. He doesn't go far, though. His hand is still warm on Buck's nape.

"Buck," he says.

"Yeah," Buck sighs, trying not to pout. "You're riding with me in the ambulance, though, right?"

"Obviously. And you're coming home with me after."

"Obviously," Buck repeats. He tilts his chin up for another kiss, even though it hurts, and Eddie lets him.

[nostalgicnarrator]

Outlaws and Lawmen

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Word Count: 5311

Parings: Thorn X Bilbo

Description:

Throin Oakenshield, law man, finds himself facing an outlaw, the likes of which he’s never seen before.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

⚠️Warning⚠️

Brief mention of extreme violence. Gun fights and death.



Note:

Listen, I don’t know what to tell you except I really wanted to write this for whatever reason. I was inspired, mostly by @shurikthereject and more specifically this post, and this post by them. Go give them love please if you haven’t already. Have fun and tell me if I messed up.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The sun was just beginning to rise over the small, dusty town of Ered, casting long shadows on the wooden buildings that lined the main streets.

The cool breeze rolled through the growing town, it carried familiar scents of leather, horses, and the distant aroma of freshly baked bread.

Thorin Oakenshield, the town’s sheriff, adjusted his hat and took a deep breath, savoring the calmness of the early hour.

Thorin’s family had long been intertwined with the law, a legacy stretching back further than he or the rest of the town could really remember.

His father and grandfather before him had both worn the very badge now clipped to his chest.

though they were not the only to carve their own legends into the town, they were the only ones who’s legends lined with mystery’s.

His grandfather had been one of the most revered sheriffs the town had ever known, a man who brought order with a steady hand and an unyielding sense of justice.

But he had not been as invincible as he pretended. He’d upset the wrong people, his throat slit in the dead of night, his body found cold and lifeless in the alley behind what was now Bombur’s saloon.

No one had ever discovered who was responsible. The killer’s identity became the stuff of ghost stories whispered around campfires, a shadow in the town’s memory, known only as “The defiler.”

Thorin’s father fared no better. He vanished without a trace while leading a posse into the hills, chasing after, well Thorin didn’t know.

What he did know was that his father’s badge showed up and left in Thorin’s home, there was no explanation,

And as the weeks turned into months, Thorin's hope dwindled to a painful acceptance. His father was assumed dead, claimed by the wilds or worse.

Left with little choice, and after a little convincing, Thorin took the badge. He was allowed to wear it and wore it he did, making him one of the youngest sheriffs in the territory.

Now, it was his turn to uphold the family honor in a town that seemed forever on the brink of the unexpected. Ered had always attracted the strange and the dangerous, and lately, there’d been no shortage of both.

The sudden influx of outlaws had become increasingly frustrating, bands of desperados and renegades testing their resolve, pushing at the edges of the peace Thorin strived for.

Thorin, by now, had dealt with his fair share of trouble. He’d faced down outlaws who thought his town was an easy mark, stood toe-to-toe with gunmen who underestimated him, and outsmarted those who tried to outgun him.

His reputation grew quickly and he was known as the quickest draw and for having a sharp mind, at least when it came to dealing with outlaws.

His name began to spread beyond Ered, most rumors of him were just that; rumors. but if the whispers in saloons and campfires across the state helped in keeping his town safe he didn’t mind.

Most were overly dramatic stories, some being entirely false and others just being exaggerated. But said stories were enough to make some think twice about causing trouble in his town.

Before that, Ered was just another dot on the map. But it quickly became known as Thorin Oakenshield’s town.

A place where the law was upheld not just by the sheriff’s badge, but by the man who wore it. Outlaws might ride into other towns to cause trouble, but not here. Not under Thorin’s watch.

Still, even as he took in the quiet morning, a familiar tension settled in his gut. The calm wouldn’t last; it never did. And today felt like one of those days when trouble was bound to find its way to his door.

And even as Thorin strode down the main street, nodding to or saying hello to the townspeople who greeted him, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was brewing.

The air seemed thicker today, the shadows just a bit darker. He greeted his deputy, Dwalin, as he stepped inside the sheriff’s office.

“Mornin’, Thorin,” Dwalin grunted, adjusting his gun belt. His face, usually calm, held a hint of tension.

“Morning, Dwalin… Feels like a strange day, doesn’t it?” Thorin replied.

Dwalin nodded. “Aye, it does. Maybe it’s the storm coming in from the east, but I’ve got a feelin’…”

Thorin chuckled. “You always have a feeling, Dwalin. Let’s hope it's just the weather this time.”

But deep down, Thorin knew better than to ignore his instincts or those of his deputy. On more than one occasion either had been provided right.

And if they were both feeling it, then something really bad might just happen. Before he could dwell on it anymore, Bofur, the always cheerful owner of the general store, came through the door.

“Sheriff! Morning!” Bofur called, his usual grin tight fake, it seemed out of place on his usually jovial face.

Thorin nodded and made his way over. “Why mornin’ Bofur, everything alright?”

“Well, …no sheriff, It’s my cousin. I’ve been trying to get him help and, well he’s out on his own again.”

Thorin sighed. Bifur, maybe this is what his gut was so upset about. Bifur had lost his mind a few years ago after an accident.

The old prospector was a kind fellow most days but, when he got to wondering, there was no telling.

Bifur often wandered off into the hills, he never got much farther than that. “Alright, I’ll go check on him. Might be good to get out of town for a bit.” Throin patted Bofur on the back.

“Thank ya sheriff, send him to my general store or to my brothers saloon.”

Dwalin gave him a nod as they quickly gathered their stuff. Thorin was first to mount his horse, setting off towards the hills.

The wind picked up as dark clouds gathered on the horizon. He didn’t like leaving town with a feeling like this hanging in the air, but Bofur’s cousin needed checking on, and that was that.

⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊

The midday sun hung high over Ered, casting its relentless heat down onto the dirt streets. A breeze brushed through the town making trees rustle kindly.

The townsfolk moved about their business; women chatting outside the general store, children running past the schoolhouse, and a few men lounged outside Bombur's saloon.

Then, a low rumble of hooves sounded in the distance, growing louder as they approached. Heads turned, eyes narrowing against the glare to see a group of riders on the horizon.

At the head of the pack was a man with a dark brown hat, caramel colored curls wearing a green shirt and a dark poncho around his shoulders. A white bandanna covered his face nicely.

Not everyone could immediately recognize the leader, but the few that did knew him as Bilbo Baggins, the outlaw.

He was a new name to the outlaws list, steadily climbing the wanted list, now he sits near the top, he’d robbed banks, and towns. He’s known to be armed and dangerous.

He never misses, he hasn't ever each time he’s shot a gun. Bilbo rode in with a confidence that would send a chill down the spine of any onlooker.

Three other men rode behind him, all armed and faces hidden behind masks of different colors and patterns.

Beside Bilbo was his right hand man, no name was ever given to the man, and none ever will. He always wore a purple shirt with a dark bandanna around his face and a black hat blocking the rest.

Bilbo’s right hand man was known as a wiry man with a wicked glint in his eye, he seemed to scan the buildings with sharp interest, his fingers twitching near the revolver at his side.

The riders came to a stop in the middle of the street, kicking up clouds of dust. Bilbo’s eyes swept over the faces that stared back at him.

There were wide-eyed women who clutched their children tightly, men tensing up, hands edging closer to their gun belts if they had one. He chuckled under his breath.

“Good afternoon, folks!” Bilbo called out lazily, he looked relaxed and calm. “How’s everyone doin’? Ain’t it just a lovely day? Be a damn shame if somethin’ were to spoil it.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd. The tension in the air was thick, almost like a coiled spring ready to snap. Someone had the nerve to draw and before the man could fully raise his hand a shot rang out.

The man dropped his gun and held his now bleeding hand to himself. Bilbos right hand man had his gun pointed at the idiot who thought it was a good idea to grab his gun.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you… see my partner here, he’s got an itchy finger.” Bilbo chuckled softly.

At the edge of the crowd, Dís stood with her sons, Fíli and Kíli. Her instincts told her to fight, keep her children safe. And she desperately wanted to listen to it.

But she couldn’t, not without getting someone killed. She held her sons back as they stepped forward, their own hands reaching for their guns.

With a gentle squeeze on their shoulders she got their attention “Stay calm,” she whispered to them, her eyes never leaving Bilbo.

Bilbo swung off his horse, strolling leisurely towards the bank. He nodded to Glóin as he stepped outside.

Bilbo’s gang slowly followed, spreading out behind him. “Now, I’m not here to hurt anyone,” Bilbo continued. “At least, not if I don’t have to. But my boys and I, we’re in need of some funds, and I’m sure your good banker here won’t mind making a generous donation.”

Glóin stepped forward, his face pale but not scared. “You won’t get away with this,” he said, his voice steadier than he felt.

Bilbo laughed, a sound that made the townsfolk flinch. The laugh was too sweet for what was happening. “Oh, I think I will. See, I’ve got more men hidden around your little town- rooftops, alleys, you name it. You make a move, and they’ll turn this place into a shooting gallery.”

A wave of fear swept through the crowd. They glanced nervously at the rooftops and shadows, imagining invisible gunmen lurking there, ready to unleash hell.

Fíli and Kíli tensed beside their mother, their eyes flicking towards the distant hills where their uncle had ridden not long ago. They needed to get him, now.

Dís felt the tremor of fear in her sons, and in that moment, she made a decision. She tilted her head towards Fíli and whispered urgently, “Fíli, you and Kíli go. Ride fast, find your uncle, bring him back.”

Fíli hesitated, his eyes wide. “But, Ma-”

“Go!” she hissed, “I’ll handle this!”

Before the boys could argue further, Dís stepped forward, raising her hands high. “Wait! Wait!” she shouted, drawing all eyes, including Bilbo’s, to her.

Bilbo cocked his head, curiosity piqued. “Howdy ma’am, pleasure to meet ya, who might you be?”

Dís forced a smile, stepping into the open. “Just a mother, hoping to keep her children safe,” she said, voice steady even as her heart raced. “You say you’re not here to hurt anyone- then prove it. Let these people go about their day. You want money? Take it and leave.”

Bilbo’s grin widened. He sauntered closer, he began to prowl around her. “Now, now, that’s quite a proposal. So what makes you think you can negotiate with me?”

“Because, I know you’re bluffing,” Dís said, her eyes blazing with a defiant spark. “If you had as many men as you say, you wouldn’t need to make threats. You’d have already started shooting.”

A hush fell over the street. For a moment, even Bilbo looked surprised, caught off guard. Behind Dís, Fíli and Kíli took the chance to slip away, moving silently through the crowd, unnoticed by the gang members whose focus was entirely on their mother.

Bilbo glared at her and pointed up behind her to a rooftop where a gunman was, he had a shotgun aimed at her “are you sure…? My dear you seemed to have misjudged.”

Dís glared back “one extra gunner-“ Bilbo points at another on the bell tower of the church. “Two then, show me another and I’ll believe you.”

Bilbo’s smile slowly faded. “You’re a sharp one, ain’t you?” he said, his tone darkening. “Maybe too sharp for your own good.”

Dís’s heart pounded, but she held her ground, she pulls give her sons all the precious seconds they needed, no matter what.

Fíli and Kíli had at that point reached the edge of town, a horse waited for them. Without a word, they mounted and Fíli spurred it into a gallop, racing towards the hills.

Bilbo’s eyes flicked to the fleeing boys just as they vanished from sight. His smile returned. “Looks like we’re gonna have some fun after all.”

He turned back to his men. “Inside the bank!” he barked. “And make it quick. We’ve got company coming.”

The gang moved into action, shoving Glóin into the building as they went inside the bank. He protested loudly. Loud enough to still hear him outside.

Dís watched as her sons disappeared over the ridge, a silent prayer on her lips that they would reach Thorin in time.

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The hills outside Ered were grassy and scattered rocks, with the occasional stubborn tree jutting its way up.

Thorin and Dwalin had their horses trotting along slowly, scanning for any sign of Bifur. The old prospector had a habit of wandering off into the wilderness, especially after his accident.

The poor man had a hatchet stuck in his head, Óin says it’s a miracle that he could even still walk. Bifur’s mind seemed lost most days, chasing shadows only he could see.

“There,” Dwalin grunted, pointing ahead with a nod. A figure sat on a rocky outcrop, silhouetted against the bright sky. It was Bifur.

He looked as wild as he always does, muttering to himself as he gazed into the distance. Thorin began to wonder if he was lucid enough to sign.

Thorin and Dwalin swong themselves from their horses and approached cautiously, not wanting to startle Bifur.

As they drew closer, Thorin could make out Bifur’s soft mumbling. He was rattling off gibberish nonsense that always seemed to only make sense to him.

“Bifur,” Thorin called gently, stopping a few paces away. “It’s Thorin. Bofur sent me, your cousin? He’s worried about you.”

Bifur turned slowly, his eyes wide and unfocused. For a moment, he didn’t seem to recognize Thorin, his gaze flicking between the sheriff and the deputy beside him.

Thorin took another step closer to Bifur, his hands went up when the prospector, stepped away as if to run. Then, a spark of recognition lit in Bifur’s eyes, and his face softened.

“Thorin” Bifur signed and Thorin let out a sigh of relief, nodding slowly as the prospector’s hands moved silently. “I know you.”

Thorin smiled, trying to keep his tone light. “Yes, you do. And you know Bofur and Bombur too. They’re worried about you, Bifur. They want you to come back to town with us.”

Bifur shook his head, his brows notched together as his hands moved warily. “Can’t go back. The Shadows there. Always watching… waiting.”

Dwalin stepped forward, his voice was softer than normal. “It’s alright Bifur. We’ll help you get back safe.”

Bifur’s eyes darted around, scanning the horizon as if expecting something to emerge from the rocks. “You don’t see them,” he signed with quick movements. “The dead won’t stay dead, the shadows walk like men there.”

Thorin glanced at Dwalin, who gave a slight nod. They had to handle this carefully. Bifur was not dangerous, but he was unpredictable, and the last thing they wanted was to spook him further.

“Listen, Bifur,” Thorin said softly, crouching down to meet Bifur’s gaze directly. “Why don’t you come down from that rock and whatever you’re seeing, whatever you’re feeling, we can talk about it back in town.”

Bifur looked at Thorin more now and then to Dwalin, he took a step back away, both men showed their hands to him, “Bifur, out here, you’re exposed. It’s not safe. Let’s get you back to your family. To Bofur and Bombur. They miss you.” Dwalin offered with a kinder tone.

Bifur hesitated, He glanced at the hills behind him, then back at Thorin and Dwalin. He started down off the rocks, slowly moving to Thorin.

Thorin smiled, relief washing over him. “Good man, Bifur. We’ll take it nice and slow. Just follow us.”

They helped Bifur when he got closer, guiding him back to the horses. The man was unsteady, his eyes still darting about as if expecting to see the phantoms that haunted his mind. But with each step, he seemed to calm a little more.

Thorin and Dwalin exchanged a glance, Bifur had once been a kind fellow, not that he wasn’t now and not that he didn’t seem to have moments of clarity,

There was a time where Thorin wondered if the person who slit his grandfather’s throat was the same person who tried to bash Bifur’s skull in with a hatchet.

The sound of galloping hooves drew Thorin back to the present. He turned, spotting two riders approaching at breakneck speed.

His hand instinctively went to the gun at his hip, ready for anything. As the riders drew closer, he recognized their faces. He found himself hurrying a little closer.

It was his nephews. Thorin’s heart clenched with worry as he glanced back toward the town. Something was wrong.

“Uncle Thorin!” Fíli shouted as he and Kíli threw themselves from their horse, scrambling over to him, panic etched on their faces. “You need to come back! The town- there’s an outlaw!”

“Said his name is Bilbo Boggins!” Kíli added breathlessly.

“No, no! It was definitely Baggins!” Fíli corrected, his voice trembling.

Thorin’s heart tightened. Bilbo Baggins, the name was as infamous as it was unexpected. He knew what the name meant.

Thorin felt a wave of dizziness wash over him as he glanced at Dwalin, whose expression mirrored his own horror and panic.

“What’s he doing?” Thorin demanded, trying to steady his voice. He pushed Bifur to Fíli.

Kíli caught his breath. “He’s holding the town hostage. Says he’s got a dozen men hidden around. Mom distracted him so we could get away, Uncle!”

Thorin’s heart sank, then shattered at the thought of his sister risking herself. He wouldn’t lose her too. He wouldn’t let his nephews lose their mother.

He turned to Dwalin. “Mount up,” he ordered, already moving towards his horse. “Fíli, stay with Bifur. If you follow then keep a safe distance behind us and get him back to Bofur and Bombur if you can manage. Stay safe, both of you.”

Fíli nodded, though his eyes were wide and worried. Kíli grabbed his uncle’s pant leg, not ready to let him go. “What about you, Uncle?”

Thorin’s face hardened. “I’m going to deal with our new visitor.” With that, he spurred his horse forward, “Let’s go!” he shouted to Dwalin, who fell beside him.

They raced back towards Ered, the peaceful morning had now become a distant memory.

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By the time they reached the edge of town, Thorin could still see some of the townspeople. Most had been ushered into the general store and the doors were blocked and bard closed.

The rest were tied up and left in front of the store. And Dís was one of them. Two men were at the entrance of the bank guns drawn, one called into the bank as Thorin showed.

After a moment the doors slammed open and there stood Bilbo Baggins, his face covered by a white bandanna , his right hand man stepped out beside him, his face also covered.

“Thorin Oakenshield,” Bilbo called out, his voice carrying over the din. “I’ve heard of you. The scary lawman turned legend. Some say you can never miss a shot.”

Thorin slid off his horse, Dwalin followed suit quickly, his hands hovering towards his gun. Even though Bilbo’s face was covered, Thorin could see the playful grin underneath it.

Then the first shot rang out, sharp and echoing across the town square, shattering the fragile stillness. Dwalin had fired at Bilbo, but he missed.

Bilbo huffed and shot back, his men soon followed his lead. Instinctively, Thorin and Dwalin ducked behind a water trough, bullets whizzing past them.

"Dwalin! Really? No negotiation?!" Thorin shouted over the din, gripping his revolver tightly.

Dwalin shrugged beside him, wincing as a bullet ricocheted off the edge of the trough, splintering the wood. “I had 'em, the sun just got in my eye…”

“Uh huh, sure.” Throin huffed, he ducked down lowered as his hat got blasted off. “Aww man, I like that hat…”

Dwalin huffed a chuckle at Throin and shook his head before popping up a bit and trying to shoot back.

Throin had to push Dwalin back down when a bullet narrowly avoided hitting Dwalin in the head. “keep your head down!”

Bilbo Baggins chuckled, his voice unnervingly calm amidst the gunfire. "Come on, Oakenshield! You've got quite the reputation. Show me what you've got!"

Thorin clenched his jaw, peering around the edge of the trough. Bilbo stood confidently in the middle of the street, a few of his men taking cover now behind wagons and barrels.

Thorin saw his chance, one of Bilbo's outlaws leaned out too far, aiming a shot at him from the roof from across the street. The outlaw fell from the roof, clutching his chest.

He squeezed the trigger, and the man dropped, his body crumpling to the ground.

"That's one," Thorin muttered under his breath. He moved swiftly, signaling to Dwalin to cover him as he darted to the side of a building.

Bilbo chuckled. "Ooh, nice shot! You keep that up, and I might have to start taking you seriously." Thorin's jaw tightened, but he kept his focus.

Another outlaw shot at him from a wagon. He lined up the shot, cocked his gun's hammer and squeezed the trigger again.

"Two," Thorin counted. He had to duck out of the way as a bullet ricocheted off the wall he was hiding behind.

Bilbo clapped his hands in mock applause. "Oh, very good, very good! But you're still outnumbered, Sheriff. How many bullets you got left? Think you can take us all?"

Throin growled, stepped out and shot at Bilbo, the outlaw just barely avoided the shot as he ducked behind a wall, his right hand man followed him quickly.

Dwalin glanced over at Thorin, Dwalin huffed and shot at them making one of the outlaws that was about to shoot Thorin duck back behind his cover and miss.

Throin slipped back where he was before, Dwalin soon joined him behind the wall. "He's trying to rile you up, don't let him get to you!" Thorin nodded, but he could feel the frustration bubbling up.

Bilbo's voice was like an itch he couldn't scratch, each word dripping with amusement. He huffed and shot across again behind a wagon after a moment Dwalin moved to fallow.

An outlaw popped up from nowhere with a rifle, aiming at Dwalin as the man ran. Thorin fired first, and the outlaw’s head snapped back as he fell to the ground.

"Three," Thorin called out through gritted teeth.

"Now, now," Bilbo chided, his tone mockingly sweet. "You're making this really boring for my boys. Can't you give them a bit of a chance?"

"You want a chance, Baggins?" Thorin shot back, his patience wearing thin. "Tell your men to lay down their guns and come quietly. Otherwise, I'll make sure you're the last man standing."

Bilbo laughed, a light, easy sound that grated on Thorin's nerves. "Well, I'm sure I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got a schedule to keep."

Another outlaw shifted, trying to take advantage of Bilbo's distraction. Thorin whipped around and fired, hitting the man square in the chest.

The outlaw fell back with a grunt, his gun clattering to the ground. "Four," Thorin called.

His reputation wasn't a game, but Bilbo treated it like it was. Bilbo's smile wavered slightly but didn’t fall. "Well, well! That's four of mine down. But who's counting, right?" He winked, his eyes dancing with mischief.

Thorin's patience snapped. "I am," he growled, Throin sprung up and stood on top of the wagon, and an outlaw popped up to shoot.

Throin nailed him in the head. The last outlaw dropped, leaving only Bilbo and his right-hand man, both still standing. “That’s five Baggins! Wanna make it 7?”

Bilbo stepped out, his grin strained beneath his bandanna. “Oh, you are fun, Sheriff. But now it’s just me and my friend here. And we’re not nearly as expendable.” As if on cue, Bilbo’s right-hand man lunged toward Thorin, a rifle clutched in his hands.

Before Thorin could react, the man crashed into him, both of them tumbling off the wagon and onto the dusty ground. The impact jolted Thorin’s breath from his lungs, and he fought to regain his footing as they rolled across the dirt. The rifle clattered out of the man’s hands, skidding across the ground, out of reach.

Thorin twisted, driving his elbow into the man’s ribs. The outlaw grunted in pain, his grip loosening just enough for Thorin to shove him off. Thorin scrambled to his feet, reaching for his revolver, but the outlaw was already up, tackling Thorin again before he could grab it.

They grappled in the dirt, exchanging blows, each trying to overpower the other. Thorin’s hand brushed the handle of his gun, but the man yanked him back, forcing him to focus on the struggle. They wrestled for control, boots kicking up dust as they struggled on the ground.

With a sharp twist, Thorin managed to throw the man off balance, sending him crashing into the side of the wagon. The outlaw groaned, shaking his head to clear it, while Thorin lunged for his gun, fingers closing around the cool metal.

But just as he did, the outlaw grabbed his rifle from where it had fallen nearby. They rose to their feet simultaneously, weapons in hand, both breathing hard from the scuffle.

Thorin fired first, but the man was fast, ducking behind a water barrel just in time. Thorin turned, his eyes scanning for Bilbo, but the outlaw leader was already on the move, darting from his cover with surprising speed.

Thorin spun, aiming to take the shot, but Bilbo was quicker than anticipated, and Thorin could react, Bilbo lunged forward and grabbed Gloin.

The man had managed to wriggle his way out of the doorway of the bank, his hands still bound tightly in front of him, a gag tied around his mouth.

Bilbo yanked the banker up to his feet, wrapping one arm around Glóin's chest and pressing the barrel of his revolver against the side of the man's head.

"Alright, everyone, hold up!" Bilbo shouted, his voice ringing out clear. "Or your good banker here gets a brand-new hole in his head!"

Thorin froze, his heart pounding in his chest. Glóin's eyes were wide, his face pale beneath the sweat and dirt that seemed out of place on the banker.

Thorin could see the desperate plea in Glóin's eyes, but he kept his gun trained on Bilbo trying to think of something, anything to say.

Before he could think to stop himself he was already talking "Let him go, Baggins," Thorin called out, hoping his voice sounded steady. "You don't need to hurt anyone."

"Oh, I really didn't want to, Sheriff," Bilbo replied. "But you haven’t and your friend hasn't left me much of a choice, now have you? How about you drop those guns, and maybe I'll think about letting your banker friend here go."

Dwalin's jaw was set, his hand steady on his weapon. "Like hell I will!" he yelled out. "He's bluffing, Thorin. We can take him."

Bilbo chuckled, his laughter maddeningly light and teasing "Is that what you think, Deputy?" He tightened his grip on Glóin, pressing the barrel of the gun harder against the man's temple, Glóin to wince. "I'm not bluffing. Now, toss your guns aside, or I'll paint the street with his brains."

Thorin's mind raced.

They were at a standoff, and Bilbo knew he held all the cards. "Alright, Bilbo," Thorin heard himself say. "We'll put down the guns. But you let Glóin go first."

Bilbo's eyes glinted with amusement behind his bandanna. "Oh, Sheriff, you think I'm new at this? I say guns first, then the banker goes free."

Thorin could feel Dwalin tensing beside him. "Don't do it, Thorin," Dwalin whispered urgently. "We can't let him leave. Not after what he's done."

"Dwalin, put the gun down," Thorin told Dwalin, turning to face his deputy.

But Dwalin's jaw clenched, and Thorin realized too late what was about to happen.

Dwalin's hand twitched, raised his gun and shot, but Bilbo was faster.

A gunshot cracked through the tense air, and Dwalin staggered back dropping his revolver, clutching his shoulder with a grunt of pain as he fell to one knee.

"Dwalin!" Thorin shouted, his voice sharp with fear and frustration.

Bilbo pressed the gun harder against Glóin's head, his smile never faltering. "Uh-uh, Sheriff," he warned.

"You make one more move, and your banker's brains decorate the street. Now, what's it gonna be?"

Thorin's frustration boiled over, but he forced himself to remain calm. "Bilbo, listen to me," he said, his voice low and steady. "Glóin has a family. He's not part of this. Just let him go."

For a moment, Bilbo hesitated, his grip on Gloin loosening just slightly. "I know he has a family, Oakenshield," he said, his tone almost sincere. "I don't want to hurt anyone, Sheriff. Honest, I don't. But I can't have you chasing me down the road. I need to make sure you don't follow."

Thorin nodded slowly, lowering his hands further. "Alright, Bilbo. We'll stay put. Just don't do anything stupid."

Bilbo's smirk returned, though his eyes darkened with determination. "Too late for that, Sheriff." In one swift motion, he pistol-whipped Glóin, sending the bound man crumpling to the ground, dazed and bleeding.

Before Thorin could react, Bilbo spun, firing a warning shot into the dirt at Thorin's feet. "Drop it!" he barked.

Thorin's revolver clattered to the ground without hesitation. Bilbo's right-hand man covered them as Bilbo mounted his horse in a single, fluid motion.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Sheriff!" Bilbo called mockingly, his voice once again full of mocking cheer. He spurred his horse, his right-hand man close behind, both of them racing out of town in a cloud of dust and grit.

Thorin watched them go, he groaned in frustration as anger boiled in his veins. He turned quickly to Dwalin, who was struggling to his feet, clutching his shoulder.

"You alright?" he asked as he looked his deputy over with concern.

Dwalin nodded, though his face was pale from the pain. "I'll live. What about Glóin?"

Thorin knelt by Gloin, checking his pulse and untying the gag from his mouth. "He's alive, just knocked out. Get Óin.

Make sure everyone else is safe," he ordered, looking out over the square.

Dwalin nodded and staggered off, Thorin could see his nephews, Kíli was uniting his mother and Fíli helped unbind the doors of the general store.

The dust from Bilbo's escape was still settling, but Thorin knew one thing for sure: he'd be ready when Bilbo Baggins came back around. And next time, there'd be no escape.

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1 / 2

Note:

Okay I’m gonna stop it there. This was just kinda a little one shot for @shurikthereject ‘s western/cowboy au. The rest of this note is kind to them now. I tried to stay true to the shown characters and how you made them but I’m not the best at that. Also I wouldn’t mind making like a whole book for it but if you hate this and you don’t want me to continue I’d like to know. Or if you’d like me to change anything let me know. Okay bye.

[axeeglitter]

A young man and college student finds a software capable of turning his roommate and friend into Billy from stranger things, a fictionnal character he's been fantasizing about for a long time. But would he be capable of deceiving his friend and sacrificing him to turn him into his own selfish desires, entirely someone else for good ? What price will he have to pay ?

The Price of Desire

Eric stared at the glowing screen of his laptop, a strange sense of excitement bubbling up inside him. He had stumbled upon a program unlike anything he’d ever seen—an obscure piece of software with a power that felt more like dark magic than modern technology. It claimed it could transform anyone into anyone else, real or fictive, physically and mentally, down to the last detail. A fantasy that should have remained locked in the recesses of his mind was suddenly within reach.

Billy.

The bad boy from Stranger Things who had captivated Eric ever since he'd first laid eyes on him—Billy, with his chiseled body, wild hair, and untamed confidence, everything Eric longed for. Billy, with his alpha attitude and carefree behavior. Billy with his over-the-top sex life and don’t give a shit personality. And now, here was this impossible opportunity, lying right in front of him. The catch? The person to be transformed had to be someone Eric knew personally and was closed to. Being far away from everyone he loved because of the college, that meant it could only be one person: his roommate, Jake.

Jake had been Eric’s roommate and best friend since freshman year—kind, loyal, and completely oblivious to the fantasies Eric had buried. Could Eric really do this? Could he trick Jake into becoming... someone else? The more he thought about it, the more he was torn apart between his fantasy and his loyalty. Jake had always been there for him, he was his best friend, a good student, loved by everyone. The more he thought about it, the more he was starting to realize what that meant. But one glance at Jake sleeping on his bed and then at the picture of Billy on his computer was enough to send Eric into overdrive. And if anything, it could be reversed by the end of the night. Yes, Eric had to do it.

He started to enter the parameters:

Billy Hargrove, white tanktop and pair of jeans, alpha, dominant, horniness level max.

The temptation to press enter right away was unbearable. After hours of agonizing over it, Eric decided to do it. He told himself it was just curiosity, just to see if it worked. The transformation would be reversible, he reassured himself. Right?

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At first, nothing happened. Then Jake's body began to twitch. His limbs spasmed violently, and he let out a low groan in his sleep. Eric watched in horrified fascination as Jake's skin started to shift—bronzing slightly, taking on that signature sun-kissed tone Billy was known for. A thin sheen of sweat broke out across Jake's body, highlighting the rapid changes underneath.

Jake's face was the first thing to shift—his features contorting as though invisible hands were reshaping him like clay. His jawline sharpened, becoming more angular and pronounced. His cheekbones lifted, while his nose restructured, growing slightly broader. His lips thickened just a little, curling into a sneer even as he slept. The bones beneath his face crackled audibly, like distant fireworks.

Then came his body. Jake’s chest began to heave, his shirt tightening as his pecs swelled, muscles bulging outward. His arms thickened, biceps ballooning in size as veins snaked along his skin, stretching taut over the rising muscle. His stomach contracted, fat burning away in an instant to reveal an impressively sculpted six-pack. The definition of every muscle was becoming impossibly sharp, like a body sculpted by the gods themselves.

Eric’s eyes widened as Jake's legs extended, lengthening and thickening with sinew. His thighs bulged under the fabric of his jeans, his calves now heavy and sculpted with muscle. The feet at the end of his long legs morphed, growing wider, larger, more imposing. Even his toes seemed to rearrange, becoming more masculine, rougher.

As the transformation progressed, dark blonde hair sprouted rapidly across Jake’s chest, arms, and legs. The hair on his forearms thickened into a rough, virile coat. A trail of coarse hair formed on his lower abdomen, leading down below his waistband. His groin was what transformed the most as a the thick dirty blonde curly pelt he now sprouted. His entire body had taken on that wild, untamed look of pure alpha masculinity.

Eric’s gaze drifted lower, his face flushing as he noticed the bulge in Jake’s pants swelling. Jake’s cock was growing larger, thicker, pushing out against the tight fabric. His nuts, too, seemed to hang heavier, the very size of his masculinity amplifying as he transformed.

A violent jerk shook Jake’s body, and his hair began to change next. His once-short, brown locks sprouted rapidly, curling into wild, sun-bleached waves. His hair grew longer, thick and unruly, cascading down to his shoulders in messy, sweaty strands. The familiar mop of Billy’s iconic hairstyle now crowned Jake’s transforming head.

As the final changes solidified, Jake’s groans deepened into something more primal. His posture changed, becoming more confident, more aggressive, his body brimming with raw power. The scent of musk filled the air, an intoxicating mix of sweat and testosterone that radiated off Jake’s pits, cock and feet.

But the worst part was Jake’s face. His once-soft, friendly expression twisted into a cocky, arrogant smirk, the same one that Billy always wore. The fear and confusion in Jake’s eyes dimmed, replaced with the cold, predatory gleam that belonged entirely to Billy Hargrove.

Jake’s body suddenly tensed, his eyes snapping open. “Fuck... what the hell?” His voice was deeper now, rougher, dripping with Billy’s signature bravado. He looked down at his new body, running his hands over his muscled chest and abs covered by his musky white tanktop, feeling every ridge, every bulge of strength. His cocky grin widened but his eyes still were surprised and scared of what he was seeing. He tilted his head away from his huge pecs and hard abs to look at Eric. Jake then tried to open his mouth to ask for help but before he could do it, his pupils contracted and dilated, now lacking the fear and full of confidence and horniness.

Eric stood frozen, unable to move, unable to speak.

Billy flexed his arms, admiring his muscular frame. He glanced at Eric, his sneer deepening.

“Damn… looks like I’m fuckin’ perfect,” Billy said, his voice full of arrogance. He stretched, his thick biceps rippling with power. His eyes locked onto Eric, sizing him up like prey. “Gotta say, man, I feel fuckin’ good.”

Eric’s heart pounded. This wasn’t Jake anymore. His friend was gone, erased by the monster standing before him. And yet, despite his horror, Eric felt an undeniable attraction to the imposing figure in front of him—the very object of his darkest fantasies come to life.

Billy got off the bed and took a step toward him, his swagger undeniable, oozing dominance. “You do this?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous. When Eric didn’t respond, Billy chuckled darkly. “Yeah, you did. I can see it in your fuckin’ eyes.”

In a swift motion, Billy grabbed Eric by the shirt and shoved him onto the bed. Eric gasped, his heart racing as Billy towered over him, his cocky grin never wavering. His heavy boots thudded on the floor as he approached taking off his tanktop then slowly pulling off the belt of his well-used pair of jeans, the leather slipping through his fingers with a sharp hiss.

“You’ve been wanting this, haven’t you? Wanted me?” Billy said, his voice dripping with contempt and amusement as he grabbed the pack of cigarette from his back pocket and lighted one up. He tossed the belt aside and ran his hand over his crotch, his bulge pressing aggressively against the fabric. “Well, now I’m here. You got what you wanted.”

Eric could hardly breathe. Billy’s eyes gleamed with malicious delight as he reached down, picking up the device Eric had used for the transformation. Eric’s stomach dropped as he saw Billy’s fingers swipe across the screen, entering something into the software.

Billy looked down at Eric, his grin widening. “You think this game’s over, man? Nah. We’re just gettin’ started.”

Eric’s eyes went wide as Billy held the device up, revealing what he had typed in:

Steve Harrington, slut, passive , slaved to Billy, Ahoy uniform.

With a chilling smirk, Billy tossed the device aside, leaning over Eric, his breath hot on his face as he grabbed Eric’s growing hair and forced his unwashed uncut cock in his mouth as his face was starting to rearrange. “Now, let’s have some real fun, huh?”

The last thing Eric saw was Billy’s cold, blue eyes and that cocky, knowing grin, as the reality of what he had unleashed crashed down on him.

His nightmare had only just begun.

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Hey! Hope you'll like this quick story!

If you have any ideas you want to see written, please do it and I'll do my best to answer them! Have a nice day and see you soon :)

[cdragons]

Warmth & Stories - Aemond Targaryen x Wildling!Reader

Next Part

Summary: Love can bloom in the most unusual ways. The love between a stoic prince from the South and a wildling storyteller will be written in history as one of the strangest but truest of loves.

Author's Notes: To my very lovely and wonderful friend and beta reader Bel, aka @valeskafics, I hope you had a wonderful Christmas and New Year's! This is the first part of this fic gift I wanted to give you, and I promise the next part will have smut! I hope you like this fic and can feel my love and appreciation for you. Bel, you are one of my favorite writers of all time and a huge reason I began posting fanfics and writing in the first place. I am so grateful that you opened a whole new world for me, and I hope this year gives you lots of happiness.

Warning(s): Slight cursing, Reader's parents were killed, Daemon's an ass, Viserys is a negligent father, Westeros is Westeros, dysfunctional family shenanigans

Prince Aemond Targaryen was known to be many things. Proud. Serious. Studious. All things one should be proud of in a young man’s position. Every single one of his teachers and wet nurses sung praises of the young prince since he began to toddle. And although it might seem cruel to admit it, the second prince was the apple of the Queen’s eye and the clear favorite of her four children.

Her sweet Aemond was a mild, studious young boy who practiced his faith in the Seven despite his blood lineage belonging to the Old Gods of Valryia. Besides Aegon, he had always been respectful to his siblings–especially to his elder sister, Helaena. Aemond would often humor his sister’s strange ramblings and gift her with little creatures he found as he wandered the ancient walls of the Red Keep. Helanea, despite all her reclusiveness, only seemed comfortable enough to be touched with her younger brother and often offered comfort whenever he complained about how unfair it was that he still had no dragon. His sister was as fond of her younger brother as he was of her and would usually humor his requests.

Except now.

“Please?” Aemond had been pleading for over an hour, reaching a point where most would pity him.

“No,” replied his sister sternly, “I’ve already told you my answer won’t change.”

“But why?” he pathetically asked as his voice cracked. It was good that Aegon was still in his room, too drunk to start the day. Aemond would never have lived it down without allowing his brother to see him like this. “I won’t ask for anything else from you, I swear it.”

“No, absolutely not.”

“But why?” demanded Aemond. “I would never harm (Y/N). Name one person in the Seven Kingdoms who would treat her better than I?”

Too upset by his sister’s refusal, the prince stormed out of the room in a near-blind rage.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N) was no noblewoman or someone with any particularly wealthy connections or background. You weren’t even someone born within the Walls in the North.

No, you were from a tribe of wildings that hailed outside the Wall and were brought within the borders after your parents were caught stealing. The Starks decided to spare when they realized their daughter was just a tiny child with an incredible talent for storytelling. Within a year, the tales that Y/N wove with her tongue had reached the ears of Aemond’s father, King Viserys of House Targaryen. The King was fascinated by the young girl beyond the Wall, who spun tales of giants and spirits from the Land of Always Winter. He spared no expense in bringing you to King’s Landing.

Aemond could remember the day so clearly, as you arrived very shortly after his bastard nephew took his eye in Driftmark, and his father did nothing but protect his whore of a half-sister. When brought into the keep, you could hardly present yourself to a room full of nobles, let alone the King. You stood before his father and family barefoot and filthy. Your clothes looked closer to rags and torn cloth, and your (h/c) mane was wild with a few braids and feathers. But that hardly mattered. As soon as you opened your mouth, it was as if everyone in the Great Hall had been transported to another world.

The story you told started with a young princess given a toy soldier named the “Nussknacker.” The young princess loved her little toy soldier so much that her sweet Nussknacker came to life one night. He told the princess a prince to a winter wonderland full of fairies, sugar plums, and magic. His home had been overtaken by a maniacal Rattenkönig, and he turned the prince into his current form. The soldier and princess had to face many trials, but they were successful in defeating the evil Rattenkönig and saving the prince’s kingdom. The Nussknacker turned back into the handsome prince he had always been, and he and the princess married to lead his kingdom into prosperity.

By the time you finished telling your story, the Royal court went ablaze with applause. Your pretty words and skillful tongue enraptured every noble. They longed to hear more of your stories and were starved for entertainment. His father was in an especially jolly mood after hearing your tale. He immediately appointed you as the troubadour of the Royal Court held in protection under the Royal Targaryen House. A proclamation that horrified both the king’s Hand and the Queen, to say the least. It was no secret that Aemond’s mother and grandfather did not look favorably on you. More than once, he heard his mother seethe in anger at the attention her husband gave to you as you sat beside him during his father’s pain flares. In her eyes, you were a savage hellion who likely spread her legs up from the Wall in the North to the Great Hall of the Red Keep in the South.

But in Aemond’s eyes, you were an angel. It was not only his father’s pain you soothed with your stories, but also his own. He tried his best to keep his distance from you, but it wasn’t long until you gained his sister’s favor. From then on, whenever he spotted Helaena, you were by her side. The tall and icy walls he tried to maintain around you came crashing down before he knew it. His mother so loved him because he always did as she instructed, including to remain far away from the new child from beyond the North.

But one night, the scar on his eye had been so painful that he gained a fever that lasted for nearly a week. The maesters weren’t sure if he would survive the sickness, as it was a result of his lost eye being inflamed. His mother had resigned herself to crying by his bedside while his sister would sit with him and talk about her day. But one night, when he was delirious with pain, you somehow managed to sneak in from one of the secret tunnels within the keep’s walls. He couldn’t see you, but he recognized your voice. He wanted to scream for you to leave his room, threatening that he would call over the guards standing outside. But then you spoke, and it seemed as if his world of pain had just washed away. You spoke to him about the history of Old Valyria and the beautiful tales of dragons and knights that were lost in time. This continued on every night during his ailment.

“Do you miss your parents?” Aemond asked you one night. But he immediately regretted his question when he saw how your shoulders tensed.

“Sometimes,” you replied after a few moments of silence, “I understand that they are in a better place, wherever they are. But sometimes I wish they were here so I wouldn’t be alone.”

“But you have Helaena to be with you. Even my father adores your company.”

You only scoffed in response.

“Helaena is wonderful,” you bitterly continued, “I am glad to have a friend as sweet and kind as her in this poisonous hellhole you call home. But your father-” you paused a moment to lick your lips to figure out how to phrase your thoughts – “all he sees me as is a toy. A commodity. A funny little object that he bought to entertain him. He never mistreated me but does not respect me as a person, let alone as a subject.”

The tears in your eyes welled to the point where they almost spilled, and you immediately stopped talking to prevent further incriminating yourself.

“You have no idea what it’s like-” you let out a bitter laugh before continuing to cry – “to have your family taken away from you. To watch your parents be executed before your eyes when you were only a small child. And for what? Stealing a loaf of stale bread? What should that matter to the Starks? They have their pretty castle with warm fires and fur blankets. My mother and father worked for everything they had in order to care for me. Now here I am, away from the silver winter I called home and stuck in the shit-odor that covers precious South.”

“However much you hate your family, at least you still have them. I have no one. No one to share my culture and past with, no one to understand your customs and way of life. Call my parents whatever you want. Savages. Thieves. Scum. But they loved me. However little it was, they taught me to be proud of myself. They were my whole life, and now they’re gone.”

You ran out of his chambers and back into the wall. Aemond didn’t see you for several days, even after his fever broke and the maesters told his mother he would live. Two weeks passed, and Aemond felt as if he were going mad. When he finally spotted you in one of the more secluded areas of the library, he grabbed your arm before you could scurry off.

“Tell me,” he told you. “Tell me everything about your parents, your home. Tell me about how the air was clean and clear. Tell me about how everywhere you looked, you saw white snow and clear ice. Tell me how much you loved your family, pets, friends – if you had any. I don’t care what it is. Tell me everything.”

At first, you only stared. He couldn’t tell if you were furious or in shock. But soon, your eyes lit up as if you had been given five hundred gold dragons.

“Where do you want me to start?” you asked him, eyes wide with joy and a heart finally learning to trust.

Lo and behold, he found his heart beginning to feel the same.

“Wherever you want.”

The smile you gave him was worth more than all the money locked within the Royal Treasury.

So many nights since that day, you would sit by his bedside, speaking so prettily that even the most brutal of their acts and customs fascinated Aemond. You would burn the midnight oil, telling him about the adventures and raids of the Free People beyond the Wall. That’s how you referred to yourself as a “free woman.” While you despised the title “savage,” you did not mind being labeled as “wilding.” You claimed that since you were born outside the Wall, the laws of Westeros did not apply to you. You have been seen as wild, but you knew in your heart that you were born free. And what was more impressive to Aemond was how you honestly and sincerely believed that you were born as a free woman.

He saw it in the way you would make little shadow puppets shows to bring a smile from Daeron after it was announced that he would leave for Oldtown.

He heard it in how you got the cooks to spit on your name after stealing bread from kitchens and then giving it to the small folk children living in impoverished areas of Flea Bottom.

He smelt it in how your hair would always smell like the wind in the Godswood to ride his horse when you were supposed to be learning your letters with the Head Septa.

He tasted it when you let him take a sip of that rotten ale you made in secret when you went through one of your horrible bouts of homesickness.

He felt it in how you raced to his chambers to hug him after he woke up from another nightmare of the memory of that night when he lost his right eye.

You were the strangest mystery Aemond had ever and will ever know. No matter how long he spent searching for answers in his favorite corner of the library, Aemond could never understand how someone with a heart as warm as (Y/N) could come from the frozen wasteland she loved to call home.

With a single but powerful stroke of his blade, Lord Vaemond Velaryon’s upper jaw fell as the rest of his body dropped to the floor. Visenya’s Dark Sister had once more bathed in its victim’s blood. Gasps and shrieks filled the Great Hall at the sight of dark blood oozing from his corpse. The members of the Royal members all had varying reactions. From his mother’s side, Helaena immediately covered her eyes and turned away – utterly horrified by the swift mutilation. Aegon grimaced but was otherwise unaffected. Not surprising. He’d seen similar carnage from the illegal fight rings run in Flea Bottom. Aemond took a slight step back in shock as he gaped at the now-deceased lord in mild admiration.

He had no idea tongues were so long.

Prince Daemon Targaryen stood before his ailing brother, tall and proud. There was not a twinge of remorse or regret on his youthful visage as he towered over the spilled blood soaking his boots. Undoubtedly, this man carried the blood and fire of the proud dragons that graced their house.

“He can keep his tongue.”

Brutish as Daemon was known to be, Aemond respected his uncle’s instinct to remove objects that voiced slander against his wife. However much of a whore his half-sister may be, she was still of royal blood and their father’s firstborn.

However, he wasn’t sure how much that last fact mattered, considering how she spread her legs to swill only to produce bastards as her heirs.

His grandfather ordered the Kingsguards to disarm his uncle, but Daemon only scoffed as he wiped the blood off his ancient blade with an old rag. Moments later, Aemond’s decaying father collapsed on the Iron Throne in exhaustion after over-exerting himself. His mother immediately rushed over to aid him when she heard his pained groans.

“Call the Maesters!” she shouted before reaching him. And when his father fell into her arms, that was the first time Aemond saw you throughout this entire proceeding.

You stood close to the walls, remaining present but unseen. It was not until his father called for you by his side that he removed you from your hiding place. You and an apprentice Maester took Viserys to his chambers, leaving behind his wife, children, grandchildren, and every member of the Royal Court. As Aemond watched you carry his hobbling sire to his chambers – likely to recite to him a passage of the History of Old Valyria or one of the many tales surrounding Queen Visenya’s practice of the dark arts – his blood froze as he noticed Daemon’s gaze was focused not on his brother, but on you.

An hour had passed since Lord Vaemond Velaryon’s unfortunate passing, and Aemond was still no closer to finding you. He felt as if he was going mad in desperation. He checked everywhere. The kitchens, catching you sneak bites of freshly baked honey cakes. The stables, to find you feeding the mares and stallions carrots and apples. Your chambers, spying through the keyhole as you sat at your desk writing new stories. He even went so far as to ride to the dragonpit, hoping that you were reading to Vhagar again. He was close to announcing an order to search for you to the closest Kingsguard when he spotted you standing underneath the Heartstree. When another figure approached you, the one-eyed prince was about to call out your name.

Daemon. And judging by the way his violet eyes leered at your womanly form, it was clear to Aemond that this meeting was no coincidence. Aemond stepped out of view and pressed himself close to the garden’s entrance. The silver-tressed prince cursed himself for not publicly claiming you so everyone knew you were his and his alone. Differences in stations mattered little when you grew up so beautifully.

A fact he was sure that did not go unnoticed by his uncle despite meeting you for the first time.

Not for the first time did Aemond find himself cursing the gods for creating perfection in a single woman. Time had been unkind to many but seemed to spare you of any misfortune. While you were far from the polished and perfect image of a proper lady, you slowly but surely assimilated yourself to life in the South of the Wall. You traded your hides and furs for dresses and trousers. Your wild (h/c) mane became untangled by his sister’s ladies-in-waiting frequent brushings. Regular meals and proper care took a starving child with sharp, bony jabs to a woman with soft, feminine curves and beauty rivaling the Maiden herself.

“How have you found your time so far from the wall, little wilding?”

“I spent every waking second soaked and flushed from sweat and heat. To make it worse, I can’t escape the shit and piss that stains and bathes your pretty keep. Tell me, does that answer your question, my prince?”

Daemon barked a short laugh, amused that his brother took in someone so clearly different from the court’s usual vultures.

“When I heard my brother had taken in a little girl from outside the wall as his little entertainer, I was expecting a hobbled cripple caked in dirt with no sign of grooming. But here you stand, appearing more like a proper lady than a savage wildling.”

“You can take the girl from the North, but you can never take the North from the girl.”

No truer words had ever been spoken.

Aemond smiled at your quick wit and tongue. You were still every bit of the girl dragged before his father when he was only ten name-days old, even if you changed a little bit.

You still styled your hair with the little braids commonly worn in the North, but sometimes, he would catch Helaena tucking feathers in your locks.

You still carried your father’s old hunting knife on your person, but you also kept the Valyrian steel dagger Aemond gave you on Yuletide Eve from three years past.

You still made frequent trips to pass the bread to the small folk in Flea Bottom; you always made sure to help lead Aegon back to his bed after he drank himself stupidly.

It was a challenge, but you’ve adapted and made a life here with the Royal Family, whether you liked it or not.

“Do you ever plan on coming out from behind the wall, my prince? Or do you plan on renouncing your title and becoming Master of Whispers on your father’s small council?”

Realizing that his cover has been blown, Aemond brought himself in view to face the wildling girl who had stolen his heart almost eight years ago. He was relieved that his uncle had left the gardens, probably to inseminate his half-sister once more. It was as if she needed more children to convince all of King’s Landing that her claim on his brother’s throne was legitimate and valid. It did not matter that the evidence of her whorish nature was growing before their eyes.

“Careful, my lady,” replied Aemond, “one might think your words as treason towards the prince.”

“Please,” you scoffed, “the only people who continue to insist on taming my tongue are your mother and grandfather. And we both know my opinions of both parties.” Your cheeks began to flush, and your demeanor grew shy as you whispered your following words. “Besides, why would I need to be afraid of anything when I have you?”

Oh, how his cold, bitter heart grew ten times warmer with your sweet words. He removed his black riding gloves, reached for your hands, and was taken aback by how cold your skin felt against his own.

As if afraid of his voice, he cradled your hands softly as if he were the hunter and you were a little snow rabbit on the edge of running away. Your unblinking observation persisted as you silently watched your silver-haired prince raised both of your hands to his pink lips. He took in a deep breath before exhaling out. The heat of his breath against your fingers sent chills down your back. His mouth was opened just enough for you to see his tongue, bringing a deep sense of shame to wash over you as you dreamed of how good it would feel to have his tongue feast on your cunt.

“What possessed you to come outside without a cloak?” The low timbres of his voice broke you from your lust as you just now realized that you brought yourself into his trap. “It is already winter (Y/n). You could grow sick if you are not careful.”

“You forget yourself, Aemond,” you replied, tearing your hands from his grip. You almost wept at how profoundly you felt the loss of his warmth. When did his hands become so rough and big? “I have the true North in my veins. Such meek and pitiful clouds and winds could never get me ill.”

“Why were you outside at all?” Aemond had hoped to find you in one of the rooms with a fire roaring inside. Even if you were not alone, you would have been warm.

“Thinking about home, I suppose. I was tiny, but I would help gather whatever wood was available and put it in a big pile. We would put on our ceremonial furs and robes, along with masks we painted from the skulls of our kills. After that, the adults would drink themselves stupid on ale and heated yak’s milk as they and the children would gather around the wood pile and then burn it. I remember dancing with my parents around the fire as we sang praises for the old gods and yelled out prayers for the sun. A few boys would probably try to sneak some kisses from the girls with mistletoe.”

The silence that followed only added to the tension.

“I think I would have been stolen by now.”

“Stolen?”

“Your Southerners version of ‘marriage,’ I suppose,” you stated as you lightly shrugged, “at my age, if you weren’t stolen, it meant that something was wrong with you. If I remained with my tribe, some man would have stolen me by now and pumped me full of his babies.”

Aemond saw red. He clenched his fists so hard that his knuckles further paled to an almost translucent view of his veins as he imagined some savage, wildling man forcing himself on you. He wanted to ride Vhaghar beyond the North, if only reaching beyond the Wall and burning it all to the ground. No man other than him was allowed to touch you. He had only touched your hand and already decided that the rest of you belonged to him and him alone.

Taking a few steps closer to you, he removed his leather patch and lifted your chin between his fingers to force your focus on him. His ears caught a slight intake of breath when you saw his sapphire eye as he was so close that he could practically feel your heart racing in anticipation. He preened in satisfaction when he caught your perfect (e/c) irises dart down to his lips before resting his face again. Aemond didn’t need to look down to know that you were clenching your thighs in an attempt to stop your arousal from leaking.

His sister’s approval be damned.

If your traditions dictated that you must be ‘stolen’ to be a wife, then he would be the one to steal you.

“Sweet (Y/n), you’ve grown so cold.”

Do you wish to go back?

His face was so close to yours that you could feel breaths mix with your own. You could smell the fine leather of his tunic, and the fragrance of spices from his silvery locks wrapped you in a blanket of comfort. His violet eye’s gaze showed a vulnerability lost since that night in Driftmark. The night when he gained a dragon at the cost of becoming a cripple. If Aemond was to risk everything he’s worked for, he had to know.

Would you, a Free Woman, let yourself be called as his?

“No, my Aemond” - you took his hands in yours to tenderly kiss his knuckles- “not anymore.”

I am right where I belong.

And he believed you.

Tagging: @valeskafics, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @arcielee, @asa-do-your-thing, @lady-ashfade , @faesspace, @its-actually-minicika, @aphroditesmoon, @bellamys-girl1, @immyowndefender, @xxlovingfandomsxx, @elinedjarin, @meg-egg-blog, @marvelescape, @mandiiblanche, @lokiofasgard12, @boxedpandas, @anewpersonthatexists, @toodlesxcuddles, @leavemeoutofitlay

[a-strange-inkling]

Haunted bookshop AU for the thing <3 <3

this has awakened things in me! 📚 👻

• chrissy desperately needs an after school job to earn enough money to get away from her mother. she applies at all the small businesses along main street. she gets a few call backs, but none are as peculiar or intriguing as mayflower books, a small antique bookshop that does not bear any resemblance to its fresh, springy name.

• the bookshop is old, disorganized and completely stuffed full. dusty books stacked haphazardly in every nook and cranny, shelves bursting at the seams. with all the stacks, it’s like a labyrinth, there’s a few hidden rooms and reading corners. her mother would hate it. but there’s something warm and cozy about the place that chrissy can’t explain when she comes in to meet with the owner. something that makes her accept the job and take the afternoon shift from three to eight o clock.

• the owner is a sweet old man who’s so happy to have such a nice girl like chrissy to bring some new life into the place. he’s slowing down in years and would like to have his evenings off, but he couldn’t bare leaving the shop all on its own. he seems to really love his store. he talks about it like it’s a person rather than just a building. the arrangement is perfect all spring and summer long. chrissy greatly enjoys running the front desk, exploring the shop, and finding new books to read. it’s the perfect place for her to escape and hide from her life. she slowly starts to fall in love with it too. mr. munson’s right. there’s a warm presence that always makes her feel so happy and at home.

• however, thing change when autumn rolls around and the days get shorter. chrissy’s a little frightened of the dark. the hour before closing she starts to hear noises, books falling over, strange whispering sounds. it goes on for awhile until one night she’s so scared she begins to cry. one of the ghastly noises makes her duck under the desk. there’s someone in the shop with her. she knows it.

• and then there’s a gentle knock on top of the desk and she finds a boy standing there, well a young man. just a few years older than her maybe. and yes, he’s a little scary, with long wild hair and a big leather jacket, but when he smiles chrissy isn’t so frightened anymore and feels a little silly about it. he asks her why she’s so upset and she tells him about the noises and that she feels like she’s going crazy. she thinks the place might be haunted. he laughs, “oh yeah? do you believe in all that? ghosts?”

bonus:

• she whispers that she doesn’t know, a little flushed. but she likes the sound of his laugh, it reminds her a little of mr. munson’s. she asks the strange boy if she can help him find anything. he laughs again, telling her that he knows his way around. his uncle’s the owner and he used to help him run the store when he was a kid.

• chrissy is fascinated. mr. munson never mentioned a nephew before, but then, he is a private, quiet man. he doesn’t say much of anything. the boy tells her his name, eddie, and chrissy promptly replies “i’m chrissy.” he nods bashfully, like he already knew that. he tells her he’ll stay with her and help her close up, if she wants. he knows absolutely everything about the store, that it used to be called munson books, but mr. munson changed the name to mayflower books after his wife, may passed away. eddie excitedly shows her even more secret places and passageways that she didn’t even know existed. he digs around and finds her book titles that he thinks she might like to try too. it’s like he knows all her favorite authors and genres.

• chrissy begins to look forward to closing time now. eddie stops in every night so she won’t be scared or alone. he’ll help her tidy up and sort the shelves. she never hears the noises or whispers when he’s around, he makes her feel so safe. sometimes they just sit and read together, other times they’ll talk until chrissy’s voice is hoarse. to her amazement, she feels herself falling for him.

• it’s of course, quite a horrible shock when she discovers that mr. munson’s nephew was murdered several years ago.

[a-killer-obsession]

It's a SMUT Blog so I'm not shy to ask 😋.. Kid and Killers dicks..how do they differ from eachother? Length and Girth? Piercings? Hair? Circumsized with thick veins? 🤤

I saw this right before going to sleep but I was too eepy to answer, so instead I just kept thinking about it which means now it's gonna be a whole thing *flexes fingers*

I won't talk on circumcised tho cos its not really a thing in my country so I don't know much about it, in all my years of slutting around I never met a circumcised dick, but I'll include some other saucy details

Anway, now presenting:

☠️ Kid Pirates ☠️

Equipment headcannons 🍆

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

Kid

Smallest of the gang in length at barely 7" but built like a fucking monster energy can with a girth that'll split you right in fucking half

No piercings, thick prominent veins. Hes pale as hell and that extends to his dick, with skin that translucent its practically red when it's engorged

I think since he never even has stubble after being in prison that he can't actually grow a beard, so by that thinking I reckon he doesn't actually have much hair on the rest of his body other than a thin ginger scattering. So his bush is bright fucking red and untrimmed but there's not that much to begin with

The biggest balls you'll ever see on a man, he's built for breeding

Decently big loads when he comes, but they're super thick so they don't go far

Absolutely rancid dick tho tbh, it'll have you gagging for all the wrong reasons. Someone get this man in a bath fr

Grower

Killer

Second longest after Wire at 8", slender and fairly smooth, the prettiest dick you'll ever see with a slight curve (like his scythes, ha)

One piercing at the end that Kid convinced him to get, he'll use his devil fruit to vibrate it if he wants Killer's ✨️attention✨️

Slightly darker than his tan skin, pretty in pink at the head

Thick blonde pubes that stand out against his tanned skin, with a lovely happy trail, but he keeps it tidy and clean 👌

Cums a shit ton, long thin spurts that'll cover your whole torso and maybe even get your face if he's pent up. Masturbating is a whole fucking ordeal for him cos of the cleanup

Grower, but impressive flacid anyway

Heat

7.5", somewhere between Kid and Killer's girth, slightly more bulbous towards the end.

Strange colour considering his strange grey-brown skin. His dick is almost purple brown, more purple at the head.

Set of three piercings like a ladder up the underside. Veiny but not as prominent as Kid.

Full bush baby, and its WILD down there. Thick blue pubes to match his hairy legs and happy trail, he's never even considered trimming.

The most average cumshots of the crew, a pretty regular amount, generic consistency, short spurts, maybe long enough to hit your tits if he's pent up. Absolutely drips precum though

Shower (I realise now that word has two meanings. I mean show-er. Obviously)

Wire

An absolute fucking monster to match his height. 10" and THICK. Got into BDSM purely because it takes so fucking long to prep someone to take him that he needed something to spice up the long foreplay. There's no possibility for a quickie with this man, its a whole ordeal (please ask me about my Kid Pirate kinks please please please 🙏 edit: here they are)

Dark brown, almost chocolate at the tip. Veiny as hell. So big and heavy that it can't support it's own weight so its always dropping even full mast

Clean shaved, Wire is a man who takes the upmost pride and care when it comes to his dick. No piercings because his dick is already so massive he's scared the pressure would rip them clean out when he fucks

Hes like a endless fucking volcano when he cums and it's THICK. He prefers to finish inside but it's always so much that combined with his size it simply won't all fit. You'll be dripping for hours afterwards

Shower, I don't know where this man is keeping it in those shorts, tucked for sure

[shysuccubusstuff]

yandere! diluc pt. 1

Content: dubcon/noncon, stalker behaviour, yandere, syringe, manhandling, kidnap, foul language.

Note: Yeah I know I have a pt. 2 left but i'm so so dry bc of exams and stress so I just wanted to post stuff I like without (trying) to think too much, as always, non-proof reader.

Credits to anitelenia for the lovely divider.

It had been a few days since you started to realize it.

You mostly noticed it when you were alone, walking quietly to your house after your night shift. You had just left the flower shop, trying to walk as fast as possible, just thinking about your warm and soft bed. You were far too deep in your fantasies when you finally stumbled upon someone. Your forehead bumped against something stiff, you could say that it was even hard. Just as you were about to apologize a deep voice talked:

"I'm sorry... I really wasn't looking, are you ok?" Deep blazing eyes encountered with yours, his eyes shining as wild flames despite the cold light of the moon. His hair was swaying, making his face look even more charming, how come you had never seen someone as beautiful as him around? You were dazzed for a moment, your lips almost forming a small circle, luckily, you were fast enough to realize it, finally being able to snap out of it.

"Oh, no, it's my fault, it's kinda dark today so yeah... I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings, I'm sorry..." As soon as you babbled your poor excuses, the man laughted softly, his eyes forming small crescent moons.

"Diluc, just call me by my name." You nodded, a bit stranged cause, who would simply give their name to some stranger found in the middle of the night?

"Oh, nice to meet you sir Diluc, I gotta go, see you around!" You left without losing more time, after all, your dear bed was waiting all alone for you. If only you had pay a bit more attention to whatever that man was saying before leaving...

"I'm sure we will meet much more often from now on, dear." Without saying nothing else, Diluc left, walking back to the wineyard and starting to plan how would he be able to make you let down your walls.

A few months had passed, and just as he had foresaw, both of you had suddenly became the soon-to-be couple in Mondstadt. Everytime people saw you around, his eyes started to share furtive glances, their hands making small gestures in a comedic way. Even despite Diluc acted as if he was unaware, he knew it. After all, those rumors had been planned by him. He helped you with even small stuff, always getting up and bringing you your drink, paying when he invited you to have lunch or diner, always as "friends" of course, definitely not because he was already thinking about the ring to ask you to marry him... He also waited for you after work, always bringing you small bouquetes of flowers that he had "found" around while he was doing small quests (he was actually buying them, then making the bouquet with your favourite flowers).

He had already written down all your favourite places, foods, flowers, colours, the type of clothes that you liked, your most hated food, your fears, the name of your first pet... the list could go on for hours. Cause if he didn't know all that information, could he even call himself your boyfriend?

He also had a "small" compilation of sneak pics he had taken of you, the photos were laying around his room, some were hanged in frames, others were hidden in boxes, the rest were used for his shrine in progress.

Of course, when he finally confessed his feelings, he was 100% sure you would fall in love with him, he had done everything you had told him you liked in a man! So when your face changed, your eyes suddenly losing that loving spark, his world almost crashed completely. You tried to explain it to him, it was not the first time a man who you had considered a friend had confessed to you, so you were a bit dissappointed... did that mean that you had approached her with that intention since the beginning? You didn't know what to think, so you asked him for some time, just enough for you to think deep about it. Before you knew it, his hand was already way too close to your neck, a small zap being sent all through your body and causing you to fall against his arms.

When you finally woke up, you were in his room, the fire was crackling, almost making it feel way too... cozy, almost as if you were at "home". What happened? Just as you were about to move from the bed, you noticed something. There was a chain tied to your ankle, tying you to the bed, your clothes had been changed to a soft nightgown, somehow perfectly fitting your body, what the hell had happened?

You were about to scream, when the door opened, his crimson hair swaying just like the first night you had met. He was carrying a small tray, some grapes and other fruits were on top of it. As soon as he noticed you were awake, his lips curved up, his eyes shining with pure devotion.

"Darling! I'm sorry, it seems the thing I created had a little misscalculation..." Diluc apologized, leaving the tray in his desk.

"Are you ok? Do you feel any type of pain? It would kill me to know that I have hurt you..." His hands moved towards you, although as soon as he saw you flintch his hands stopped, his face looking as hurt as if he was the one that had been chained. He suddenly got up from the bed, once again heading towards his desk and taking something from one of the drawers. He got close to you, and despite your failed attempts of squirming away from his touch, it was all in vain as soon as you felt a pulsing pain, almost as if you had been pricked with a needle. The blood that was supposed to keep you on edge was suddenly towards your lower half. What was happening?

As soon as he had used that strange needle, your whole body had went soft, almost limp. did he inject something inside of you? Before you were able to complain anything about it, your brain felt as if it had turned into mush, your brain feeling too fuzzy to think.

"What... what was that?" Diluc eyes' glistened, looking a bit too proud of his work.

"Just some potion to help ease your mind, you looked too... stressed before, but now you look just like a pretty little doll, darling. Did you like the nightgown I bought? I knew it would suit you, but I didn't think it would make you look even prettier!" His hands went through your soft hair, his hands feeling a bit too... hot, maybe it was actually your body the one that was melting?

"Diluc, you need to let me go... I... We can talk about all of this... I promise I won't say it to the knights of Favonius..." You tried to hard to form a cohesive sentence, but Diluc's face switched, his calm face turning into a grin.

"Oh sweet heart, you are almost as naive as beautiful. Do you truly think that those... pesky little knights can harm me in anyway?" Diluc's gaze darkened, his eyes drifting through your whole body. "I'm sorry for having to take this...solution, but you were getting a bit too... close, you know?" Diluc sat down at your side, his hand moving your head a little, just enough for your head to rest on his shoulder. "Just being close to you makes me feel at peace, you know?" His body shifted a little, his calloused hand taking your hair out of your face. "I finally made up my mind after seeing you two that afternoon... that damned liar keeps trying to take what's mine." His hands moved, his fingertips drifted through your chest, pinching a bit your nipples, just enough to let a moan leave your mouth.

"That drug is still active, I guess..." He pushed you just a little, your body falling to the bed without much resistance. His frame on top of you, his soft hair sending shivers down your spine. His face lowered, his soft lips leaving kisses all through your neck, letting you whimper as much as you wanted. His hands were moving around, slowly touching your clothed cunt, treating you as if you were a delicate porcelain doll. "I can even see your pretty pussy, are you that excited to be touched?" You tried to complain, of course that was not the case! That damned syringe had done something to you, of course you were only able to make some complain noises.

"Uhm... to be honest that was just a muscle relaxant, it was just in case you tried to play some little tricks on me, I'm sorry for doubting you, honey. But I swear I will never do anything like it again, I just got a bit anxious." His hands got away from your lower half, going back up and starting to caress your face, kissing your pretty lips and making them all shiny.

"We can consume our love any other day, I've prepared plenty of stuff for us to do, sweet heart." Before you were able to complain, your eyes started to close, body too tired to even ask when would you be free.

[that-one-enby-ranger]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ROGER TAYLOR

It is Roger Meddows Taylor's birthday today so of course I have to make it all of yours problems and yap about it.

We've gotta start off with how talented this man is. He is the KING of drummers in my eyes and will always be. Watched a full concert today to celebrate, and I was just focusing on how fast he could move, and he wasnt always looking at the drums. And his little solo in the Montreal concert and I was staring at him and oh my gosh he can move fast. He looked tired afterwards. And his voice is amazing in its own unique way. I love it. I love listening to live songs and looking out for his baking vocals. I died everytime. My favourite song to hear live is Crazy Little Thing Called Love just because of Roger's rEaDy FreDdIe 🤠. I die every single time I hear and go insane you don't even know. His backing vocals are just *mwah* CHEF'S kiss 🤌.

And his high pitched screaming in In the Lap of the Gods is amazing. Theres a video of Roger Taylor blessing your ears for an hour and a half and it's just him screaming in that song and it really does bless your ears.

Plus he's got solo albums. And unless I'm horribly wrong, he has the most solo albums out of the entire band. I don't have a favourite album but a couple of my fav songs are The Key, Man on Fire and Strange Frontier.

He's written lots of hits and great songs including Radio Gaga, A Kind of Magic, One Vision, These are the Days of Our Lives, The Invisible Man and of course, I'm in Love With My Car.

Then there's the underrated songs that I love like Drowse, Action This Day, Ride the Wild Wind and others that I forgot and I cant be bothered to look up.

He also studied dentistry in uni. I don't know if he would have actually ended up being a dentist if he hadn't joined. But just think if he did.

THIS MAN RIGHT HERE COULD HAVE BEEN YOUR DENTIST SHOVING HIS HANDS IN YOUR MOUTH.

I just watched a video while writing this called the genius of Roger Taylor and they talked about how good he is on drums and used drum talk that even though I play drums, I haven't been playing long enough to understand, so they go into more depth on how talented he is on the drums. Its called The Genius Of Roger Taylor by Drumeo.

And you've gotta talk about his heart warming lyrics.

"With my hand on my grease gun,

Ooooo it's like a disease son."

Magical.

And what makes that even better is that sometimes during concert he would mix the lyrics around, whether on accident or purpose, I don't know, but he would say "with YOUR hand on MY grease gun." Life changing.

But seriously you wanna know some good lyrics listen to the whole of These Are The Days of Our Lives. And then try not to cry.

Moving on from talent, we gotta talk about some more amazing things about him.

He's a funny little boy. Watch some clips of him and you'll see what I mean. I don't care if you don't agree with me, I know he's a funny little boy.

"He threw my best fucking pair of maracas. Great sounding maracas, took me HOURS to steal them, and he just..." I can't write the next part without it seeming like it's a roleplay because it's a motion he makes of throwing stuff away in the air.

Anyways, it was his idea to dress up in drag for the I Want to Break Free video and that was one of his best ideas ever. Rogerina looked amazing.

What a goddess. And when I Want to Break Free got canceled in America, he would help stand up for the video and wouldnt feel ashamed that they did it and said they had a great time and it was fun.

And somewhat similarly, but more importantly, after Freddie died, and the press were being homophobic perverts and saying stuff like Freddie had it coming, or he lived a promiscuous life style, Roger (and Brian) would go on TV and stand up for Freddie and would be like "thats not true at all, you fucking pricks." That's not what they actually said. And he would then go on about how the press were massive dicks to Freddie while trying to get into his private life especially towards the end.

Hes adorable. Sweetie. My love.

"I'd like to make it.. naked 😏, and raw."

"1 and 3/7ths sugars please." "No one and 3/7ths 😠"

"I've just written this new one, WHICH IM REALLY EXCITED ABOUT"

"ITS PERFECT"

Just some quotes there.

Also, APPARENTLY, my sources are shit, I've only heard this once, has not been backed up, but I'm including it anyways, but apparently when Roger wasn't allowed to have Stone lions out the front of his house, he thought outside the box and put up hundreds of glow and the dark gnomes.

He also apparently had to legally fight his neighbour to keep his giant statue of Freddie Mercury he had in his backyard because the neighbour APPARENTLY thought that it was "rUiNinG tHe laNdScApe"

He kissed Brian when he was drunk.

He was called sex on legs.

Grew a beard because people kept mistaking him as a girl.

His eyes.

"There was lots of sex and drugs. Actually there wasn't that much sex and ... Well there wasn't much drugs"

There's also some lovely sad stories with him. Mainly the 300 yards and I don't feel like crying again so I'm not gonna write it out.

I'm gonna stop this here because my finger feels weird from having a plaster on it for three days and I wanna focus on more Roger videos that I've been watching in the background for about an hour now. I'm just gonna say he is shemxy.

And then you've got this:

Love him. Appreciate him. I'm gonna marry him one day, mark my words.

There is a lot more on him. This is all I've got. For now.

[silvervioletvalentine]

Never too much to someone that can’t get enough of you.

Pairing : Charles leclerc X Cherrie (fem!)

Word count : 8k

Warnings: fluff . So much love it’ll make you sick. Lovesick Charles. A lot of the colour red. Idk that’s it I think?

I can’t believe the amount of love I got on my recent kylian mbappe fic!! I’m so happy you guys liked it. So here’s a Charles one!! Hope you like it xoxo

Charles tried and failed miserably to acted casual and uncaring as he asked the unspoken question of the night , clearing his throat and gently nudging Pierre's arm from where he was sat next to him at the table . Waiting to be served their overpriced food for the night .

He had spent the last half hour nursing a glance of wine and sending the occasional anxious glance towards the restaurant door , hoping to catch a glimpse of her familiar wild hair and pretty face , or even just to catch the sound of her loud voice that he often heard before he even caught a glimpse of her.

But as the minutes past buy and the rest of the guys at the table began to mutter impatiently about how hungry they were and how unfair it was for them to have to wait like this , he felt himself grow restless.

Unable to take it anymore , his worry and curiosity got the best of him.

"Where's cherrie? Is she still coming?" He asked Pierre quietly , not wanting to draw attention to himself by asking the unspoken question.

It was bad enough that every time he saw Cherrie , he turned the colour of her name. He didn't need to the rest of the drivers to pick up on his ridiculous little crush either . He would never hear the end of it.

Pierre looked over at him with a small smirk , being the only one to know about Charles infatuation with the loud mouth troublemaker of the grid .

After being the only one there to hear Charles drunkenly ramble on about how beautiful and strange she was , a few bottle of wines had him almost crying as he told Pierre about how much she scared him and how fucked up it was that he liked it.

Now every time he mentioned her , his friend would get a smug little knowing look on his face . One that said 'I know everything' and wasn't afraid to rub it in his face .

Charles really should be carefully about who he drinks around in the future .

"How would I know?" He answered with a small smirk , shaking his head at him in amusement .

He thought it was funny that his quite , kind and always polite friend was infatuated with a woman the complete opposite of him. One that enthralled him yet scared the absolute shit out of him at the same time .

Charles didn't even know why he had gotten so obsessed with her so quickly . Maybe it was because she was everything that he wasn't . Perhaps he liked the fact that he could never guess what she would do next.

Because Cherrie was loud , obnoxious and blunt. Always saying whatever came to her mind without any thought to filter the good from the bad beforehand. She just didn't give a shit .

If you told her yes , she would say no.

If you told her not to do something , she would do it.

If you said she wasn't capable of doing something , she would do it and then do it again just to hit the mark and rub it in peoples faces .

She was fearless. Confident and she never took anyone's shit. Charles really did admire that about her.

However to others she could also come across as rude , mean and a complete and utter bitch. A title that she wore proudly , uncaring of what anyone thought of her .

Because at the end of the day she was a winner . She was the one bringing in the points for Ferrari , she was the one that was permanently on the podium. If she wasn't number one , she was never below the top three .

So what did it matter if she partied every night? If she ran around the hotel lobby in her underwear , drunk and serenading the poor guests there with a terrible version of welcome to the jungle?

And what did it matter if she never had a serious boyfriend? If she was seen with a new man each month? From footballers , to actors and musicians . She wasn't particularly picky. Because they never lasted long anyways.

And so what if she got into public fights all the time? As long as she didn't fuck up her knuckles too much , she could still drive and she could still win. Just like she always did. It was no big deal.

Being her teammate was a rollercoaster . Because while Charles admired and was envious of her driving skills , wanting to know more and wanting to know just how she did it. There was the small problem of how she made him feel.

He wanted to talk to her. Wanted to ask her a thousand and one questions that sprung to mind . He wanted to know her , he wanted to know everything .

He wanted to be her friend . Definitely wanted to be more . But unfortunately for him , he had never been very lucky. On the track and off the track apparently.

Because as soon as she looked at him and flashed him her pretty smile , it was like his brain shut down and he turned into a red coloured zombie who suddenly could no longer form a sentence or even return her smile.

So instead , he blushed and ran away like a coward each time . Mumbling some excuse about how he was needed elsewhere or that someone was calling him, even though his phone never rang.

So no. Because of this, Cherrie and himself weren't particularly close despite being partners on the track. And he only had himself and his own nervousness to blame for that.

Because she did try. She always shouted a pleased hello at him when she passed by. Always tapped the top of his helmet in good luck . Always told him that it would be him on the podium with her next time , giving him hope after yet another failure from his team.

She invited him to parties with her. Yet He always declined because he was a stupid , scaredy cat who was so scared of fucking up and saying something wrong to her , that he was was fucking it up by not doing anything at all.

He was certain that she must think that he had a problem with her by now.

Because lately those happy greetings had stopped and no longer did she invite him to hang out with her anymore . And he knew it was his fault , but what was he to do? He just couldn't help it.

She turned him into a stammering , blushing teenage mess again.

"You talk to her don't you?" Charles finally muttered to his question . Frowning back at Pierre in pure annoyance .

He knew for a fact that Pierre was close to Cherrie . Had seen the multiple posts and photos of them together at random parties and clubs , they had even gone on holiday together with a few other drivers too. They looked like they had the time of their lives together , meanwhile he had bitterly scrolled past their posts with a pout on his face . Having told Cherrie that he couldn't go with them because he had stomach flu.

He didn't have stomach flu but it felt like he did when he saw pictures of her in a tiny dress and sitting on his best friends lap in Hawaii .

Pierre gave him an amused glance . Watching his anxious friend taking another sip of his wine while talking another glance towards the doors.

"Yes I do. We're good friends . Something that you could be with Cherrie if you simply stopped being such a whimp." He simply replied . Getting out his phone and pulling up their texts . Humming to himself as he read the newest one she had sent him ten minutes ago.

"She's running late . Apparently she's had a wardrobe malfunction." He told him.

Charles scowled at him , inhaling deeply as he fiddled with his glass between his fingers .

“Not that simple mate. She must think there's something wrong with me. She doesn't invite me out anymore." He muttered , upset with himself .

Pierre sighed at that. Shooting him a sympathetic glance , yet the amusement in his eyes wasn't fading at all.

"There is something wrong with you. It's called being in love." He stated matter of factly .

He said it So bluntly that Charles choked on his gulp of wine in shock, coughing loudly as he slammed his fist against his chest. Staring with wide, terrified eyes at his friend just as the woman of the hour stumbled in.

Perfect timing .

Cherrie came strutting over to their table In dark red , six inch heels that showcased her tanned and toned legs . Small leather shorts hugging her hips and ...

No shirt. Charles felt like he was going to pass out as he continued to splutter on the droplets of wine that were now trying to kill him.

Pierre snickering beside him as he looked between the two of them happily , as though he was watching his own personal comedy show.

"You won't believe the day I've had!" Cherrie exclaimed as she through her clutch down onto the table with a huff . Nothing but a small , black lace bra covering her upper body.

Then she took note of Charles choking to death at the end of the table and glanced over at him in concern .

Raising a perfectly arched brow in worry as she strutted over to him and starting patting him on the back in hopes to help him.

Kneeling down slightly so that she could see his reddening face , her large chest now in his eyesight from her lack of shirt .

Dear god. Charles thought in misery as he tore his eyes away from her chest and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. I'm being tortured .

"Are you good?" She laughed as she patted the top of his head as well before getting back to her feet and sliding into the chair opposite him. Eyes still glancing curiously at him as his coughing fit finally came to an end . Although the red on his cheeks wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

Unable to look her in the eyes , instead settling to glare back at his giggling friend beside him.

He hummed tensely "yeah. Just- the wine-" he motioned helplessly to his now nearly empty wine glass . Beyond mortified now.

He could see lando and Daniel grinning at him from the other side of the table , Carlos simply shaking his head at him with a smile full of pity .

So , perhaps he wasn't as discreet with his infatuation with her as he had previously thought .

lovely . Fucking lovely .

Cherrie nodded along as though she understood . Grabbing her own glass that had been waiting for her and taking a swig , kissing her teeth afterwords with a slight grimace .

"Mmm. Yeah no wonder you choked. Not the best. Anybody want some vodka?" She said with a grin as she opened up her clutch and pulled out a red flask with her name engraved on it .

Daniel whooped happily as he made grabby hands at the flask. Cherrie chucking it to him with a laugh as the waiters finally began bringing out their food now that she had arrived .

It was Carlos who brought up the elephant in the room. Glancing down at her bra that hardly covered anything with a curious look on his face , titling his head .

"Cherrie?" He called over to her just as the waiters left , getting her attention again .

She just hummed as she looked down at her plate of mushroom and chicken pasta , nodding her head happily to herself as she picked up her fork.

"Yeah?" She shoved a spoonful of heaven into her mouth. Raising a brow at Carlos impatiently as her flask was passed around the table . Everyone brightening up now that food was served with the option of pure vodka too.

He glanced again at her chest and then over to Charles who had his eyes glued down to his plate , seemingly in a staring contest with his own food.

"Where is your shirt? You do know that it is missing right?" He asked her kindly . Wondering if she simply had forgotten to wear one . It wouldn't be the first time .

Cherrie just sighed and glanced down at her chest with a slight pout on her face , frowning a little in annoyance .

"I got my shirt caught caught in the elevator door and it ripped off. I couldn't be bothered going back home . The bra covers what it needs to." She muttered around a mouthful of pasta , utterly starving and not giving a shit about manners then.

Charles swallowed roughly. He didn't think that it covered what it needed to at all.

Taking another quick glance up from his plate to confirm his thoughts , he chewed on the inside of his cheek and quickly averted his eyes again.

Yep. Didn't cover much at all.

Lando grinned over at her "I think you look great Cherrie! You're making a fashion statement . Next new trend hopefully!" He cheekily joked as he reached over the table to high give her .

Cherrie just giggled as she slapped his hand and rolled her eyes at him with a grin.

Pointing her fork at him playfully "oh lando. Dear little lando. You wouldn't last a minute if all the women in the world started to look like me and dress like me . You wouldn't be able to handle it." She teased as she took another swig of the wine to wash down her pasta with.

Lando gasped , offended . "I would too!" He exclaimed.

Daniel laughed loudly "spoken like a real man. You sound like a five year old! I would too!" He mocked him , giggling as he ducked out of the way of the incoming smack.

As the others began to banter between themselves , Cherrie took the chance to tap her heel against Charles ankle .

Making him flinch so hard he smacked his own arm against pierres who gave him a amused shake of his head. Feeling sorry for his friend now. This was utterly pathetic.

Cherrie let out a chuckle as she gave him a curious glance . Wondering why he looked so flustered and red.

"Are you sure you're okay? You look a little ..." she twisted her lips not wanting to accidentally insult him . "Like your car." She instead settled on making , Pierre snort loudly .

Frowning at him curiously before turning her gaze back to Charles who had , if it was possible , gone an even darker shade of red .

Clearing his throat , he gave her a nervous smile and nodded his head. Clenching his fork in his hand as he twirled his spaghetti around on his plate , finally meeting her eyes and keeping them there.

He wondered then if Axl rose had written that verse just for Cherrie. It seemed fitting .

'She had eyes of the bluest skies as if they thought of rain , I'd hate to look into those eyes and see an ounce of pain.'

Her eyes were just as beautiful as the rest of her. Because of course they were . There wasn't anything ugly about her . She was perfect in his eyes.

Even as she sat there , missing a shirt and taking a swig from a flask of vodka . Eyeliners smudged beneath her eyes and her painted nails all chipped and messy. He still thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world .

Fucking hell. He was absolutely screwed. There was no coming back from this was there?

"I'm okay." He quietly confirmed . Trying to gather every ounce of courage he had to just talk to her like a normal human being for change .

“Er-how's your cat? Sirius right?" He asked.

Pierre gave him a look. Letting out a long , pitiful sigh. Horrified at the lack of game his best friend had. He really needed to school him on the art of flirting. Desperately in fact .

Cherrie let her smile fall from her lips, letting out a dramatic sigh as she widened her eyes at him like she was suddenly really sad .

"He died." She said keeping a straight face as she watched Charles’s face go white . His mouth parting in shock while his face displayed nothing but horror , seemingly having lost his voice .

As he just continued to blink at her in disbelief , his mouth opening and closing like a gaping fish. She couldn't hold it back any longer, feeling bad , she burst out into laughter .

Reaching over to flick at his hand , she shook her head with a teasing grin.

"I'm kidding! I'm just joking char! He's alive and well. Can't you tell from all the cat hair on me?" She giggled as she picked a ginger hair from her bra strap with a smile.

Charles couldn't stop himself from exhaling loudly in relief . "Oh mon dieu! Shit.." he breathed out a shaky chuckle.

Clutching his hand over his anxiously racing heart . Having thought that he had really fucked up, again.

"He's alive?" He repeated just to be sure . Eyes still wide from the shock of her little joke. Sure that she was trying to kill him.

Cherrie just nodded her head as she sucked the pasta sauce from her fork slowly , popping it out of her mouth once she was done with a sly little grin.

Seeing the way Charles eyes were glued to her lips , she ran her tongue against the bottom of her glossed lip just to tease him some more .

"Mmm. He's so fucking fat. I've tried dieting him but nothing is working ." She told him with fondness in her voice as she pulled out her phone and pulled up a picture of her cat. Turning it around to and leaning over the table so Charles could see it clearly .

Charles couldn't help but laugh at the sight of the obese fluffy cat on her screen. It's face so scrunched up it made it look like a moody old man.

"Aww. Fitting name though. He does look really Sirius." He muttered in amusement .

His eyes flickering back up to watch her as she laughed loudly at his joke. Pride filling him at the sight of her beaming smile as she looked at him with bright eyes.

"Finally! Someone gets it!" She exclaimed happily . Almost bouncing on the edge of her seat in excitement .

"The amount of times I've had to explain his name is ridiculous.." she rose a brow at him , biting down on her lip in glee as she watched him giggle at her pun.

Charles felt some of his confidence return to him , like magic. Unable to believe that she was a Harry Potter nerd too. Who would have thought?

"Good one." He grinned shaking his head in amazement . Running a hand through his hair as he watched her suddenly stand up and drag her chair to the end of the table so that she was sat right beside him instead .

Resting her elbow on the table right beside his , she held up her phone between them as she flicked through her photos and stopped at one in particular .

"Oh my god. I knew you'd be a slytherin!" He laughed as he looked at the photo of her in slytherin uniform . Broomstick and all as she posed beside her cat who was also wearing a Hogwarts jumper , looking as unimpressed as ever .

Cherrie clicked her tongue . "Pretty obvious huh? And you're ..." she squinted her eyes at him thoughtfully . Tapping her finger against her lips as he grinned over at her shyly . Feeling a little self conscious from how intently she was looking at him.

"A Hufflepuff." She stated confidently. Nodding her head along with her words as she locked her phone and gave him her full attention instead .

Charles sighed long and hard . "Yeah. I'm not gonna ask how'd you know . I scream Hufflepuff don't i?" He mumbled with a sheepish smile .

Cherrie just laughed and nudged his shoulder with her own.

"You'd look good in yellow . Little badger." She whispered to him , wiggling her eyebrows teasingly . Before reaching over to fill another glance of wine , easily moving on like she hadn't just turned his world upside down .

Instead she got back up and wandered down the table to Daniel and lando who wanted to show her a new card trick they had learned on the way there.

Leaving Charles to exhale shakily and lean back

Against his chair. Pressing his hand against his rapidly beating heart .

A lovesick smile tugging at his lips as he watched her laugh at something the guys had said . Roasting them like no tomorrow as she easily guessed how they had done their trick .

Pierre glanced at his friend with a smirk , taking in his red face and heart shaped eyes as he watched her. Wondering what it would take for Charles to admit that he was in love .

The final time that Charles knew he was in too deep was a random Saturday night when he had finally picked up the phone and let Cherrie persuade him to hang out with her .

After making her promise him that there would be nobody else that he would be forced to socialise with and that she wasn't tricking him just to drag him out to some club she was always at . He finally agreed .

With his heart in his mouth and firmly telling himself over and over again that this was just a casual hangout between budding friends. That he could totally act like a normal guy and not embarrass himself for once . That everything was going to be okay .

He arrived at her apartment with a bottle of bubblegum wine that he had found after hearing Daniel rave about it to him one time . He figured Cherrie would like it. Even if she didn't she would still drink it . It wasn't in her nature to turn down alcohol . So that was one thing he didn't have to worry about .

But as she let him in with her blonde hair sectioned into two pieces and holding up a bottle of bright red hair dye in her hands. He felt his face fall. Oh god.

"Cherrie please don't tell me that you've brought me here to change careers." He pleaded as he placed the bottle of wine and chocolates he had also brought for her down onto her coffee table.

Standing in the middle of her front room with his hands pressed against his hips, staring fearfully at the bottle of hair dye that she was thrusting in his direction with a gleeful smile upon her pretty face . Dressed in just a baggy Ferrari shirt and nothing else . Charles wondered how much more his heart could take.

Giggling like a crazy person as she dashed to her front door and locked it so he couldn't escape . Returning to him to see him looking exasperated, pressing his hands over his face with a groan . Knowing that he had no choice but to go along with whatever crazy shit she wanted to do now.

"What's wrong with being my impromptu hairdresser? Fuck me. Bubblegum?!" She suddenly squealed as she picked up the bottle of wine and held it up to her eyesight . Looking like a kid at Christmas .

Charles grinned as he gently took the bottle from her hands and opened the cap.

"Where's your wine glasses?" He asked her while glancing over to her kitchen curiously . It was a mess. He wasn't surprised . She didn't seem like the neat and tidy type of woman anyways.

Cherrie just scoffed and gave him a judgemental look. Grabbing him by the arm of his sleeve and dragging him down the hallway and into her bathroom where her temporary salon would be.

"What are we? Old? We drink from the bottle like champions Charles!" She tutted at him as she took the bottle from his hands and took a long swig. Pulling it back from her lips after she had swallowed, letting out a impressed hum.

Licking her lips at the sweet taste  "wow that was really nice." She murmured in actual surprise.

"Where'd you get this from? I want more."

Charles took the bottle back from her and took a small sip for himself . "Daniel. He's got a load of it. It's his favourite wine ." He mumbled taking another long sip as he watched her pull out a small stool right in front of the large mirror  and sit herself on it . Once against thrusting the hair dye at him impatiently .

"Cherrie.." he groaned warily as he carefully took the bright red bottle from her hands . Glancing at her long blonde hair worriedly .

"Are you sure? I don't know what I'm doing and I don't want to be the one responsible for fucking your hair. You'll hate me if I mess up." He muttered nervously as he stood behind her . Taking another large gulp of wine because there was no way he could do this totally sober .

Cherrie just sighed as she tilted her head back so that she was looking up him upside down , Charles quickly reaching out to place his hand on the back of her neck to stop her from toppling off the stool and onto the floor .

"I could never hate you Charles . You're too cute to hate." She simply told him before straightening herself up again. Giving him another blinding smile that had his stomach feeling like a damn zoo.

"Just think of it as paint . You just need to cover all the blonde and then it's done . It'll look good." She said confidently as he began to gently take out one of the hair ties in her hair . Softly running his fingers through the strands to make sure there was no knots .

He sighed, heart fluttering in his chest at the trust she had in him  "okay. You're right. Pass me the gloves." He mumbled . Quickly pulling them on and glancing nervously at the hair dye in his hands .

Hesitating long enough that Cherrie groaned and rolled her eyes at him playfully .

“Come on babe. It's not that hard I promise! Don't you think I’d look good In red?" She teased him . Wiggling her eyebrow at him once he looked up to catch her gaze in the mirror .

Flushing slightly, he looked back down at the bottle and pulled off the cap. Clearing his throat quietly as he started to squeeze the dye onto her hair , the bright red standing out against her usual white blonde .

"Of course you do. Red suits you best." He muttered honestly. Beginning to work more of it into her hair . Quickly catching on and getting through it all.

Cherrie smiled "see? You're doing so good! I knew you could do it Charles ." She praised him.

Watching with a keen eye as his skin lit up the same colour as her hair . Clearly he liked being praised. She'd keep That in mind for another time.

Taking another swig of the wine . She glanced into the mirror and looked at the matching red Ferrari tracksuit he was wearing . His hair all messed up and face soft and boyish as he concentrated on doing her hair .

Feeling her eyes soften as she took in how relaxed he looked now. He was always so jumpy around her . She could barely speak to him without him looking like he was going to run away. She hasn't actually expected him to agree to come to hers that night anyways . She just thought she'd try her luck .

Pierre told her it was because she made him nervous . That he didn't know how to act around her sometimes .

Cherrie knew that she could be too much sometimes . A little too loud. A little too chaotic . A little too much of everything .

But her dad had always told her that you could never be too much for someone who wanted all of you . So she wasn't going to change herself for anybody.

She just had to wait for the right person at the right time. She was sure of it . Someone would love her someday.

"Reds your colour too ya know.." she whispered to him after a couple of minutes of comfortable silence between them. Something else that was rare for her too.

She had always had a problem with silence . Always felt the need to fill in the gaps by running her mouth and chatting shit all the time.

But with Charles it was different . She didn't feel uneasy with the silence. She felt safe and at ease . She felt like she didn't have to put on a act or play up for him. She could just be herself .

She just liked being around him. He made her difficult mind go quiet. He made her feel calm. She didn't know why.

Charles peered up at her with a soft smile tugging at his mouth . Nervously Biting down on the corner of his lip once he noticed the honesty written all over her pretty face . She meant it.

"Thank you." He let out a shy chuckle . Finally finished with her hair. He carefully made a bun and wrapped a random hair tie around it to keep it in place at the back of her head . Pulling off his red gloves he placed them into the bin in the corner of the room . "All done. How long do we wait?"

She hummed as she took another swig of the nearly empty bottle . Passing it over to him so that he could have what was left .

Slowly getting up from her seat with a yawn, stretching out her back . Raising her arms above her head and till she head a click. Feeling her shirt raise above her hips and no doubt giving him an eyeful of lace . She didn't care .

"Half hour. Shall we open another bottle of wine up?" She asked him already heading to the kitchen anyways .

Charles grinned as he followed her out only to stop by the couch and gasp happily at the sight of the fat cat staring back at him.

"Sirius!" He exclaimed to the fat ginger cat who just meowed at him. Hurrying to kneel down on the floor beside him, he slowly put out his hand in front of him for the car to sniff .

"You're just as fat as your mommy said. So cute .. yes you are .." he said in a baby voice as he gently scratched behind his ears . The cat purring loudly as it closed its eyes in bliss.

"Hey! Don't call him fat! It's a secret!" She giggled as she came back into the room with another bottle of wine opened up.

Charles looked up at her with a grin "you mean he doesn't know that he can't fit through the cat flap?" He carefully stood to his feet before picking the cat up into his arms with a little difficulty.

"Sorry." He said to Sirius before taking his seat on the couch and putting the cat down on his lap. Stroking his fingers through its endless fur .

Cherrie shook her head with a smirk as she collapsed onto the couch beside him. Taking a drink from the bottle before she passed it over to him. Leaning over to grab the chocolates from the table , she flipped the lid and groaned in delight .

"Charles I could marry you. Wine and chocolates? Fuckin perfect." She sighed out happily . Missing the look of adoration he shot her as she shoved the biggest one into her mouth .

Sucking on the chocolate she leant back against the cushions and got comfortable . Turning her head to look at Charles who has done the same .

"Which one do you want?" She asked him nodding towards the chocolates .

He didn't look away from her smile . Still stroking Sirius in his lap.

“I want Cherry." He simply answered .

Cherrie paused for a second before giggling . Picking

Up the cherry flavoured chocolate and bringing it to his lips .

Shaking her head and feeling a little flustered as Charles leant forward and took the chocolate from between her fingers with his teeth.

"That could have went both ways. Cheeky Charles." She teased him as she flicked the end of his nose before turning on the tv and putting on Harry Potter on.

"Fuck yeah." He mumbled once he saw what she had put on . "The first movie is the best one." He said.

Cherrie thought then that she might be in love.

"It is. God. It's just perfect . The vibes are immaculate In this one . You know I used to have this huge crush on snape when I was growing up." She told him as she took another long swig from the bottle of wine . Her belly feeling warm and fuzzy as she blinked her eyes over at him with another giggle.

Vodka made her crazy. Wine made her giggly and tequila would get her pregnant . So strange.

Charles looked at her in disbelief , pulling a face at her as he reached for another chocolate from the box in her lap.

"Really? Why?" He laughed , eyeing her judgementally .

Cherrie simply shrugged . "Dunno. Think I liked the whole bad guy thing. I also had a thing for Draco

And Tom riddle too. So..." she trailed off grinning.

Charles looked at her like she was insane . "I don't get it . If there bad people or if they do bad things why does that make you want them? Why do you go for the Badboys?" He asked her curiously . Also hinting towards her real love life too.

She had a terrible track record of dating assholes. Or guys that looked like they could kill you in one go.

If that's what she wanted , then he stood absolutely no chance . He wasn't a bad boy. He hated staying up past midnight . He hated being stuck in crowds . He had cried when he accidentally stood on a ladybird .

He had also cried when a bird had smacked against his car window and died.  Would she like that? Could he somehow spin his emotional sensitivity to be attractive? He didn't know how but he was willing to do anything to try.

Cherrie hummed as she thought about it. Her eyes scanning his face as she took in the soft freckles and pink tint of his lips. He looked so soft and cozy , she just wanted to melt into him.

"The thrill maybe? I'm not sure . I've never dated that type for more than a few weeks though .. so I don't think I'll date the bad boys ever again." She murmured to him before taking another swig of wine.

Her words were like music to his eyes . Hope filling him quickly . No more Bad boys to compete against . Amazing.

"I want true love. Ya know , the I can't live without you true love . I want want my mom and dad have." She told him as she stumbled up to her feet . Charles reaching out to press his hand against her back and arm as she swayed. The alcohol rushing to her head .

"It's time?" He asked while glancing at the clock to see that half an hour had passed . Gently ushering her into the bathroom , he pressed the button and carefully pulled off the shower head .

Cherrie giggled as she knelt down in front of him. Gazing up at him with rosy cheeks and glassy eyes.

Charles wasn't doing much better either as he laughed as he looked down at her. Putting his hand under the water to feel the temperature , flicking specks of water at her face once he was done.

Hiccuping she gripped his knees as she let him turn her around so that her back was facing the tub.

"Ya know I've been in this position many times before but never like this.." she smirked up at him. Giggling as she wiggled her eyebrows at him. Gently pinching his thigh just because she could.

Charles was confused for a moment , wondering what she was talking about , before finally glancing down at her on her knees in front of him and understanding .

Flushing red , he rolled his eyes with a drunken grin. The two bottles of wine really helping his confidence as he gently pushed her head back to hang over the tub.

"Well you need something new to spice up your life. I won't leave bruises , I'll only leave red hair." He slurred a little , blinking heavily to focus his eyes as he began to rinse out the dye from her hair .

Putting his own knees on either side of her hips as he leant over her , Cherrie watching from underneath heavy lids .

Scrubbing at her scalp to get the red out , he grinned down at her . Leaning down to bump the tip of his nose against her own just to hear her laugh again.

"What if I want bruises and red hair?" She cheekily asked him. Laughing loudly as he splashed her in her face again.

Tutting In fake disapproval , pursing his lips to try and contain his own sly grin. He shook his head .

"I could let you fall into this tub. That'd leave some

Bruises." He joked as he ran his fingers through her hair again. Making sure it was all out.

She pouted up at him . Feeling him grab her elbows to pull her back up to her original height. Closing her eyes for a moment as her head spun , she grimaced.

Charles watching her in concern as he gently ran his hand over the back of her head. Reaching over to grab a soft towel , he carefully wrapped it around her wet hair .

"You okay? Head rush?" He asked her quietly. Softly rubbing at her shoulder till she opened her eyes again.

Humming tiredly , she nodded her head . Rubbing the towel against her head .

She smiled. "You're so pretty." Was all she mumbled better staggering back Up to her feet and stumbling her way into her bedroom.

Leaving Charles to blush and run his hands over his face , giving himself a moment to gather himself before following her into her room.

Seeing Cherrie sat at the end of the bed as she hummed a song to herself , he looked over to her dressing table and picked up a de-tangle brush before walking over to the bed .

Crawling behind her so that he was leaning against the headboard before he spoke up, gently nudging her back with his foot to get her attention.

"Cherrie. Come here ." He softly said as she finally let the towel drop from her hair . Making his eyes widen in amazement .

"Wow it's so bright! Just like out cars. It looks amazing." He gushed In awe at the sight of her now bright red hair. 

Cherrie grinned happily as she crawled over to him and slotted herself between his open legs so  that her back was to his chest. Feeling him carefully section her hair before began he began to brush through it.

It was quite between them for a few minutes as Charles continued to brush out her hair till it was silky smooth .

Then he set the brush aside and simply wrapped his arm loosely around her neck and chest, sliding further down the bed so she was able to cuddle into his chest.

Turning on her front so that she could rest her chin on his chest , she slid one arm around his waist and hooked her leg up over his hip to get comfortable.

Yawning tiredly , feeling so safe and warm with him

As he carefully pulled up the cover so that it was over the both of them.

"How do you like your eggs Charles?" She asked him quietly after a few moments of them just looking at each other smiling .

He leant his head back against the pillow with a sigh of contentment . Unable to believe his luck.

Heart hammering in his chest so fast that he knew she must have heard it. Yet he was too drunk to care.

Gently running his fingers up and down her spine  as he gazed down at her in awe. Taking in the soft slope of her nose and way her lashes naturally curled up towards her sharp eyebrows.

Before his eyes were finally drawn down to her softy and pouty lips that were tinted from the wine.

Swallowing quietly , he exhaled a little too shakily.

"Scrambled ." He finally answered . Low trembling.

"How do you like Your coffee?" He asked her just as quietly . Planning on running To the local cafe in the morning.

He felt her lips curve up against his chest. A soft giggle escaping her as she reached up to cup the back

of his neck in the palm of her hand. Squeezing gently.

"Sweet. Really sweet." She murmured softly before before titling her chin up and closing her eyes .

Charles just smiled as he tilted his head down to meet her halfway , pressing his lips against her softly . Tasting the sweetness from the wine and the chocolates they had consumed .

Humming against her mouth as he gently cupped the back of her head in his hand , scratching his nails against her scalp in a soothing motion that had her moaning against his lips .

Flicking her tongue up to taste the roof of his mouth , she titled her head to deepen the kiss before nibbling teasingly at his bottom lip. Pulling it back before finally pulling away enough so that they could breathe.

"I want pancakes for breakfast. With fresh fruit and syrup." She whispered to him as she softly traced the shape of his lips with her fingertip . Feeling him exhale shakily beneath her .

"An I prefer hot chocolate to coffee." She added as an after thought . Giggling.

Charles breathed out a giddy laugh . His heart so full it felt like it could explode . He could only hold her closer and tuck his face down into her neck. Kissing under her ear and against her jaw over and over again.

He was going to kiss her in every place on her soft skin that he had dreamed about .

He was going to caress her in ways that he had fantasied about since the moment he had met her .

Feeling his emotions bubble up , he swallowed down the lump in his throat as he kissed her again . Just because he finally could now.

"I'm in love with you." He finally admitted to what he had been denying for so long .

Pierre was right . He was a man in love.

Cherrie didn't seem too surprised . Only pleased as she kissed the corners of his mouth before kissing her way down to his chest , then pressing a kiss over his pounding heart .

"I know. You're not very subtle ." She breathed out a laugh of adoration before gently tapping his chest three times . "Luckily for you neither am I."

His smile lit up his face as he gazed up at her like she was his own personal heaven. "Yeah?"

She giggled at the look of disbelief on his face . As though he couldn't believe what she was saying. As though it was impossible for it to be true .

I love you

I’ll love you forever If you let me.

I want you . I want every part of you . The good , the bad. The promises. The dreams. The hopes.

He wanted to be her best friend .

She could never be too much for him, not when he wanted every piece of her.

He wanted her mornings , he wanted her evenings, he wanted her midnights .

He just wanted her. Bathed in the afterglow of their love.

"Yeah." She nodded her head softly in confirmation .

"Cause I'm in love with you too. I had to be. I've never waited this long for anyone in my entire life!" She joked , although it was true .

Patience really was a virtue she supposed .

Sometimes you’ll spend a lot of time chasing the wrong person when your light was their all along. Just waiting to guide you home.

Charles flushed with love before laughing loudly In total happiness . Pulling her back down to his chest and holding her close . Never planning on letting her go again.

Because she loved him. Him. Just him. All this time he had wasted being so afraid .

He would never let fear control him again. He was going to give her the world. He had plenty of lost time to make up for after all.

"I'm gonna get you the best damn pancakes and hot chocolate I can find." He promised her then. Making her giggle again.

"I'll hold you to it. I'll scramble those eggs too. And maybe in the morning you can give me the bruises too …now that you've given me the red hair." She teased him.

Charles just sighed blissfully , kissing her again. And again and again .

"Oh mon dieu. Je t'aime. pour toujours.."

[minty-mumbles]

Stretched Tight

(Read on AO3)

~~~

It was entirely Wild’s fault that he’d been caught unawares. He should have been paying more attention. If he had, then maybe he could have avoided being laid low in front of his guests.

And not just any guests, oh no. This wasn’t Zelda or Bolson, or even any of the other inhabitants of Hateno village. The heroes of the ancient past had come to call and were currently sitting around his dining table.

His mind was still reeling from it. The heroes of legend were here, in his house. It was nearly unbelievable, if not for the fact that Link could see them with his own two eyes.

Nearly unbelievable, if not for the fact that when he’d looked at them for the first time, something had sparked deep inside of him and he could see that spark clearly resonating in their eyes. 

Their forms- tense and weary after traveling for days nonstop to find him- had relaxed ever so slightly at the feeling. That spark of instinctual recognition had been a new feeling to Wild, and strange. But to the men and boys clustered around his door, it had only confirmed what they’d hoped for when they’d seen the sign out front, proclaiming the house’s owner to be named Link. 

When the man at the front of the group- dressed in full plate armor and with a wicked scar stretching over his eye, but his gaze impossibly kind anyways- had asked if the group could enter his home, Wild had allowed it without a second thought. 

Usually, Wild would be more cautious. The Yiga were still a constant threat, after all, and people who didn’t want to kill him could be just as dangerous.

But somehow, when he had seen these men, he’d known that they intended no harm to him. Though the group had shown up to his door armed to the teeth, Wild felt deep in his gut that these people didn’t want to hurt him, and Wild always trusted his gut. His instincts had saved him countless times, and they were rarely wrong.

It had been hours since the group arrived, and the long shadows of the evening had crept over the land without the house’s inhabitants noticing or caring. (But the night had grown dark unusually fast, and the air had gotten cold, and slightly damp. Wild had even gotten up to start a fire at one point as the chill crept in. Why hadn’t he paid attention to the warning signs of rain?)

Wild had needed minimal proof to believe what they had told him. The sword that the hero of the skies carried had been enough, especially once he’d held it and heard a faint voice echoing through his mind, naming him the hero of the wilds. 

He remembered- as rare as that was- a time when Zelda had asked him if he heard the voice inside the sword. He hadn’t been able to speak in order to answer her then, but Wild knew his answer would’ve been no. He hadn’t been able to hear the spirit inside the sword before he died and certainly hadn’t heard her after. But he could hear her now. It was every bit as wonderful as he’d thought it would be to have that last confirmation that he was indeed worthy of being called a hero.

But now it was dark outside. The conversion had turned away from what they knew of the shadow’s plans and Wild being asked to join them. (He’d said yes with only a moment’s thought. He could not deny them. Not about this.) Now they dwelled on lighter topics.

The two members of the group- the Hero of the Wind and the Hero of Legend- were arguing over what they should do for dinner. Wind seemed adamant that someone should go up to the pond Wild had mentioned was at the top of the hill behind his house and try to fish. Legend, who Wild could already tell was a bit of a grouch, said that they should head into town and see if anyone was selling a hot dinner. The argument was light-hearted, and Wild could tell there were no hard feelings between the two, even when it got heated. 

The Hero of Twilight had returned outside to put his horse in Wild’s small stable, the Hero of Hyrule joining him. The Hero of the Four Sword was carefully inspecting the weapons on the wall, thankfully being cautious and not touching, which eased Wild’s anxieties. 

“It could take ages for you to catch something up at that pond. We don’t even know if there are fish there! We can get food in town quicker.” Legend sounded agitated, but the rest of the heroes seemed unfazed by how red he was getting in his anger, so Wild figured it must be a common occurrence.

All Wind could muster in response to that was petulant “Fish tastes better,”  while defiantly sticking out his tongue in Legend's direction, prompting an offended noise from the veteran.

Wild thought it strange that they hadn’t asked him, their host, if he would be willing to cook for them, but perhaps it was sweet that they didn’t want to impose on him. He stood, opening his mouth to tell them he was willing to cook dinner for them, even cook up some of the fish he had stocked away in his slate. He was stopped as he felt the blood rush from his head as he stood.

He staggered slightly. Unfortunately, Wild was more familiar with this lightheaded feeling than he would’ve liked. His arms automatically came up to catch himself on the table and stop his head from slamming into it. A wheezy breath escaped him as everything he’d been putting off slammed into him all at once.

Standing up had made everything worse all at once, yes, but he should’ve realized what was happening a while ago. The slight tugging sensation at the corner of his mouth when he talked and the stiffness in his arm had been telltale warning signs. He should have paused the conversation the second his jaw had felt stiff and excused himself to go take some painkillers. 

They would have taken time to kick in, and by the time he would have had to excuse himself to bed, it would have been a more reasonable hour to sleep

But he hadn’t. Instead, he’d allowed himself to get distracted by the conversation he’d been in. He'd allowed himself to dismiss the warning signs, telling himself that it wasn’t that bad yet. He’d even dismissed the signs that it would rain soon, which he knew would make him feel even worse. 

To be fair, their conversation had been riveting. He doubted anyone would have been able to tear themselves away from the heroes’ explanation of the journey they were on. He couldn’t really blame himself. (Except he could, and he did.)

But now he was slumped over, bracing his forearms on the table and keeping himself from collapsing through sheer will alone. His skin felt as if it was being stretched out over a tanning rack, continuously tugged tight, and he felt like he could feel each beat of his heart as it pushed blood through his head.

His scars had been tight today to begin with. Not horribly. Not enough to be painful. But still enough to be concerning. He’d planned to do his daily stretches before dinner instead of before he went to bed like he usually did. But then he’d been interrupted, and he’d forgotten. 

And then the rain came, and Wild had ignored the warning signs, and it had compounded the issue. 

He could feel more than see the other heroes perk up when he slumped against the table. The Hero of Time- who seemed to be the group's de facto leader, despite the fact that he was rather quiet, and had left the explaining to the other heroes- was sitting to Wild’s right. Wild could feel him sit forward, feel his gaze burn into Wild’s skin. 

When he spoke, Wild would hear no anger in his tone, only slight confusion and more worry than Wild thought was called for, seeing as the man had only known him for a few hours. “You’re hurt,” He observed. “Are you injured?” 

Time’s question put a stop to the confused muttering that had been going around the table at Wild’s strange actions. He could feel even more eyes burning into his skin, and suddenly Wild wanted to draw his cloak around his shoulders and hide his face away from the world. 

Unfortunately, his cloak was hanging over by the door, and he didn’t think he’d be able to make it over there by himself. He took a moment to reply, drawing in a breath against the pain and slight nausea. “Not injured,” he reassured in short, clipped syllables. “It’s the rain. I just-” 

He just forgot to do his daily stretches. He just hadn’t paid attention when the rain started to come. He just forgot to keep moving and had let himself sit down for too long. He just hadn’t bothered to get up to get his pain reliever. 

He just, he just, he just. 

He can’t bring himself to say anything further. Partly because speaking tugged on the skin around his mouth too much and partly because he can't bring himself to explain to the heroes his failure, his scarring, the pain, and the painkillers he often had to take to keep anything close to his full range of motion.

He’d been fine just seconds ago. But now that he was reminded of the pain, it was all that he could think about. 

When Time stood up next to him and laid his hands on Wild’s shoulders, Wild couldn't bring himself to shrug the other hero off. For one, he didn’t think he was capable of moving that much, and two, he thought Time’s studying hands were the only things keeping him from slumping over onto the floor.

Time spoke, and his voice carries a low authority with it that showed exactly why he was respected as the leader of the group. “Legend, do you still have some of your tea left? The one you use for pain?” After he presumably received an answer, he ordered, “Make some of that, please.” 

Time turned his attention back to Wild. Wild was still too out of it to focus too hard on what was going on around him, but he felt movement around him. Time shifted his grip from Wild’s shoulders to his sides, gently guiding him away from the table. 

Wild stumbled, confused on where Time was leading him before he realized he was being steered toward the sleeping cot that Wild kept set up near the fireplace for situations exactly like this, where he wouldn’t have made it up the stairs even with help.

Wild felt relief as he was laid down. At least while he lay down, he could relax all his muscles and not have to strain to keep himself upright. And he could twist his body into a position that would relieve the tightness on most of his scars, if not all of them.

Had it been anyone else except perhaps Zelda, Wild would have felt embarrassed and ashamed to be seen like this. But this group…

Maybe it wasn’t so bad for them to see him like this.

[chantsdemarins]

Find Tom: Part 2

(a little new art too)

The whole "soccer era" Tom was the push I needed to jump back into a Tom fic, although I am by far much more comfortable just sticking with Loki. I hope this isn't cringey. It’s not that great but I feel like it needs to be posted. 😑

⚠️It's mature so no under 18 readers!

❤️It's a love poem with not a lot of plot!

☠️I used some new smutty words

Lastly, I truly appreciate anyone who takes the time to read my work! No comment is too small, no reblog is unfelt. I wouldn't do any of this if I didn't have readers. You mean the world to me.

@lovelysizzlingbluebird @mischief2sarawr @five-miles-over @lokischambermaid @lokisgoodgirl @mochie85 @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @kats72 @fictive-sl0th @sailorholly @tbhiddlestan83 @peaches1958 @huntress-artemiss @goblingirlsarah @jennyggggrrr @mjsthrillernp @wolfsmom1 @lady-rose-moon @mygfloki @buttercupcookies-blog @lokixryss @simplyholl @eleniblue @kingtwhiddleston

Thank you-thank you-thank you!

Read Find Tom Part 1

He had stayed an extra week-you had called in to work with hope and a prayer you wouldn’t lose your job.

How could you have known that the remarkable business of bedding a movie star not only included being passionately taken on every mid-modern furnishing capable of withstanding Tom’s athleticism but also came replete with nuanced discussions of such things as little-known facets of British history?

A mere night with this man would have been impossible. His words alone filled the time so completely while his cock took up the rest of the hours left in the day. You needed a lifetime but would have to settle for a week. You also felt like Tom’s spare thoughts were enough to earn him a second Cambridge degree.

You often found yourself pouring strong coffee between glasses of Cab to keep your mind sharp enough to ask intelligent follow-up questions. Which you always did. It was impossible not to notice how his conversational ability effervesced through him, a surging sparkle that galvanized in his eyes, creating a disproportionate lure and the impulse to return the enchanting discourse in kind. Over the course of the week, you had time to observe how many of Tom’s features would appear as backdrops to his emotions.

Like the plane of his nose, its pristine alpine slope, when he was grinding his hips into you. Or how his smile consumed half of his face while his lips found yours.

His eyes were mesmerizing vehicles of his intellect like twin comets streaking the sky. You had to watch them. You couldn’t take your own eyes off them. He saw not only you but what was beyond you, possibly what you would become. He had a witchy sense.

Also, strangely when you least expected it, a pallor of sadness would also occasionally descend between your bodies. A departure from his enthusiastic nature that usually led the way. It was clear something had made a lasting impact on him. Was it another woman? A situation? Strife of the elite? Champagne problems that you could never understand. You wanted to ask him to tell you, but you let the sadness be a silent companion to your passion.

All this revelation was amplified in the vintage quiet of the Sea Ranch cottage you had all to yourselves.

That first night, he took you easily. Perhaps embarrassingly easy. After all, you’d been wet since you saw him from across the crowded room. An uncomfortable distraction while you talked about your lives and listened to the quartet play The Lark Ascending in the main room of the after-party. Something about the tender violin and his deep voice from a place far away. The details. The decorations, wild peach-colored streamers blowing in the ocean wind battering the rafters. A hum in your ears.

The way he leaned in closer when you knew he could hear you. You’d swallow him up if given the chance. Later at his Sea Ranch cottage, what felt like an eternity after so much conversation and ephemera, you were finally a crumpled passionate mess. You remember looking down and seeing him finally enter you, the implications, the spectacle.

You felt your breath leave and never quite return.

Later as dawn coursed through and put the evening to rest, Tom made sure to use the California poppy napkins to tidy you both up but stopped himself short of a full janitorial protocol. There was something a little wicked about his disregard. He liked seeing you wrecked. He liked seeing the lingering elements of the sex you just had, still on you. He didn’t want to make things too neat. You felt exposed but did not want to assemble a wall between you.

The instinct was that of vulnerability. Only sometimes found in casual romance. Only sometimes experienced by you.

By Tuesday, Tom’s effulgent historical discourse had fully found its way into your conversation yet again. You sat on the ocean-facing porch in two aging red deck chairs, a temptation for Tom’s fingers. He easily peeled off their flaking paint and collected it into a neat pile on the property’s 1972 glass Sands Hotel ashtray.

He would continue to move the small pile around with his long finger mixing the chipped paint with the singed tobacco and marijuana wrappings from the day for the hours you talked. Tom would grow quiet only when he rolled his own cigarettes one-handed.

You wondered if he smoked back in London or only when on holiday or business, or as an affront to suffocating California standards of healthy living. The sea wind picked up and moved through his rust-colored hair, salt air conjuring it into full attention.

Apparently, he had forgotten his blow dryer, but now, surprisingly, he seemed besotted with his curls. He ran his hands through them as he resumed your previous conversation.

You tried not to lose your concentration on the details. Tom’s mental ephemera began to have a companion in the details of his being you were collecting in the hallows of your own mind. Topics spun wildly from one to another but often fell back into history and philosophy. You prided yourself in keeping up, even if you had to use the cottage's old ethernet cable and early 2000s PC to look up “ontology.”

"British history is rife with privileged white opportunists, wouldn't you say?" His words were intended for both the relentless waves below and you as he stared off into the inky distance. That was quite the conversation shift. You had both just been talking about Steinerberg, Switzerland. He’d been while filming The Night Manager. He went on.

"Take William Bennett, for example, a complete ass."

"William Bennett?" Repeating his choice of subject often gave you a few vital seconds to collect your thoughts.

"Indeed. He essentially earned his fame from an aquatint print of the New York City fire in 1836. The untold story is that he bought the original sketch from an impoverished Italian artist, Nicolino Calyo. Calyo was there amidst the 700 homes succumbing to flames. Bennett essentially duplicated it, and therefore, as a wealthy, idle British artist, he managed to elude any consequences." You scrunched your nose in a silent response before replying.

"And Calyo?" you finally ventured, already anticipating Tom's reply.

"Naturally, he ended up dead and destitute. The old D and D, if you will.”

You laughed but felt a parallel emerge within you. Your life seemed uncomfortably akin to Nicolino Calyo's. Your mind raced - was Tom, beneath his casual Louis Vuitton button-down, a modern William Bennett? Your thoughts looped back to yesterday's breathy exchange after you’d gone down on him and where you confessed that after a long hiatus, you'd begun painting again. Was he secretly archiving the ideas you'd shared about your nascent series, ready to unearth them during his leisure in Margate - a place allegedly sharing the "spirit and design" of Sea Ranch? While Tom moved your things inside as the chill of the evening overtook you both, your mind was fixated on your previous conversation.

In your carnally vexed state, you'd unveiled your infatuation with the hues of mint green, adobe red, and translucent pink. His curiosity had been particularly piqued by "adobe," which led to a discourse on the disparity between the tangible "true adobe" and the digitized shade we've now associated with the word.

He reflected on his time in New Mexico during the filming of the first Thor movie, where he was first introduced to the color scheme of the American Southwest. It had been a captivating conversation that moved fast. An image of Tom as a reincarnated William Bennett, unveiling his own mint green and adobe masterpiece at a glitzy auction event eight years from now felt lodged in your mind.

Apparently, this emerging anxiety of trusting such a departure from your usual type of lover was hard. None of your other partners would still an idea you had for a painting and make millions from it, but of course, neither would Tom. You were becoming irrational. You poured yourself a new glass of wine, emptying another bottle. Closing your eyes for a moment by yourself while Tom assembled the next part of your evening with his usual intentionality intact, even if he didn’t catch your mood. He tracked even the tiniest details in the short time you’d spent together. You wondered if his sadness had descended, preventing him from noticing.

The next day you made love in the early morning hours, savoring his body. He was deeply asleep his naked luminosity shining against the white of the sheets. Tom still smelled like the rosemary he had picked from the bushes out front. You had watched him in his running shorts and nothing else, springs of rosemary in his hands.

He remarked about how wild rosemary doesn’t grow in England; at least, he didn’t think so. He joked he would take some of it back in his suitcase. He’d smell like California. He’d smell like privileged things like taking an extra week off. At that moment, you had felt his lineage as if a halo surrounded him - an impenetrable force field.

The afternoon found you both in the living room, wrapped in tartan blankets, partaking in an improvised indoor picnic. Tom had run a 10-mile round trip to Jenner's only grocery store. The sight of him returning with baguettes, ham, brie, and more wine bottles settled his existence in your mind as a true enigma. His sweaty, proud smile covered his face completely as held the baguette up to the sky in a triumphant cheer. You ran to him and held him around his middle.

You always loved the way tall skinny guys felt. It was a too-familiar gesture for such a casual situation, you tried to pull back, but he nestled his head into the crook of your shoulder. You closed your eyes and heard only the ambient sound of birds.

The morning of the sixth day, you dressed in his white undershirt and boxer shorts. You both reveled in the amusement of exchanging clothing items to create new outfits each day. The addition of Tom’s packed subtly luxurious clothing gave you both interesting options. His Armani suit jacket with just your black underwear. Tom amusingly in your skirt, paired with his unexpected choice of nude suede Herve ankle boots.

Your scarf and his sleek Ray-Bans. His running shorts were cleverly repurposed as a strapless jumpsuit. In the end, the clothes would always come off. You would be naked. You would have your hands consuming one another in a shocking discovery of hidden pleasure. The responses were the truth.

The thing you both could trust. In his sighs, in the warm breath that haunted your collar bones. In the flush of his cheeks. In the sweat on his forehead or the goosebumps on your arms when his fingertips traced the edges of your body with the precision of an engineer, you held on to the touches, the utterances of euphoria. With every orgasm, you felt the incredible raw honor of being human.

You wanted to slow it down long enough to feel it truly. To feel a king cuming inside you. To feel his cum and his claim while lost in the gravity of his eyes. Those magnificent extensions of his brain were a lifeline. Your bodies became sculptures, black quartz in the hot sun.

By Sunday, the end of your time together had finally found its way to you. He whispered in your ear after pulling out, catching any breath he could. He could only stay until Monday, he had to go back to London. You stared at the slow oscillations of the Casablanca ceiling fan. “I’ll miss this,” your words were an echo of the real words you longed to say.

His eyes closed, lashes casting delicate shadows on his cheeks.

The woman he would one day choose to marry, you thought, God help her. She would undoubtedly be transformed if your brief moments with Tom were any sign. However, for some melancholic reason, you knew it wasn’t going to be you.

You weren’t destined to be the lover who would eventually turn into a wife. He only had room for the ecstasy of passion and intellectual tête-à-têtes. This affair was incomplete, with no clear conclusion in sight. It wasn't a tale like that of William Bennett and his ill-gotten fame through art theft—a story with a beginning, middle, and end.

No, this was something else entirely. Suddenly, as if he was privy to the endless stream of inner thoughts, Tom spoke. "I met you at the right time, y/n," he said, his piercing blue eyes now open.

He jumped out of bed and casually dressed, slipping on a single item of clothing or, more accurately, an accessory — his Gucci belt wrapped sideways around his bare body. It was difficult to concentrate as he strolled past the expansive windows of the cottage. His muscles and his semi-hard cock were the only things holding that thing in place. Your cheeks grew hot. Tom followed up his emotional revelation with a more practical question.

"Shall I make us eggs on this, our final morning together?”

Without waiting for your response, he ventured into the kitchen, energetically rummaging through the cabinets in search of pepper before swinging open the refrigerator.

As he busily prepared breakfast, his underlying sadness was emerging, defying the rational part of his mind that wished it weren't there. Balancing a glass bowl against his stomach, he swiftly began whisking eggs, his intense gaze fixed upon you. This prompted you to inquire once more, "Why is this the right time, Tom?"

He continued whisking the eggs as he replied, "You found me, truly. Sometimes, we serve that purpose for others, akin to amateur archaeologists. Returning to London, I will be more whole, not less."

You found yourself fidgeting with the hem of Tom's t-shirt you were now wearing.

"You desired this life you have didn't you? You wanted fame?"

"I don't know, y/n. I wanted to do what I loved," Tom confessed, pouring the frothy mixture into the heated pan.

"I doubt it’s that simple, I'm sure you've had to make difficult decisions to reach the top."

"Like parting ways with a beautiful woman I met while on an extended work trip?"

"Yes, exactly like that,” you struggled to say.

"It happens all the time, love, all the time. Regret is my middle name. Thomas Regret Hiddleston."

With that sentence, he refocused his attention on cooking, his hands and mind engaged in a synchronized activity not unlike sex, serving a similar yet less emotional purpose.

You discovered a tablecloth tucked away in the back of a cabinet and spread it over the aged blonde table. Professionally, he placed the plates of food before you.

"Quite the last supper we have here," you remarked, attempting a joke to mask your emerging underlying sadness, though failing in your intended delivery.

Your gaze fell to the floor, unable to meet the sunlight streaming through the windows or Tom's eyes. He continued in his relational eulogy, "Its breakfast, y/n, and many more will come. Someday, you'll have a partner, and I'll have someone too. We'll be enjoying meals with them, and something will trigger a memory. Perhaps we'll be by the sea on vacation, and you'll remember me, and I'll remember you."

So he was thinking similar thoughts as you. He did not feel he met his future wife at a Bay Area film festival after-party. It was a long shot at best. You nervously tried to continue talking.

"Of course, not simultaneously. How could we possibly know if we remember each other at the same time?"

"We will never know, y/n. We will only remember each other out-of-sync for the rest of our lives."

With that bittersweet but strangely truthful statement, he reached across the table and gently took your hand and kissed it. You wouldn’t watch him leave late that night. You skipped the coffee after the wine, and poured yourself another, watching the moon reflect off the darkness of the glass.

[afewproblems]

Part Three of my Kas!Eddie AU!

Part One, Part Two

***

Steve hits the dirt hard as Eddie tackles him to the ground with his full body weight.

He tries to crawl away but Eddie's faster, flipping him around and dragging him through the rough brambles until he is directly underneath Eddie's snarling face.

"Did you really expect that to work?" Eddie growls, leaning down until Steve can feel his hot breath hit his lips, "did you really expect to escape me?"

"Thought it was worth a try," Steve groans, as Eddie presses him further into the ground, squeezing the air from him lungs, "you're a lot faster than the last time we were running".

By some miracle, he manages to keep his voice steady as he tips his head towards Eddie, "guess you didn't have wings, last time".

Eddie pauses, that same strange expression from before takes over before he shakes his head, his wild matted hair whips around them.

Huh.

"Stop saying those things," he hisses, raising one clawed hand to cup his forehead, releasing Steve's shoulder from his grasp.

Steve's not exactly sure what he's done, he wishes Dustin or Robin were here -granted if anyone should be held down by a God Damn vampire in the middle of the woods, he's glad it's him- but they others were always better at putting the puzzel pieces together in these situations.

Steve sees the way Eddie's shoulders quiver, the way he doesn't move his wild hair away from his face, how he cluches his head as though it's about to crack.

His heart breaks a little at the sight.

"Eds," Steve says softly and Eddie stiffens at the word, "why are you doing this?"

"Shut up!" Eddie shrieks, the words pierce the quiet woods as he shrinks away, the grip on Steve's other shoulder loosens even further.

"This isn't you," Steve tries again as Eddie howls, bringing his other hand up to hold his head.

He takes his chance, wriggling out from under the vampire, scrambling to his feet which slip and slide around the leaves and rotten mulch of the forrest floor.

Steve keeps the howling man in front of him until Eddie stops and crumples into the ground.

Steve stumbles away, throwing a hand out to catch a nearby tree to steady himself as he catches his breath. He hesitates, just long enough for Eddie to raise his head and whisper in a small, broken voice, "Steve?"

Steve shakes his head, breathing quickly, his heart in his throat.

"I don't know what's going on," Eddie whispers, as Steve takes yet another step back, his voice wavers and cracks into an inhuman whine.

"Steve I need, I need h-help".

Steve feels like he's about to vomit at any moment as he takes another step.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, the words come out wet as he takes off again, leaving Eddie behind him, crying out into the dark.

***

"Tell us again," Nancy says as she paces the floor of Hoppers cabin.

Its finally morning.

They've all gathered around the small cabin, Hopper had decided it would be best to call everyone over after daybreak -once Steve had finished desperately explaining himself after throwing his whole body weight against the wooden front door and screaming to be let in.

Jonathan, El, and Will sit next to one another on the threadbare couch across from Steve, they look tired but not from the early hour.

Dustin sits on the floor beside Mike and Lucas who leans against Max's wheelchair. She moves her leg, still in its bright white cast and pokes Lucas in the shoulder -hard by the way he yelps and shifts away from her with a laugh.

Dustin alternates between shooting Steve hopeful and dirty looks -he's still angry then, perfect.

Joyce makes her way from the kitchen, ruffling Wills hair as she goes, before handing Steve a steaming coffee mug and hiking the blanket around his shoulders even further. He leans into her warmth, a stark contrast to his own mother's touch before remembering where he is.

Robin curls into Steve's side and yawns loudly in his ear as Nancy continues to pace and clears her throat impatiently.

She doesnt look at him, her eyes trace the windows at a point in the distance. It's the same expression she used to get in class when analyzing an English passage for Mrs.Click.

Steve sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, ignoring the sting of the cuts and scrapes from his time on the ground. They've been over this so many times now, he's so sure he's told them absolutely everything.

Well, maybe everything but the way some of Eddie's words made his chest tight in a way he wasn’t quite ready to deal with…

"I don't think it's going to be any different from the last two times Nance--"

"Kid," Hopper interjects in an uncharacteristically weary voice that sets Steve's teeth on edge, "just, explain it again and don't leave anything out".

A soft hand grabs his own, he flinches at the sudden contact before realizing that El has made her way from the couch to sit infront of him.

Her hair has started to grow back, the buzzcut has been slowly taken over by a mop of brown curls that frame her small face. Steve manages a tight smile as she squeezes his hand again.

"We will help him," El says with quiet conviction, as though she said nothing more than an objective truth.

The sky is blue, my hair is brown.

"We will bring your Eddie back".

[neutron-stars-collision]

Deadlines & Commitments

Neil x F!Reader

Chapter 1 - Stratford Underground Station

Masterlist Summary: Everybody knows anything can happen on London tube. That includes meeting a handsome stranger with a strange name, who doesn't mind saving a ballerina in distress. Chapter playlist Warnings: Swearing and E-rated language (as the preview already shows). Author's Notes: So it's finally here, my opus magnum. Or so I hope. As I've hinted before, this project is the love-child of a few things - my unfading obsession with Neil, fascination with London and the love of public transport. Or something along those lines. I've no idea how long it'll be, or the exact details of what's going to happen, but I know that it's going to be fun. For both me, and them. And you, too, I hope. Chapter titles come from station names (in case you've been wondering) and I decided to go wild and attach a short, chapter-centric playlist to each of them, because why not. Enjoy and please, let me know what you think 💕 Taglist: @hollandorks, @kristevstewart, @stargirl25 (let me know if you want to be added)

The discovery that it would be a day came a mere two hours after the harsh sound of your phone alarm. Its harbinger took the form of Liam – a moderately tall, dark-haired man with an acceptable face and an ability to make you come that did not seem to get the hint.

Instead, he continuously nagged you for days after the (absolutely intended) ghosting you have implemented. While you would admit it was harsh, it was also not your fault that you had enough of him after the hook-up no 5. It was just fine, nothing spectacular and, most importantly, it was getting predictable. Solution? Ending the situationship before it could become a chore rather than a pleasure. Problem? Liam did not seem to think the same.

So, when, this morning, you finished the lukewarm coffee and picked up the phone to check the socials before leaving, only to find another string of texts with pathetic emojis, the mood has soured. It was nothing new, just more hearts, pleading eyes and invocations to your goodness, all culminating in the same way. With another proposition of date, with another love confession he could not have possibly meant. This time, you’ve had enough. You ignored the urge to smash the phone and instead broke the silence by sending him a simple message – Fuck off. With that, you let out a string of curses that probably made poor Miss Stevens next door recoil in disgust and blocked Liam. The triumphant spark did not outweigh the annoyance, however.

The second blow of the day came not that much later and could also easily be blamed on Liam. Or so it was easier to believe. There was no sense of distraction as you tied up the ribbons of your pointe shoes and started warming up. And, at first, it was all just as it was supposed to. You welcomed the opening notes of the coda enthusiastically, happy to go through the steps just as you were supposed to be. As you were taught. A turn after turn, the burning in your legs felt like a benediction. That was what you were always supposed to do.

Until it started to feel different.

One misstep was instantly noticed by Jane, who danced alongside you, perfecting the same choreography. You could hear her quiet gasp, wordlessly pointing out the mistake you would never have missed anyway. In a split second, you knew it was enough to throw you off, losing the tempo and balance, barely managing not to sprain your ankle and topple onto the parquet. Refusing to look at Jane, you slid down the wall by the barre and let out a frustrated groan. Not long after that, you decided to check out of the studio. One humiliation was quite enough.

By the time you had set onto Southwark station, intending to catch the tube back home, you were half contemplating unblocking Liam to sue him for mental damages. And the cost of reparations of your dignity. It seemed like a fair deal, considering everything. On autopilot, you descended the steps to the station, welcoming the cooling air of the metal-plated hall. While the whiteish subway tiles in most stations felt like home, the futuristic tinge of Southwark had always felt special. Even if the afternoon bustle could sour your mood and make you throw daggers at any human in your path. There was a dose of relief in the knowledge that it had already been done. You were pissed off beyond measure.

Any innocent bystander could probably see it in the angry square of your shoulders as you strode through the ticketing hall and past the gates. After all those years, there was no need to check the signs; your body knew where to go. Down the escalator, following the graphite signage leading towards the correct platform. Once you were there, you looked up at the timing screen to check the ETAs. Stanmore 2 mins. Thank fuck. Moving down the platform like god intended, you got lost in the chaotic ambience. Sometimes, especially on those difficult days, the noise was better than any music you could listen to. The babbling children, the chatting adults, and, if you were lucky, an odd bark or two in between. That, combined with the PA overhead, was enough to ground you. To take in that deeper breath.

Only that tell-tale whoosh of the approaching train could pull you back into the moment, the body yet again taking the needed steps without you ever telling it to. One step back, not crossing the yellow line. Two steps to the side, aligning with the platform edge doors, yet not standing in the way of those leaving. By the time the train arrived, you were exactly where you were supposed to be. A surveying look inside the cart told you the crowds had been avoided. Luckily. With only a handful of people occupying the space, you stepped aboard and zoned in on one of the empty seats by the window.

It was then that fate chose to intervene again.

You barely stepped in the right direction before the train started again, the sudden movement throwing you off balance and making you drop the bag hung precariously on your shoulder. You watched it fall, unzipped pouch spilling the insides onto the dirty grey floor. Another string of curses lodged in your throat as you knelt among the wreckage of personal items. Before you could reach for the notebook, another hand appeared on the edge of your vision. Long, fair-skinned fingers met yours over the moleskin cover, making you look up and follow the outline of a person. Up over the legs, clad in black jeans and over the bare forearms, revealed by the rolled-up sleeves of a dress, pinstripe shirt. Until you met the striking blue eyes of the man kneeling in front of you, having joined the fray. The stranger stared back, his piercing gaze roaming over your features, seemingly just as struck as you were.

A beat passed, and neither of you moved. You glanced up, taking note of the dirty blonde hair falling over his forehead in disarray. The announcement over the system began calling up Waterloo. It was the wake-up you both seemed in need of. He was the first to shake off the stupor, snatching the notebook to place it in your waiting palm. He shot you a friendly smile, the expression brightening his stunning features.

“Bad day?” his husky voice was another pleasant surprise, shooting through your brain like the restart to the systems you seemed to have been missing.

You looked up to find him one step ahead again. There was something mysterious in his handsome face, instantly making you forego the suspicions against strangers. This one did seem at all dangerous.

At least, you hoped he wasn’t.

A sardonic smile invited itself onto your face. For the first time since the morning, the expression was not forced.

“You could say that” picking up the bag, you accepted the belongings he had collected from the floor and hoped to convey the gratitude through a simple word “Thanks,”

“No worries. Hope that’s everything…” the stranger threw a final glance at the cart floor and got up, brushing the dust off his knees.

The nagging feeling in the back of your head did not ease off, helping you decide what the next step should be. After all, there was no reason to cut the interaction short. One glance out the window told you there was still time. The train had just left the Waterloo station, giving you at least a quarter of an hour till you had to get off.

Perhaps, that was your sign from the petty destiny to get your shit together. Strictly speaking.

“Looks like it,” dropping the remaining items into the pouch, you extended your hand in greeting, “I’m Y/N,” raising your head to find his gaze, you were welcomed with yet another bright smile.

Judging by the lines around his mouth and crinkles in the corners of his eyes, your mysterious saviour did smile a lot. The realisation only strengthened the conviction, pulling you into his orbit effortlessly.

His warm palm engulfed yours in a firm handshake. It lasted just a second too long, yet no complaints were to be raised.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Neil,” the gleam in his eyes was like the poisoned edge of a dagger, a fatal weapon to strike you down should you be reckless.

You knew for sure that face would be hard to forget. Even if you were to never see it again after today.

“You don’t look like a Neil,” catching onto the peculiarity of his name, you shot him a cheeky smile.

Finally remembering what started the ordeal, you took the seat you had been hovering over and motioned for Neil to join you. He did not hesitate.

It only made you like him more.

“Elaborate, please,” the curious tint in his voice, completed by a deadpan look, made you grin, unable to defy his charm.

Not that you were trying to, anyway.

Making a show of giving yourself time to think of an answer, perfected by the loud hum and a hand stroking your chin, you measured him critically. Still amazed by the man Transport for London put on your path. By the seemingly faultless features, harsh lines of his cheekbones and the kind eyes that still held uncertainty that you were all too familiar with.

“You know… a little more geriatric. A little less dashing,” you sent Neil a wink, watching with fascination as the pinkish blush spread over his cheeks.

That sort of reaction was always a compliment. A sign that you should keep going because it could only get better. The frustrating morning had been almost forgotten, having stood no chance against the unpredictability of the interaction.

You could see Neil process the compliment with rapidly blinking eyelids and a parted mouth. Westminster had been called before he spoke again:

“That’s a new one, but I’ll take it,” the blush had faded slightly, yet the disbelief in his pretty eyes told you he was not used to the flattery.

Which was a surprise considering the way he looked. But that, like all the other discoveries you had made within minutes, would have no application. You would likely never see him again.

“You should. I don’t hit on complete strangers every day,” you sent him a pointed look, meaning every word and hoping Neil would see that.

The amused smile he cracked along with a chuckle, were the rewards for the risks you had taken. Being that forward with a stranger could backfire terribly. You had first-hand experience of that. This time, though, no alarm bells were to be heard as you waited for Neil’s response, with your gaze fixed on his face. If only because it was hard to look away.

“Now I’m flattered,” the sparks in his blue eyes burned bright as he took a cursory look out the window and then back to face you with complete focus, “So… do you want to tell me about your day?” the lack of judgement in his gaze helped you decide before you even knew you were considering it.

Usually, confiding in random people met on the tube sounded like a bad idea. Not entirely off-brand for your poor judgements, but still. But this interaction was anything but usual. The temptation was too big to be ignored. You twisted in the plastic seat to face him properly and channelled the anger dormant beneath your skin. It was all too easy to do.

“There’s this guy… We’ve had sex a couple of times, and it was quite good, but now he wants more, and I- I’m not even sure I believe love exists, let alone feel that way about him. Trouble is he doesn’t get the hint, so…” becoming aware you unloaded the whole speech without taking a break to breathe, you took a greedy inhale and spit out the conclusion with a frustrated huff, “He’s just pissed me off” it was a lot.

You could tell Neil was slowly coming to the same conclusions from the dumbfounded look on his face as he processed your rant. He blinked, unseeingly staring at the Jubilee line plan above the opposite seats. The apology was ready on the tip of your tongue when he finally spoke again:

“Overeager?” the sympathetic wince in his face made that same affection stir in your heart.

All because he understood. He got it. And that was rare. Yet again, you contemplated unblocking Liam. This time, to send him Neil’s phone number with an annotation – This guy gets it. He can explain.

But it was hard to say whether Neil would be up for such a task.

“Mm, yeah,” you offered him a tight-lipped smile and a nod, confirming the theory.

“Sorry,” it was your turn to suffer through a double take.

With incredulity filling every inch of your soul, you stared at him in confusion:

“What for?” as the train arrived at another station, you glanced up to check you had not somehow missed your stop.

But it was fine. There was still enough time to continue what was slowly becoming the most fascinating conversation of the previous couple of months, if not years.

It was Neil’s turn to be amused. His eyes roamed over your face as his lips quirked into a smirk. The cheeky expression sent your heart tumbling through the ribcage. You knew he could be dangerous. You were right. Again.

Yet, no sense of foreboding danger could make you look away. That was for the weak. Or the smarter.

“Being a representative of the male species,” Neil shrugged as if his answer did not leave you agape with amazement, “I know almost everything is our fault, one way or another,” the slight grimace passing through his face told you he knew that was an understatement.

But it was better than nothing. Better than the load of self-entitlement and egocentrism displayed by most of the men you had ever met. It sure did set him apart.

“Guess that’s true,” nodding in agreement, you chose to forego the subtlety and reached out to pat his hand, “Thank you, though,” yet met his eyes, not trying to hide the extent of impression he had left on you “I can already tell you’re a better representant of the species than Liam,”

The fading anger at that man seemed so distant now. Like a dream that you could no longer remember, except for how it made you feel. Liam would stay blocked and hopefully never seen again, but now you could finally see yourself having a pleasant evening. That felt like a reward in itself.

“And he’s called Liam? Good god,” Neil’s dismayed tone was the one to bring you back to the present.

The smile played in the corner of his lips. The amused expression was fast becoming your favourite. Which could be problematic, but you were never the one to search your soul if that was uncalled for. Which it definitely wasn’t.

“I know” sharing an eye-roll with your companion, you chose to focus the attention on that second part of the shit day, “The other thing that happened was how I fucked up the ballet practice” almost automatically, you winced, self-consciously rolling the right ankle as if feeling the phantom pain of the twist that never came (thank god) “But it also can be blamed on him,”

Too caught up in the thoughts of vengeance you would never actually implement, you missed Neil’s surprise, reflecting through the widened eyes and an intense stare boring through your temple.

What you did not miss was a question uttered with so much disbelief that your head swivelled in its direction faster than you thought possible:

“Hold on, ballet practice?” Neil’s scrunched-up face, complete with a frown between eyebrows and mouth agape, was the reason for your giggle.

“Yup, I’m a ballerina at the Royal Ballet,” there was an unusual sense of pride in the proclamation.

Probably because it had been a long time since you got a reaction this stunned. You did not remember the last time someone looked starstruck when hearing about your occupation.

“I’ve never met one before,” his blue eyes still roamed over your face with amazement as Neil confirmed the obvious.

While attention was always pleasant and a reason you got into professional ballet in the first place, this kind of focus felt different. It made the rare blush dust your cheeks as joy surged in your veins from the sheer force of being noticed. From being seen through the best you could offer rather than the multitude of shortcomings that were all easy to find.

“Well, now you have,” you opened your arms in the ta-dah motion and added, “A second soloist, to be exact,” the hierarchical promotion was still an additional point of pride.

A result of years of practice and mental conditioning to try and improve. The culmination of hours of pep talks, pleading to your strength not to give up. To keep on trying. A proof that you were good enough. But it was also a reminder that you were not there yet. That there was still more to achieve.

“I’ve no clue what that means,” the apologetic tone in Neil’s voice was another reason for a smile.

Without thinking, you nudged his shoulder with yours and grinned upon noticing the bashful blush creeping back onto his cheeks. That alone was a reason to delve into the explanation:

“That I’ve still got a long way to go if I want to get promoted to principal dancer. Which is the dream,” hope waged war with scepticism as you chose to stare at the window opposite the seats, taking note of the passing darkness of the tunnels outside. That moment of wistfulness inspired the next thing you said, “You could come to see me if you wanted to,” it was another risk taken.

Another potential to end the conversation prematurely by misjudging the limit. Before you could find the tenacity to see the reaction, Neil’s question got rid of the doubts:

“Are you hitting on strangers again?” the smile in his voice was matched by a cheeky grin on his face.

The brightness in his eyes told you he was enjoying the conversation, that it was not just you who been silently wishing for more time. For more opportunities to continue the back-and-forth, testing the limits of what was acceptable within an unusual connection like yours. Because, surely, there were limits. Right?

“You’re not a stranger anymore, Neil,” instead of searching for the lines drawn in the metaphorical sand, you laid a careful hand on his shoulder and watched with the breath caught in your chest as he glanced at it and back at your face. The only indication that too was not a misstep was the darkening shade of pink on his cheeks and the persistent smile, motivating you to land a double strike, “I am, though. Is that bad?” innocently batting your lashes, you signed off the move with a quick stroke of fingers, tracing the collar of Neil’s shirt.

He swallowed hard, clearly reacting to your risqué move. The goosebumps rose on his skin following your touch, making your smile widen. Unwilling to stop the fascinating game just yet, your fingertips skimmed down the front of his shirt to strengthen the invisible lines in the collar and encircle the tortoiseshell button. As your fingers drifted ever so closer to the bared sliver of the chest revealed by the two buttons left undone, Neil gasped and met your searching gaze with an intense look of his own. It was easy to see the curiosity there, brewing underneath the composure. Not for the first time since you met, you wondered what else was hiding behind that steel-like grip of control. What else was there to discover?

“I’m not complaining,” answering your question with ease, Neil did not flinch away from your taxing gaze.

It was good to know. Just because.

Unable to look away, you realised that your hand was outstretched with the fingers lightly touching the collar of his shirt. The heat from his skin radiated onto your palm, making your fingers flex unconsciously. It was your turn to swallow against the sudden dryness in your throat, as yet again you found yourself arrested by his gaze. Like then, the time seemed frozen, leaving you stranded between one heartbeat and the next. You were content to stay there.

Only the familiar announcement over the PA system could wake you up. The train is now approaching St. John’s Wood. Your body jolted awake with the curse ready on your tongue:

“Shit, that’s my stop” a spiteful glance at the darkness of the tunnels outside was a reflex, born out of the annoyance for the world that did not seem to care about your happiness or the desire to stay in that Jubilee line train cart till the very end of times. The anger passed quickly, yet you knew the frustration would persevere long after you made it home. The only way to push back against it was to turn your focus back to Neil, “It’s been a pleasure. I’d say I won’t forget you, but I’m not sure I can promise that,” the exaggeration in the statement, and the knowledge that it was unlikely you would forget him, were better left unsaid.

As much as the chance meeting was everything you never dreamt of experiencing, it was just that. A pleasant outlier. The one-off happening, that would never happen again. You could feel the sharp prickle of that realisation stab at your consciousness as you checked whether all your belongings were accounted for and got up from the seat. The train was slowing in the approach at the platform, forcing you to grab onto the nearest railing.

“Try your hardest,” Neil’s response made you whip your head back up to stare at him in confusion until the meaning of his words caught up.

Then you could only grin, willing to stretch the limits one last time.

“Or?” the question was accompanied by the tip of your tongue running over your lower lip as your eyes traced Neil’s gaze.

He caught the hook. The intrigue and hunger in his stare proved the point as he glanced at your mouth, not even trying to resist the obvious trick. You were glad it worked.

One look at the world beyond told you there was no time to lose. The familiar voice called out to make sure everyone minded the gaps, and you could not help but throw one final glance at Neil. His dirty blonde strands caught the fluorescents and created a washed-out halo-like effect. The blue eyes were still fixed on you, observing and calculating. Yet again, a wayward thought begged you to stay. To say fuck it and check what could happen if you had more time. But the courage was not quite there when the train came to a stop, and the doors slid open.

Before you could take that decisive step outside, Neil replied:

“I’ll be disappointed,” the smile in his voice was an easy trigger, bringing a breathless chuckle to your lips.

You still laughed as the doors closed behind you and the train started moving away from the platform. You did not look back, letting the crowd of commuters carry you along the tunnels and towards your apartment. It was better that way.

Only once you got back home did you realise one crucial fact. One simple observation easily missed in the rush of thoughts about striking blue eyes and sharp cheekbones. It had been hours since Liam crossed your mind. And somehow, it all made sense.