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munson-blurbs · 1 year

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

Summary: You and Eddie finally get some much-needed alone time, and a confrontation at the Hawkins Preschool talent show tests your commitment to each other.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), protected p in v, fingering, oral (m! receiving), lil bit of edging, broken condom, breeding kink, mentions of Eddie's past, bullying, fighting, Jason Carver's mere existence, mostly fluff and smut before the angst of the next two chapters

WC: 9.2k

Chapter 15/20

Divider credit to @saradika Cutie pie Eddie pic credit to @/sunceddie

You wake up to an alarm set a full hour later than it typically is on a Friday morning, and the extra rest has you walking on air. Or maybe this newfound floatiness comes from knowing Eddie will be arriving soon, the two of you playing hooky from work to spend the day together. Your insides ignite with a rebellious fire, like you’re skipping class to smoke cigarettes underneath the bleachers, rather than taking a paid sick day that you’ve rightfully accrued.

Sunlight streams through the window, just a bit brighter than the usual smears of pink and orange that you normally see when you awaken. And while you still have to drag your yet-to-be-caffeinated body out of bed, the walk to the bathroom seems slightly less daunting.

You can’t let Eddie in fast enough when the intercom buzzes thirty minutes later. You were never naïve to the fact that dating a parent would mean having less privacy; what you didn’t know was how strongly you’d crave him.

Your hands are all over him the moment he steps through the door, simultaneously too much and not enough. Fingers lazily drape across the nape of his neck, and you can feel that his hair is already frizzy from the early April rain. Your breath hitches when you catch a glimpse of the burgeoning outline along the seam of his gray sweatpants.

His lips find yours easily, aiming to meet in the middle, but you press on your toes and bring your core to his. Your pajama top is thin; not sheer, but flimsy enough that he can feel the way you react to the chill of his leather jacket.

“Hello to you, too,” he murmurs with a laugh, muffled by a kiss that catches him off-guard. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to grab breakfast first, but—”

You shake your head, grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards the bedroom. “Sex first, food later.”

“Yes ma’am.” He uses his free hand to apply a quick smack to your ass, mesmerized at the way the supple flesh ripples underneath the flannel pants. Jesus, you’ve got him half-hard and you’re still in your pajamas.

He sits on the side of the bed, and you climb to straddle him, your inner thighs nudging his outer. “Been thinking about you,” you say, tugging his earlobe between your teeth.

Eddie pulls you even closer, one hand snaking up your shirt to cup your breast. He’s still cold from the rain and early morning frost, and his touch has your nipple pebbling. “What about me?”

“Well,” you trill, starting to slowly grind against the tented fabric of his pants. He exhales, a shiver of anticipation coursing through his veins. “I believe I promised my rockstar a reward for his amazing gig.” Your thoughts flit back to the night of Will’s party, when you’d snuck backstage and gotten a glimpse of him, his body pulsating with nerves that had almost immediately quelled at your touch. Another sensation had swept over him then, but that was an entirely different type of flutter.

Eddie nudges his nose against yours, a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. “Your rockstar?” He adores the phrasing. Yours. Belonging to you. And you belong to him; he won’t ever allow you to forget it. “What kind of reward did my favorite groupie have in mind?”

You slide off of him, giggling at the pout he gives you as your body loses contact with his. “Patience, Rockstar,” you warn him, though it’s difficult to contain yourself when you’re salivating just being eye-level with his erection. Your fingers dig into his waistband, and for the second time today, you’re glad for his choice of clothing. You don’t think you could handle buttons and zippers and belt buckles. Not today.

He hisses when your palm brushes along his hardened length, stiffening even while covered by his boxer briefs. A small wet patch marks his tip, leaking precum, and you press a chaste kiss to it. Almost instantly, you feel the tendrils of his thigh hair against your bare arms as his legs reflexively snap shut like a Venus flytrap catching its prey.

“Too much?” you mumble against his happy trail. While you relish in the thought of overstimulating him, you want to keep him on edge as long as you can.

Eddie shakes his head, curls scratching against his shoulders. “Jus’ wasn’t expecting it. ‘Cause you were using your hands, but then I felt your…never mind, I’m gonna shut up now.” He settles back into the mattress and eagerly awaits your next move.

You don’t make him wait long, lips drawn to his shaft with a magnetic force. You only stop to shimmy his underwear down his legs, tossing them to the corner of the room. His cock is flush against his tummy; you catch yourself staring at the dusting of wispy curls that trail from his upper groin down to his heavy sack.

Your dominant hand wraps around the base while the other leans on his thigh for balance. You lean in and spit, letting your saliva dribble down his length before flattening your tongue to lick up the pearly bead forming at the tip. Eddie’s abdominal muscles contract and his fists clench, never taking his eyes off of the beautiful woman on her knees for him.

He lets out a soft moan as you hollow out your cheeks to take more of him into your mouth. A string of syllables that barely resemble words escapes him. “Mmm, yes, oh, sh–fucking hell–thas’ it…” He twists the bedsheets between his fingers, inhaling sharply as your tongue glides up and down his cock. “S’pretty, fuck, gorgeous girl.” He watches intently, staving off blinks so he doesn’t miss a moment of him disappearing between your lips.

He’d once thought that he could never want more than sloppy post-gig hook-ups in dive bar bathrooms with girls whose names he’d never learned, though he wouldn’t have made an effort to remember them anyway. Girls who had only offered their mouths so they could lay claim to his body; the opportunity to brag that they’d blown Eddie Munson before he got famous.

That was before you, before you’d shown him the intoxicating mixture of longing and belonging, of lust and…

You continue drawing him closer and closer to his orgasm, nose grazing his thatch of pubic hair. His hips buck slightly, but your mouth is so full of him that it threatens to evoke your gag reflex.

“Shit, ‘m sorry,” Eddie blurts out, unfurling a hand from the sheets to cup your cheek. He pulls out, allowing you to take a deep breath.

You shake your head. “I liked it,” you tease with a wicked grin, wasting no time assuming your previous position.

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie throws his head back. “You like gagging on my dick? Fucking hell, babe.”

“Mhm.” The gentle vibration has him twitching, and you know he can’t last much longer. You bring your attention to his tip, sucking and giving soft kitten licks while your hand takes care of the rest of his length. He’s so painfully hard that you wouldn’t be surprised if he stayed that way long after finishing.

“Jus’…just like that. Oh, fuuuuuck,” he groans, silently calling upon every ounce of willpower in his body to keep his pelvis still so he doesn’t disturb the beautiful rhythm you’ve found. “Gonna cum…shit, baby, if you don’t want it in your mouth, you gotta stop now.”

But you do want it in your mouth, so you don’t stop, feeling warm ropes adorning your tongue just seconds later. He’s panting, chest heaving as though he was the one putting in the effort, but he still notices the way you swallow his thick load without missing a beat.

“Did you just…oh, my God. You’re perfect.” He throws his hands up in mock defeat. “I can’t…nothing I do will ever compare to you, I swear.” He motions for you to lay down next to him, and immediately climbs on top of you, the sweat from his chest transferring to your shirt. “Off,” he mumbles, pulling it over your head before you get the chance to do it yourself.

His lips swoop down to your left breast, tongue flickering over the nipple, and his dominant hand travels into your panties and expertly finds your clit. You let out a tiny whimper, barely audible over Eddie’s own grunts, finding pleasure in making you feel good.

“This body,” he mumbles, mouth still attached to your chest, “has me in a goddamn chokehold. It’s all I think about.” That isn’t quite true; he certainly spends plenty of time daydreaming of you, though it isn’t always in such compromising positions. Sometimes, you’re sleeping next to him in bed as he presses gentle kisses to the nape of your neck. Other times, he’ll be cooking dinner and picture you passing him the salt or handing him a serving spoon to dish out whatever noodle-based concoction he’s conjured up. Whatever he’s doing, he imagines you by his side.

“Can you kiss me?” Your request is timid but dripping with need.

Eddie nods, bringing himself to eye level with you and closing the gap between your faces. You taste of minty toothpaste and of him, and he curses himself for diving in headfirst without remembering to kiss you. “M sorry,” he apologizes for the second time that morning, and you forgive him with a soft bite to his lower lip.

Your arms rest on his shoulders and your legs wrap around his calf muscles, desperate to remain as close as possible at all times. No, you can’t stay like this forever, so you’ve got to make it count. “Need you inside me, Eddie.” Your voice nearly cracks, tears pricking at your lash line as the craving for him grows stronger. “Please.”

Eddie musters up a terse laugh. “Sweetheart, I just came, like, five minutes ago. You gotta give me a second to bounce back.” He lowers himself so he can whisper in your ear, “let me take care of you while we wait, hm?”

As soon as you nod, he’s yanking down your pajama pants and panties in one fluid motion. You can’t miss the way his eyes light up once you’re fully on display for him, taking in every centimeter of your body like his existence depends upon it. He starts to shimmy his way down, but your murmured “mm-mm” captures his attention.

“Still want you kissing me,” you say, gazing adoringly into his deep brown eyes. “Maybe you could just use your fingers?”

His instinct is to protest; he’s been desperate to taste you again ever since his tongue last touched the most intimate part of you, but he can’t deny you what you want. He’ll do just about anything to keep a smile on your face.

Without further hesitation, Eddie’s lips are on yours. He braces himself on his elbows as his hands cradle your cheeks. You can feel the heat of his cock, still spent and flaccid, against the top of your thigh. He shifts slightly so he can press one thick finger into your pussy, dragging in and out so deliciously that you barely notice his tongue slipping into your mouth, deepening the kiss as you moan.

“Y’like that?” It’s a gratuitous question; he can feel how much you like it in the way you’re clenching around him. “Gonna make my girl feel s’good.”

“Call me your girl again,” you whine, punctuating the plea with a gentle buck of your hips.

Eddie grins, ducking his head where your neck meets your collarbone and sucking lightly. It takes every ounce of strength he possesses not to mark you. He studies the moisture left behind by his lips and wishes it was the exquisite shades of blue and indigo that form when someone’s been claimed.

He slides a second finger inside you. “My sweet girl,” he coos, just a hint of patronization laced within his deep voice, “you like being mine? Belonging to me?”

Your stomach flips at his words; a gnawing hunger for Eddie Munson. “Love it. I…I love being your girl.” You allow your mind to clear, absorbing his gaze, his touch, his skin. The graceful arch of your back beckons him to move faster, tongue peeking from between his plush lips as he concentrates on your orgasm.

Each stroke within you inches you closer to euphoria. Eddie’s thumb is pressed to your clit, cementing his determination to tip you over the edge. He hits all the right spots, committing them to memory; his own personal pathway to the heavens.

It’s your turn to grab onto the bed sheets like a lifeline as pleasure surges through you. Your lips coat his in a warm layer of “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” the praise a victory chant to him. He waits until your eyelids flutter back open and your breathing steadies before taking his fingers from your center and into his mouth, licking your release off of his skin like a delicacy.

Your body may be splayed out on the bed, but your mind is adrift; its only focus is the float down from the high Eddie’s brought you to. If it weren’t for the throbbing reminder pressed to your leg, you might float right into the atmosphere.

You summon the willpower to prop yourself up on your elbows, watching intently as he fists himself to temporarily ease the ache.

“Why’re you doing that when ‘m right here?” you mumble, wetting your lower lip with a swipe of your tongue. You can only hope that there’s some semblance of a smile in your intoxicated expression. “Unless you…prefer your hand?”

“Fuck, no,” he grumbles, curls dancing along his shoulder blades as he loosens his grasp to dig through your top drawer. He shoves aside stray prescription bottles and various knickknacks that you’ve been meaning to go through until he finds what he’s been looking for.

He snatches up the teal box and practically tears the cardboard in half trying to open it. The snake of foil packets tumbles out and he scrambles for them, but you’re faster.

Wordlessly, you rip off one packet and carefully tear off the top. Eddie hisses as you roll the condom down his hardened length, more than ready to be inside you.

“Wanna ride you,” you tell him, pressing your palms to his soft pecs. “‘S that okay?”

“Is that—baby, if I ever say no to that offer, there’s something seriously wrong with me,” he laughs, already laying back on the bed. His hair splays across the pillow, brown curls swirling atop the cotton pillowcase like Van Gogh’s Starry Night.

Eddie inhales sharply as you sit above him, sheathed cock pressed to your heat in anticipation. He reaches out and grabs your breasts, one in each hand, kneading them in his palms. His thumbs brush over your nipples, gauging your reaction before giving them a small pinch.

Your moan, coupled with the way you grind against him, confirms your satisfaction, but he still asks, “Y’like when I do that?”

You offer him a little smirk, cocking your brow as you cheekily reply, “You tell me.”

He doesn’t have time to respond before you lift yourself and gradually sink down onto him, soaking in every moment of the delectable stretch. Bracing yourself on his chest, you feel him bottom out so he’s filling you entirely.

“Fuck, Sweetheart.” His hands move from your chest to your hips as he helps you adjust to the newfound fullness. “So tight. Feels‘mazing.”

“Just wanna take care of you, Eds. You’re so good to me; I wanna be good to you.” You bounce up and down, moving your hips so no part of your walls remains untouched by him.

He’s mesmerized at the jiggle of your flesh as it connects with his, momentarily rendering him speechless before he regains some composure. “You are. You’re so, so good for me. Can never get enough of my girl.”

You clench around him at the title ‘my girl’, earning you a smack to your ass. The sting makes you whimper, and he swiftly delivers another.

“You’re gonna make me cum too soon,” he huffs, blown-out pupils drifting from your eyes to where your bodies are joined.

You pause your movements to lean down, allowing him impossibly deep within you. “If it’s too much,” you murmur into his ear, hoping your edge-teetering tremble is hidden enough to effectively tease him, “maybe I should just…stop.” You slide your hips forward until only his tip breaches your hole.

Eddie’s jaw drops in complete disbelief. “You…you can’t fuckin’ do that to me.” You expect him to push the rest of his cock inside you and thrust until he’s completely spent, so you’re caught off-guard when he pulls out entirely. “All fours. Now.” He emphasizes his request with another spank, this one harder than the rest.

You oblige, palms pressed into the mattress and toes curled as you await him. He taps his shaft against your bottom once, twice, three times, and then plunges into your warmth.

“Ah—fuck—Eddie!” you cry, feeling the telltale twitch that informs you he’s close. Really fucking close. And then another sensation—a soft pop.

He realizes what it is before you do. “Fuckin’ condom broke!” he grumbles, pulling out again—even more begrudgingly than before—and tossing the split rubber to the floor. He opens a new one and rolls it on with lightning speed, eager to be enveloped in you once again.

“Wish we didn’t have to use those,” you mumble, willing yourself to stay steady despite the push from his pistoning hips. “Be so much easier without them.”

Picturing you taking him raw—you wanting to take him raw—is the last straw. “Yeah? You wanna feel all of me, baby?” he growls, nearly inaudible over the sound of his pelvis colliding with your ass. “Want me blowing my load so fuckin’ deep inside you?”

“Y-Yes,” you stammer, feeling that delicate wave approaching the shoreline, desperate to crest. “That’s exactly what I want, Eddie.”

“Keep saying my name,” he orders, wrapping one arm around you so his middle finger lays on your clit. Every part he touches makes you weaker for him, scavenging for the relief of release.

“Eddie, feels s’good,” you moan, legs threatening to crumple beneath you. “No one makes me feel like this ‘cept you, fuck, Eddie!”

You finish around him, squeezing him until he’s spilling into the condom with a primal groan of your name. He stays draped over you for a beat before flopping back onto the bed.

“You are…” he turns to you and grins as he searches for the right word, “spectacular.” He gingerly removes the barrier from his dick, tying it in a knot and tossing it into the trash can next to your nightstand. “C’mere.”

You lay on his chest, the sweat cooling as it hits your cheek. “Did you work up an appetite?” you tease, kissing just below his tattoo of a demonic head, “I can grab us some cereal, or we might have some frozen Eggos I could throw in the toaster.”

Eddie smiles so wide it threatens to escape the confines of his cheeks. “Sex and breakfast? You spoil me, Sweetheart.”

“Yeah, well; we need energy to power us through round two.” You scoot upwards to nuzzle into the crook of his neck, the salt of his perspiration tangy on your lips. “Give me a few minutes, okay? Do you like syrup on your waffles?”

“And butter?” he asks with a hopeful smile, peering at you through long eyelashes that would have had you darting to Bradley’s Big Buy if you didn’t already have a stick of Land O’ Lakes in the fridge.

You roll your eyes playfully. “Yes, Your Majesty,” you say, giving his bare thigh a small tap. “Would you also care for some freshly-squeezed orange juice? I can have the chef whip some up right away.”

Eddie throws his head back and laughs, slowly pushing himself up so he can help you in the kitchen. It dawns on him that he hasn’t felt this kind of peace after sex before; his mind has always been clouded with fears of getting too attached, of saying the wrong thing, of deluding someone into thinking he’s enough.

“God, I love you.” The words tumble out before he can stop them, and he freezes in place, one leg through his underwear. “Fuck, I mean–”

“It’s okay,” you rush to reassure him, noting the red tinge forming on the tips of his ears. “I’d say that to anyone who offered me breakfast foods, too.” You give him room to accept the out, to brush off his confession as a slip of the tongue. There’s no use in awarding merit to an accidental comment, regardless of what your skipped heartbeat tells you.

He considers it, every synapse and neuron firing at warpspeed. Maybe he could convince himself that it was an accident if it was the first time he’d felt this, the way your sunshine radiates through him and warms him from within. But that was far from the truth.

“No,” he finds himself saying, grasping onto every morsel of confidence he can find, “it’s not because of the food. I love you.”

Your voice catches in your throat. You want to believe that he’s reciprocating your feelings, but something nags at you. “Are you sure it’s not because we just had sex? Because sometimes that—”

“No,” Eddie repeats himself, unfolding the waistband of his boxer briefs and walking to you. “Because it wasn’t about sex when you calmed me down after the parent-teacher conference. It wasn’t about sex when you taught Harris how to read and bowl and be a better person than I’ll ever be. It wasn’t about sex when you cheered me on during our last gig, and it wasn’t about sex when I saw you holding Ettie.” He takes a deep breath and holds your hands as he gazes into your eyes. “And even after having sex, it isn’t about sex. It’s about you being the one for me. I love you, I love you, I love you.” He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, and finally your lips.

“I love you, too, Eddie.”

Just five words, six syllables, and he’s a goner. Seriousness melts into a sappy smile as he cradles your cheeks and presses the tip of his nose to yours. “Holy shit, we’re in love.”

You kiss him, tongue nudging his as your torsos meld together. If your stomach wasn’t gnawing for something to eat, you’d start round two right then and there.

Throwing on just a shirt and panties, you lead him into the kitchen before either of you can crawl back into bed. His hands never leave your body, snaking around your waist as you rifle through the freezer for the familiar yellow box. His head rests on your shoulder as you drop the waffles into the toaster and press the lever down.

“Eds?”

“Yes, my love?” he murmurs, pecking a soft kiss behind your ear. You both could have sworn that there was nothing better than him calling you ‘my girl,’ but you’re unashamed to stand corrected.

“Could you make yourself useful and grab some plates? Maybe get the syrup or butter?” you tease, noting the dramatic pout developing on his face. “What?”

“I’m keepin’ you warm,” he protests, sliding his hands over the cotton fabric of your faded t-shirt and grabbing your breasts. “And you’re not wearing a bra, so I gotta hold ‘em for you.”

He eventually obliges, setting two Chinette plates on the countertop and padding over to the refrigerator. He plucks the condiments from the side door and places them in the center of the table.

“Cups, too,” you remind him with a cheeky grin, pointing to a cabinet to your right. “No drinking out of the carton in my house.”

“Bossy this morning, aren’t we?”

The toaster chimes a charismatic ding! as the waffles jump out of their slots, and you carefully drop both onto one plate. “Here ya go,” you chirp, extending your arm so he can take his breakfast.

“Where’s yours?” His brows pinch together in confusion, a sly smile stretching his lips. “Don’t tell me I didn’t make you work up more of an appetite back there. Shit, shoulda had you ride me longer–”

Your hip collides with his in a purposeful shove. “I’m getting mine ready now. Go sit and eat, you horndog.”

Eddie drops the plate on the counter so quickly that the Eggos nearly fly off, pulling you from behind for a hug that squeezes all the air from your lungs. You squeal as he bites your neck and barks into it, solidifying that he has indeed earned the new nickname you’ve bestowed upon him.

He takes one of his waffles and places it on your empty plate. “We can eat together.”

You grab the orange juice from the fridge, giving the carton a shake before pouring the contents between the two glasses. It’s not until you sit down that you remember: “Oh, shit—utensils.” You start to get back up, but Eddie puts a hand out in a silent bid for you to stay seated, shuffling back to the kitchen. The drawer rattles as he pulls with just a bit too much strength, and he comes back with two knives and a single fork.

“You only got one—” you start, but he shakes his head.

“Don’t need it.” With that, he cuts off a hunk of butter and slathers it on top of his waffle, knife scraping against the little squares. He slathers every square inch in syrup, folds the waffle in half, and takes an exaggeratedly large bite.

“Eddie Munson!” you lightly chastise, still in shock at what you’ve witnessed. “Did you just eat that like a taco?”

“Sí, señorita.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “Oh, my God, I’m in love with a barbarian.” You reach for the bottle of Aunt Jemima and drizzle the sticky-sweetness onto your waffle. “What else is going on with you?” you ask, cutting the food into strips and spearing it with your fork. “Work’s good?”

“Work’s great, actually.” He starts to bring the waffle to his mouth but pauses just before taking a bite. Syrup drops onto the plate with a plop. “I almost forgot to tell you! The regional manager asked me to go to this thrift market in Indianapolis in a few weeks—all on the company’s dime—and try to snag some vintage records.”

“Eds, that’s amazing!” You leap up from your chair and lean in to kiss his syrupy lips.

He licks a smudge of butter from the side of his thumb. “Oh, but that’s not even the best part,” Eddie grins triumphantly. “The market just so happens to fall during spring break, and I was hoping you could join us?” His bare foot nudges yours under the table. “That is, if you think you can survive an entire weekend running after Harris?”

Your jaw drops in mock-offense. “One of us chases after children–plural–every day. Besides,” you add, taking a swig of juice, “Harris isn’t the one I’m worried about.” You gesture at his partially-demolished breakfast. “At least when he eats like this, he has the excuse of being a child.”

His reply is a flick of his left middle finger, his right hand busy jamming the remaining waffle-taco into his mouth. “And yet,” he retorts with his mouth full, “you can’t seem to get enough.”

He’s got you there: all you’ve ever wanted is sitting in front of you now, the corners of his chocolate-brown eyes crinkling as he stands. You allow your eyes to roam his body; not with lust, but adoration. Love.

Your cheek yearns to be pressed to his chest, your hand resting where the soft pudge of his tummy barely rolls over the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs. Your legs crave the connection of intertwining with his. You need his arms, biceps strong from lugging around music equipment and holding his son, wrapped around your torso and keeping you impossibly close. Keeping you safe.

You want to spend hours asking about the stories behind the tattoos that adorn his chest, whether meaningful or the result of sheer boredom. You want to curl up on the sofa and put on a movie, absorbing none of it as you spend the entire duration lost in his lips.

The brush of his thumb against your knuckles stirs you from your roaming thoughts.

“Can I ask you something?”

Eddie sits up a bit straighter, hand never leaving yours. “Shoot.”

“Is it…” you fumble for the right words, “why are you like this now?”

“I’m sorry?” His brows knit together in obvious confusion. “Why am I like…what?”

“This,” you repeat, gesticulating at the man before you, warm and tender and completely unlike the stranger you’d hooked up with nearly eight months ago. “Why is the guy who once kicked me out of his apartment currently having breakfast with me half-naked and inviting me on a trip with his son?” Your tone is inquisitive, curious, and Eddie heaves a silent sigh of relief when he doesn’t detect a hint of judgment.

He doesn’t answer your question outright; instead, he poses his own: “Do you not believe that I love you?” He bites his lower lip, mind churning with the early memories you’d made together, the ones he wishes he could lock away and never remember.

Your heart lurches at your accidental implication. “I do! Shit, Eddie, I know you love me. And I love you, too.” You pause to lift his hand to your mouth, leaving the gentlest of kisses along his fuzzy knuckles. “I guess I just wanna know why you even let yourself love me. Why you didn’t stick to the Cat-and-Mouse. Why…why you chose me.”

He exhales, an incredulous huff of laughter passing through his lips. “You wanna know why I started only having one-night stands? Or why I stopped?”

“Both?” you try.

“So, um,” his eyes look everywhere but at you, “I never really got attention until I moved to Chicago and started playing with that band. All of a sudden, women wanna sleep with me, and I don’t have to, like, beg them.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “But they didn’t really want to fuck Eddie Munson; they just wanted to fuck the lead singer and guitarist of Hard Knox. Didn’t matter if it was me or some other random guy.

“One night, I’m…y’know…with this one girl, and I asked her to say my name.” His cheeks tinge red and he swallows hard. “And she looks at me with these wide eyes, and I realized she didn’t even fucking know it.”

“Did you know hers?” The question comes out before you can stop it, but you already know the answer.

He rubs his eyes with his whole palm. “After that, I realized that the only difference between the Eddie who got laid and the Eddie who didn’t was that no one I slept with really knew me. And if they ever figured out that I’m just this big ol’ nerd who spent high school playing Dungeons & Dragons, they’d…” He flexes his hands to make a poof! motion. “So I decided not to let them get to know me.”

“But then…”

“But then,” he acquiesces, “you show up at the bar, looking like a goddamn dream, and I put up that cocky lead singer persona on instinct. Because that’s the only version of me that women ever wanted to be with.” He sighs. “And then I let my guard down, ask you to spend the night, and I’m thinking, ‘I gotta get her outta here before she sees who I really am. Before she sees that I’m not a rockstar; I’m just a mediocre dad who sells weed to scrape by.’”

You move so quickly that you practically knock over your chair, standing behind him and wrapping your arms around the top of his chest. Your chin rests on his scalp, and he can feel the vibration in your throat as you murmur, “nothing about you is mediocre, Eddie Munson.”

He lays his head on your forearm, kissing it softly before lacing his fingers with yours. “Sometimes, I think I’m just buying time until you get sick of me.”

You shift your position so your lips can brush the side of his neck. “I didn’t fall for the guy on stage that night. I mean, yeah, you looked incredibly hot,” you tease and nip at his collarbone, “but I’m in love with Eddie Munson: the man who gets excited when his son reads a new word, who teases me for liking olives on my pizza, who knows the lyrics to every song ever made–including the ones he claims to hate.”

“Well, Eddie Munson–the real Eddie Munson–is so goddamn lucky to be loved by you.” He turns so he’s facing you, strong hands on your hips as he gazes up with starry eyes.

You cradle his cheeks, stooping down so your noses touch. “You deserve to be loved.”

“Yeah.” The word is more breath than sound. “Yeah, I think I’m finally starting to believe that.”

The remainder of your day is spent having copious amounts of sex; Eddie had insisted on ‘making up for lost time,’ taking breaks only for a quick lunch and a shower.

“Come with me to pick up Harris,” Eddie says as he wraps the bath towel around his waist. Water drips from the ends of his curls down to the dimples on his lower back. “We’re going to Jeff and Viv’s after so he can meet Baby Ettie.”

You raise your eyebrows in amusement, bending over to dry your legs. “I took a sick day today,” you remind him. “I can’t just show up there in your car, like, ‘nothing to see here!’”

“I’ll park far away,” he says with a shrug. “No biggie.” There’s a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. “I mean, I could tell Harris that Ms. Sweetheart was supposed to be with us, but she said no—”

You swat at his chest and he pulls back, feigning pain. “You wouldn’t!”

“Try me.”

That’s how you ended up hunched over in the passenger seat of Eddie’s sedan, hiding from any passersby who could potentially recognize you. It only takes a few minutes before you hear the sound of Harris’s little voice, chewing his dad’s ear off about his day at school.

“...and then me an’ Charlie traded me snacks, an’ no one even sawed us!” He’s cackling like it’s the funniest joke. “He had my pretzels and I had his gummies, and it was so silly!”

“Gummies, huh?” Eddie clicks his tongue, “well, that explains the sugar rush.” Their voices get louder as they approach the car. “By the way, Har Bear, I have a surprise for you.”

As he says it, Harris opens the back door and hops into the car, eyes widening when he sees you sitting up front. “Ms. Sweetheart!” he exclaims, bouncing into his booster seat with pure exhilaration. “What are you doing in Daddy’s car?”

“I figured I could see Baby Ettie with you guys,” you say as nonchalantly as possible, a stark contrast to the little boy practically vibrating from excitement, “if that’s okay with you.”

“Yes, yes, YES!” Harris shouts, his words aimed directly in Eddie’s ear as he tries buckling his son’s seatbelt.

“Jesus H. Christ,” he mutters, wincing as he massages the opening of his ear canal with his forefinger. “Take it down a notch, little man.” He fumbles with the belt until he hears the familiar click. He dons a deep voice to announce, “Keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times,” and Harris draws his limbs inwards with a giggle while Eddie closes his door.

“Daddy? Can we listen to music?”

“Mhm.” Eddie reaches for the radio dial, then stops. “Should we let Ms. Sweetheart choose the tape? Since she’s our special guest?” He shoots you a grin that sends a flip-flopping sensation behind your ribs.

Harris taps his finger to his chin in contemplation. “Hmm…okay! Can she pick Metallica?”

“Not quite sure that’s how it works…” Eddie scrunches up his face and scratches at his jawline.

You turn around to face the boy, whose curly hair is now identically frizzy to his father’s. “Actually, Metallica sounds great to me,” you say, adding a thumbs-up for good measure.

“Metallica it is!” Eddie pops in the cassette, the mechanical wheels whirring for a moment before Fight Fire with Fire blares through the speakers. He rests his palm on the back of your seat as he backs out of the spot, tongue poking from his lips in concentration.

Harris alternates between headbanging to the music and babbling about school throughout the drive to Jeff and Viv’s. His energy seems endless as he hops out of the car and races to their front door.

“Har, remember,” Eddie calls out, “we have to be calm and gentle around the baby. Don’t wanna scare her.”

Harris nods as Jeff opens the door. “Mini Munson!” He gives a tired smile, stifling a yawn. “Ready to meet your new cousin?” He chuckles when Harris jumps up and down and squeals. “I’ll take that as a yes. Go ‘head and sit on the couch, kiddo.”

Harris follows Jeff’s instructions, and you and Eddie trail close behind him. Jess and Robin are also there; the latter woman is currently holding Ettie, lightly rocking the newborn in her arms.

“Do you wanna hold her?” she asks Harris, who looks to you and his dad in a silent plea for permission.

“Up to you, Har,” Eddie says with an encouraging smile. “We’ll help you, if you want.”

Harris nods, shuffling so his back is pressed up against the sofa. He squirms anxiously, kicking his feet as he waits for you and his dad to join him.

Eddie sits on his right side, and you take the empty space to his left. “I’ll help you hold her head,” you promise him. “You can hold your arms out like this,” you demonstrate, resting your forearms on your lap with your palms facing the ceiling, and Harris mimics your actions. “There ya go.”

Robin carefully walks over and places Ettie in Harris’s outstretched arms, ensuring that you’re supporting the baby’s head before she fully lets go. For a few moments, Harris just stares at the little girl, seemingly unsure how to react. Finally, he softly murmurs, “she’s so little!”

“Sure is,” Eddie laughs, poking at one of her tiny toes in amazement. “Would you believe that you were even more little when you were a baby?” His grin deepens when Harris’s jaw drops in disbelief. “It’s true! You were the tiniest little thing I’ve ever seen.” As he says it, a lump forms in his throat, and he swallows it before anyone notices the catch in his voice. You don’t need to hear it, though, and you use your free hand to discreetly rub his back in silent reassurance.

Harris purses his lips as he stares at his new cousin, clearly unaffected by the anecdote. “Does she do any tricks?”

His question has the entire group stifling laughter, and Eddie turns pink with embarrassment as he quickly explains, “she’s not a dog, buddy. And she was only born a few weeks ago, so she pretty much just eats, sleeps, and poops.”

“Ew,” Harris’s nose wrinkles in disgust at the last activity, though you’re willing to bet a large sum of money that he’s made at least one poop-related joke today. “So when can I teach her how to play Legos?”

“Not for a while,” Viv admits with a kind chuckle, “but when she’s ready, I promise that we’ll let her big cousin Harris show her how it’s done.”

Her answer placates him, at least temporarily, and he cautiously brushes his forefinger against Ettie’s scalp, smoothing down her wisps of hair. You take the moment to glance over at Eddie, only to find him looking right at you.

Hi, he mouths, though there’s so much more he wishes to say. When Harris was Ettie’s age, Eddie was exhausted, overwhelmed, constantly on the brink of breaking down. He’d sworn to himself and anyone else who would listen that he’d never go through the newborn stage again, but he’s mesmerized by the sight of you and Harris cuddling a baby. He wants this, he wants this with you, sleepless nights and spit-up stained clothes no longer strong enough deterrents.

Hi, you mouth back, suppressing words that ache to spill from your lips. Your pulse quickens at the way Eddie watches his son, not with scrutiny, but with admiration and awe, as though he can’t believe he’d created such a wonderful little human. Teaching children never translated over to a desire for motherhood, but you can suddenly picture yourself helping Harris hold your baby, a baby that symbolizes the love between you and Eddie.

“They look like a little family.” Robin’s attempted whisper grabs your attention; a brief scan of the room shows that everyone else is looking at her, too. Her cheeks flush a deep red and she mutters, “sorry,” swooping in to scoop Ettie into her arms.

An awkward silence hangs in the air until Jess clears her throat. “How was work today?” she asks you, and though you don’t have an actual answer to the question, you’re grateful for the subject change.

“I took the day off,” you reply nonchalantly. “Wanted to catch up on rest, y’know…” You trail off, hoping your non-answer suffices.

“What about you, Ed?” Jeff tries.

“Oh, uh,” Eddie stammers, nervously running a hand through his hair, “I also took the day off.”

Jeff’s gaze flits between the two of you until he finally manages an elongated, “…cool.”

Luckily, Harris is oblivious to the adults’ conversation. “Uncle Jeff, are you coming to my talent show next week?”

“Talent show?” Jeff glances at Eddie with an amused smirk.

“Uh, yeah, ‘s this parent-kid thing at his school,” Eddie hurriedly explains, trying not to trip over his words. He’s still stuck on what he’s implied by admitting that he’d also called out of work. “I didn’t know how busy you’d be with Ettie—”

Viv smiles. “I think he can sneak out for an hour to see his favorite nephew.”

“Robs and I can help out here if you need,” Jess offers to her sister, “as long as Jeff brings the camcorder so we have video evidence of this performance.”

“Absolutely not.” Eddie shuts the idea down immediately, but his protest is drowned out by the sound of Harris cheering.

“Daddy and I are gonna—”

Eddie claps a ringed hand over his son’s mouth. “It’s a surprise.” He looks at you for a moment, bashfulness infiltrating his expression with a timid smile and downcast eyes, and you realize that the surprise is for you.

Harris wriggles out of Eddie’s grasp with a discontented sigh, sliding off the couch and onto thr floor. “I didn’t tell Ms. Sweetheart,” he protests, and Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose as he gathers any remaining patience.

Ettie puckers up her face and lets out a wail that seems far too big for her teeny body, but it serves as the perfect reason to leave. You hug everyone goodbye and give the cranky baby’s feet a gentle tickle before you head out the door. Harris gallops ahead, giving Eddie the opportunity to guide you with a soft press of his hand to the small of your back. Before he's fully outside, he leans in to Jeff, whispering “I told her,” ending the statement with a grin.

“My man!” Jeff grabs Eddie’s shoulder and gives it a small shake. “Let me know when to buy my tux for the wedding.”

“Jesus, you sound like Harris.”

Spending time at Hawkins Preschool outside of contracted work hours would normally be a scenario straight out of a nightmare. This afternoon; however, you’re here to see the most adorable little boy and his handsome dad perform some sort of mystery talent, which makes it all worthwhile.

The cafeteria has been transformed into an auditorium of sorts, with neat lines of metal folding chairs replacing the long tables that typically fill the space. An area at the front of the room has been sectioned off for the performances, and the entire place is abuzz with excitement about the adorableness that is about to ensue.

You spot Jeff and Wayne sitting in the third row from the back and you give them a little wave, bounding over to take the empty seat to Jeff’s left. The smile on your lips quickly transforms into a frown when you see him shake his head, placing his palm on the chair.

“I’m under strict orders to make sure you sit in the front row,” he says with a knowing smirk. He shoos you away, and you begrudgingly turn from their familiar faces, but not before catching a twinkle in Wayne’s eyes.

Soon after you find a seat close to the makeshift stage, Principal Sinclair steps up to the microphone.

“Welcome, friends and family, to our annual talent show fundraiser!” There’s a polite smattering of applause before she speaks again. “Our students—and their parents—have quite a show for you all. First up is Miss Abigail Carver and her mom, Chrissy, who will be performing a cheer routine!”

You clap as Abby and Chrissy step out, green and yellow pom-poms in hand. Your student recognizes you immediately, running over to give you a quick hug that elicits a resounding aww from the audience members. She rushes back to her spot as she and her mother cheer on the Hawkins Tigers in unison.

Next is another student of yours, Joshua Harrington. His dad hoists a Fisher Price basketball hoop and places it on the ground so the two of them can show off their “slam dunks.”

After a few more students from other classes, it’s finally the moment you’ve been waiting for.

“Please welcome Harris Munson and his dad, Eddie, who will be singing a song!”

No sooner do you call out, “Yay, Harris!” do you hear it:

“Freak.”

It’s low enough that no one else catches it; you probably wouldn’t have, either, if the culprit wasn’t sitting directly behind you. You turn around to see Jason Carver, camcorder by his side, poorly stifling a snicker.

Your hands clench, balled into fists, so tight that you feel your fingernails digging into your palms. It’s too tempting to smash his camera—no, smash his stupid face—but you inhale and then exhale for three seconds apiece. Today is about Harris and Eddie, and no overgrown bully is going to ruin that.

Still, you have to bite back a smile at the thought of Jason sporting a black eye, courtesy of the Freak’s girlfriend herself.

When Harris and Eddie take to the performance space, your anger evaporates and your heart becomes heavy with emotion. Harris is front and center, body slightly turned as he watches his dad get settled on a wooden stool and gives his acoustic guitar a tune. The boy dons a black suit that’s a size too big for him, his hands barely peeking out of the sleeves. He’s got on a tie that has to have been borrowed from an adult; you can’t imagine Eddie or Wayne wearing one, so maybe Jeff loaned it. The best part is the fedora that rests atop his messy mop of curls.

“Hi, Ms. Sweetheart!” he says with a grin so wide it likely hurts his cheeks, letting out a shriek of delight when you wave. “This song is for you!”

Eddie murmurs a soft, “two, three, four,” and strums a melody that immediately has your eyes welling with tears.

“You make me feel so young,” Harris croons, mouth right up to the mic, “you make me feel so spring has sprung!”

To anyone else, it seems like a silly play on the fact that he is, in fact, young. You know it’s so much more.

“And every time I see you grin, I’m such a happy individual!”

He’s singing Frank Sinatra. He’s dressed as Frank Sinatra. And you know it had to be Eddie’s idea, considering Harris’s musical repertoire teeters between Raffi and Metallica.

He skips a few verses, and when he does, Eddie locks eyes with you and offers a tiny close-mouthed smile.

“And even when I’m old and gray I’m gonna feel the way I do today ‘Cause you make me feel so young!”

You choke down the sob that threatens to escape as they circle back to the chorus. The memory of Grandma’s final Thanksgiving, consisting of singing along to Fly Me to the Moon and sharing store-brand Oreos, soars around your mind. The way she had so easily slipped back into her old self, if only for a moment. The way Eddie had held you and kissed your scalp, protecting you from a force no one could see but everyone could feel.

“You make me feel so young You make me feel so young Ooh, you make me feel so young!”

The song ends and you leap to your feet, cheering just as loudly as you did the other night at the Hideout for Corroded Coffin. You swipe at a stray tear and force yourself to look at your boyfriend, so effortlessly beautiful in a black t-shirt and jeans.

Thank you, you mouth.

I love you, comes his silent reply.

You gaze into each other’s eyes for another beat before you feel a thud against your legs. Harris stands right before you, ignoring the way all of the other kids proceeded out the door after their performances.

“Are those happy tears?” he asks, brows furrowing in concern as he notices your stained cheeks. When you nod, still too overcome with emotion to speak aloud, his face splits into a grin. “Good.” His arms wrap around your waist in a hug that nearly has you toppling over, and you rest your hand on his upper back to steady yourself.

“Easy, Har Bear,” Eddie’s voice is strong but tender, and your entire body relaxes in his presence. You want to pull him in by his belt loops and kiss him, running your fingers through his curls until you’re both smiling too hard to continue. If only you weren’t at your place of work, if only all eyes weren’t on you, if only–

“Looks like the Freak’s got a crush.”

A smattering of the audience members laugh at this, no one more so than the instigator himself. You whirl around reflexively, eyes narrowing at the smug blonde man behind you. Eddie takes a small step forward, quietly telling Harris to go back with his friends as he zeroes in on his longtime nemesis.

He’s going to hit him, you realize, noting the subtle clench of his jaw and twitch of his flexing bicep. I have to stop him before he does something he regrets.

Eddie’s hand shoots out, grabbing Jason’s collar and pulling him in with a jolt. There’s a soft gasp from the crowd followed by silence as everyone waits for Eddie’s next move. You can hear the scraping of metal chairs on the ground as Wayne and Jeff scramble to mitigate the situation before it can escalate further.

To your surprise–and relief–Eddie doesn’t throw any punches; instead, he grits his teeth and hisses, low enough so only you and Jason can hear:

“Don’t ever talk about her again.”

He lets go with a small shove, and Jason stumbles back just as Principal Sinclair arrives to break it up. While time came to a screeching halt, the whole interaction spanned fewer than ten seconds.

Wayne and Jeff reach him first, guiding him out of the cafeteria. The older man keeps his eyes on his nephew, but Jeff shoots Jason a steely glare, insinuating that Jason had better heed Eddie’s warning if he wants to live to see his daughter go to kindergarten. You follow behind and attempt to keep your composure.

“I’m so sorry,” Eddie breathes as soon as the four of you are alone. “I shouldn’t have…I just fuckin’ hate that guy.” His eyes dance with anxiety, not sure whether to look at you, his friend, his uncle, or the ground.

You take his hands in yours, imploring him to focus on you as you reach up to brush his curls off of his face. “It’s okay–”

Eddie shakes his head. “I ruined everything. This was supposed to be about Harris, and about making you happy…” He takes a step back, rubbing his eyes with a low, exasperated, “fuck!”

“Baby–”

“I’m gonna get Harris,” Eddie starts to walk away, speaking to himself as though you hadn’t said a word, but he stops in his tracks when Wayne puts his hand on his shoulder.

“Listen to your girl,” he says simply, motioning for Jeff to come fetch Harris with him.

Eddie doesn’t dare protest, trudging back to face you. He’d fucked up royally, and he knew it. What was he thinking, putting his hands on Jason Carver in the middle of a goddamn preschool talent show?

“Eddie,” you take his hand in yours and give it a squeeze, “it’s okay. I’m not mad; I just wish he didn’t get under your skin like that.” You rub your thumb along his forefinger. “He’s not worth it, I promise.”

“I just…” Eddie mumbles, thoughts too scrambled to find the words he needs. He heaves a long sigh. “I shouldn’t have done it here.”

You can’t really argue with that; out of all of the places Eddie could fight Jason, your job wasn’t your favorite option.

“Can I tell you a secret?” You press onto your toes to whisper in his ear. “I almost did the same thing earlier today.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” you confirm, nudging the toe of your shoe against his scuffed sneaker. “And I have a feeling most people in this town would agree with me.” The notion makes Eddie smile, and you continue. “Let me take you and Ol’ Brown Eyes out for ice cream to celebrate your amazing performance. Please?” You throw a puppy-dog look his way, though he needs little convincing.

Still, a nagging thought tugs at him that he has to resolve before can allow himself to relax. “There might be people there. People we know.” People like Jason Carver and Carol Perkins, he silently adds. “It’s okay if you don’t want to…we can just grab a half-gallon from Bradley’s and bring it home.”

You shake your head, effectively turning down his offer. “I’m taking my boyfriend and his adorable son to Scoops Ahoy, and the three of us are gonna split a fudge sundae,” you say matter-of-factly.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Are you sure you’re okay with people knowing about us? Being branded ‘The Freak’s Girlfriend’? Hearing people gossip about whatever the Hawkins rumor mill has churned out?

The sensation of your lips on his tempers the overworked gear shifts in his brain. When you pull back, you’re smiling at him.

“Positive.”

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witchinatree · 11 days

Text

making a list of my favorite quote/ones that stuck with me from each season 1 episode because i feel like it

(i'm starting this after episode 4 but it will be a WHILE before i post it)

episode 1: "bones are a lie peddled by Big Milk" - alice

i love this one because it's a great introduction to alice i think. also it radiates spiral so i hope we get avatar alice not dead alice (isnt there a podcast called alice isnt dead?)

episode 2: "If I wanted to clear the canvas, I would have used turpentine." - statement

this one was just fucking powerful and caught me so off guard like 😶

episode 3: "What would I do without her?" - statement

the norris statement <3 it feels like martin asking what he would do without jon which makes mag200 a lot sadder and i love them

episode 4: "Perhaps you shall prove a stronger will than I, and will yet find it within yourself to destroy this hungry thing of wood and cat-gut." - statement

augustus sighting #1 and we immediately get jonah magnus expressing that it may be possible for gwen bouchard unknown family member to overcome the eye's hunger spooky violin

episode 5: "Voyeur needs to be seen to be believed." - statement

i feel like this one is pretty reflective of how the seasons gonna go? like if you explain the events of tma (mag200 specifically) no one's gonna believe you, it must be seen to be believed!! and also seen!! like the eye!!!

episode 6: "Not sca- This isn’t some poxy blood test, some little pinprick, this is hundreds, thousands of razor sharp points pushing into your flesh." - needles

i love needles so much and i thought this was really funny because it was like "you dont find me scary!! what the fuck!!!" just kind of toddler michael energy

episode 7: "It’s not like we’re wrestling with tape recorders and manila folders." - celia

STOP IT. celia you can't say that you just cannot!!!!!! you Know™ too much maam i cant with you

episode 8: "Pleasure to meet you both. I’m Gerry!"

RAGHHHHH OH MY GOD GERRY!!!! i love him so much and idk how to handle him being alive in the tmagp universe!! gertrude too but idk we got so much of her in tma and not nearly enough of gerry

episode 9: "And honestly, it’s kind of compelling by this point." - sam

they got him 😔😔 the horrors got sam 😔😔 also i found this to be an interesting contrast to jon's heavy resistance in season 1 like he was being compelled but he wasn't going to let anyone know that vs sam "its kinda compelling to trauma dump on this paperwork :]" how is he somehow even more victim material

episode 10: "Gosh you’re sexy, here’s a twenty for your trouble.” - alice

does this count as a quote if shes also quoting what she thinks sam should say? idk anyway i love her i would say that to her if given the chance and it was very silly. i will not be addressing bonzo i am scared.

episode 11: "...Thank you, Alice" - gwen

dyhard dyhard dyhard dyhard dyhard. okay also, the way she CRUMBLED at the idea of anyone doing anything nice for her please someone give her a hug and let it be ME. this series is tossing me back and forth between sam & alice (what is their ship name) and dyhard but this put me back to dyhard

episode 12: "You know it's rude to have absolutely no game?" - alice

she's so fucking funny i need her to be okay so badly!!!! i don't think even tim made me laugh as much as she makes me chuckle and this one really got me. it's hard to write such a comedic character in a podcast since you only have the voice but they really nailed it i adore her

episode 13: "Is it my fault?" - gwen

each of these episodes just reveal a little bit more about how loving and soft gwen is and idk i love her so unbelievably much so seeing that she felt guilt about the bonzo stuff just made her so much more real :(

episode 14: "Christ, they’re in the walls…" - statement

theyre in the walls!!! theyre in the goddamn walls!!!!! anyway that got me because i realized the hole before the statement said it. made more sad than scared tbh

episode 15: "Babies are cool!" - alice this entire interaction between her and sam & celia was so awkward, she is so obvious and i love her anyway

episode 16: "It’s not like I was holding doors open for Mr Bonzo or anything." - gwen my wife is so so so stupid but i adore her AND this gives room for character development. i wish she did not do that though. i love when characters are flawed and have depth but i struggled to get past THIS flaw of hers

episode 17: "Thanks, I guess. Not exactly the same, though, is it?" - celia shes talking TO JON IN THE COMPUTER. SHE KNOWS. i lost my damn mind i love her i love her. get the gay people out of the puter please queen

episode 18: "Why would I need to talk to you? Your work is satisfactory. Unless you have a work-related issue I could assist you with?" - lena solidified my opinion that lena is the best boss to ever have, i adore her and i would want to work for her if she wasn't the boss of Creepy Establishment #1

episode 19: "You’re going to throw it in the fishtank, aren’t you?" - alice colin's behavior is like really worrying BUT i'm glad he's back. i was not convinced he was still alive

episode 20: "I suppose it’s too late for remorse, isn’t it? And why should I be sorry? This is what I deserve!" - ink5oul/statement they reminded me of jon a lot, like especially his season 3/4 transformation when he doesn't quite know everything but he knows he isn't who he was in season 1 anymore, i hope we see more of their life and they can be helped :(

episode 21: [Tape Recorder Bites Ink5oul] - audio description i know it's not technically a quote but this is just so fucking funny. why does it have teeth. what does this mean for the lore. holy shit.

episode 22: "Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood" - celia. knawing at the walls of my enclosure i am so not okay. i'm not okay. wtf. wtf. wtf. they're real. wtf.

episode 23: "I had a favorite mug. It said “love you, bitch” and had a picture of a drunk dog on it." - alice. okay i just love this entire interaction because gwen got to open up a little bit and my dyhard heart is so full

episode 24: "I am told that children like me, and I’ve always held the opinion that the world would be a better place if everyone just thought more." - basira. once again this whole interaction was so fun but like idk i loved hearing basira somewhat happy and in a safe place :] my wife <3

episode 25: " I am trying to help, to save us from this goddamned fucking nightmare machine!" - colin. MAN I REALLY WAS ROOTING FOR YOU!!! I WAS SO CONFIDENT YOU WEREN'T GONNA DIE!!!! it's over

episode 26: "I was worrying for a moment that you were Magnussing." - alice. MAGNUSSING BEING CANON MADE ME SAY IT EVEN MORE I'VE SAID IT LIKE TWICE ALREADY

episode 27: "You didn’t tell me the room was labelled, “Archivist.”" - celia. oooooh somebody's got TRAUMAAAAA LMAO

episode 28: "So you’re telling me you know nothing about an OIAR external contract being found with the bodies of two tattooed thugs who met rather grisly ends?" - TREVOR HERBERT???? anyway. ink5oul mention!!!!! i hope they stop killing people it's really rude

episode 29: "Alice, er… we’ve got to talk. It’s important." - teddy. i knew it was over for him but i didn't think it was gonna be THIS bad??? bye babe i guess??? 😭

episode 30: how do i even pick. the whole fucking episode. i can't. i am in a state of shock. i need to lay down for 30 years.

#honorable mentions:#“canaries should stay above ground” because holy shit (1)#“i don’t scare so easy these days” because oh my god its our celia (7)#“i like them”/“of course you do” because weeping weeping weeping (8)#“oh no not again! oh the horrors! nooooo” that one was just really funny and not exactly part of the episode (9)#“can he read?” (10) bc it enforces the gwen/jon parallels (“you dont sound?? russian??”)#“the deep will care for his bones” (11) it creeped me out and i loved it #“the cover had this awful comic sans title 'mr. bonzo's on his way'” (12) comic sans font was so funny it almost made it not horrific #“I have a baby. Jack. He’s just over a year old now.” (13) like BARNABAS. i know him.#“The only drama is the dilemma of how I could possibly get by without you all to myself!” (14) alice.... alice....#“Oh no! Who keeps taking Georgie’s face?!” (18) SHE'S BACKKKKKKK #''I swear if I hear one more word about Trevor-bloody-Herbert MP I am going to blow up Parliament.'' (27) because WHAT LMAO??? WHATTT #''when I first awoke I knew nothing nothing but the dream of things that sliced my who from me with claws like scalpels'' (30) i cried #''They’re gone Alice. They’re gone.'' (30) tweaking #''What happens now? You push me? Stab me? Or do I need to jump in myself? Come on what’s stopping you?'' (30)#can i just put the whole episode in honorable mentions too atp.#''We are the hilltop. It is me and I am it and we are. We are…'' (30)#''Yeah sure. Sorry to bother you. Goodbye Alice.'' (30)#okay i'm done #i can't i .. i ..#the magnus protocol #tmagp #magnus protocol #tmagp spoilers #tmagp season 1 #the magnus pod

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lavenderdreams22 · 9 months

Text

A Court of Dawn & Dusk - Azriel x Reader (Part 10)

Summary: 49 years have passed, and both Azriel and Y/N struggle with their new realities.

A/N: sorry this took so long to get out, I was struggling pretty bad the last few months! It'll probably take a while longer between postings, but I'm hoping to get the rest of these out as quickly as I can. I hope you guys enjoy

Warnings: mentions of blood and violence. Cursing. I think that’s it.

*****

Forty nine years had passed. Forty nine, but it felt as if I had been stuck down here for most of my life. My arms were chafed from the shackles, my mind foggy from lack of sleep and even less food.

I tried not to let myself dwell on the things that I could have done differently, the biggest being that I could have listened to my mate. I could have stayed home and maybe I would still be with him… Maybe I wouldn’t be this shell of a person that I had become.

Rhysand sat at the edge of my collapsing cot, healing one of my wounds that the Attor had given me today. He said nothing, but I could feel the anger and concern like a palpable thing as he ran a shaking hand over my arm.

It embarrassed me to have him here, even if we both knew that the circumstances weren’t my fault. The mattress was flat and uncomfortable, I could feel the metal bars underneath every single time I laid down, but it was better than the stone floor… Or so I told myself to try to hold onto some tether of humanity. But seeing Rhys flinch as he shifted made my heart drop to my stomach nonetheless.

When he was finished, he gently sat my arm back in my lap and scooted back to give me space to breathe. He knew I hated being crowded now, usually hated being touched.

“Thank you,” I muttered, rotating my wrist a few times to test it out.

The ache was still there, but it had lessened enough that I no longer winced when I moved it.

We sat in silence for a few moments before he loosened a heavy sigh and met my gaze.

“You gonna tell me what’s got your wings in a twist, or am I going to have to guess?” I asked.

He chucked to himself, shaking his head slightly. “I went to see Tamlin today.”

I blinked at him, confused and a little surprised at how much this was affecting him.

“Okay…” I cocked my head to the side. “Why is this any different than the time you left a head on that fountain?”

“I was there to speak to them this time.” He glanced over his shoulders, dropping his voice to a whisper. “There was a human girl there.”

“A human?” My brow furrowed. I knew of the curse just as well as any other person, but so close to the end… It surprised me.

“Yes, a human.” He shook his head, his eyes growing sad. “She gave me a fake name, and when I returned… Amarantha forced me to tell her what I had found.”

I clenched my teeth at the sound of her name. Amarantha had done her best to leash Rhys and then keep him as close to her as she possibly could in the time since we had been trapped.

“I gave her the fake name thinking that it couldn’t possibly be a real person… A real family.” He shuddered. “Claire Beddor is two cells down from you, awaiting Amarantha’s summons to be tortured to death in front of the court.”

I gaped at him, my heart clenching at the guilt that must be gnawing at his own.

“You know… You know that isn’t your fault, right?” I reached out and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You are not to blame.”

“That’s not what Tamlin’s human will think.” He whispered.

“Who cares what Tamlin’s human believes? We know the truth.”

“I do.” He shrugged, seeming to mull something over before he met my eyes. “For some reason, I care what the human thinks. I care that she finds me to be despicable… A monster.”

I wasn’t sure why he felt that way… And he didn’t elaborate… Just in case. I had been telling him not to, for fear that it would be ripped out of me when the Attor had his blade cutting through my body.

I hadn’t cracked so far, but it was easier not to know.

Rhys leaned back against the wall, letting another small sigh out. I followed suit, our shoulders touching in a quiet reminder that neither of us was alone.

“I should head back up.” He stated, but made no move to leave.

“Stay as long as you need to.” I took his hand, squeezing his fingers in mine.

*****

Azriel sat at the dining table and watched Cassian pace as he had most days in the last forty nine years.

“What if we bring the Illyrian army and break them out?” Cassian asked, stopping for only a moment to look between Azriel and Amren.

“We’ve discussed this a dozen times.” Amren said. “That’s not a viable option. Rhys was clear in his instructions. We cannot leave. The wards that protect Velaris are tied to us being here.”

Cassian huffed, pausing in his pacing only long enough to give Amren a long, angry look. “Well, what about-”

“That won’t work either.” Amren spat.

“How do you know?”

“Because, boy, she has absorbed a fraction of every single high lord's magic.” Amren seethed. “She’s too powerful.”

Azriel nodded his agreement.

Mor breezed into the room, her arms full of swords that needed sharpened and cleaned.

“What’re we fighting about today?” She asked, taking a seat at the end of the table and letting the weapons clang together against the wood.

“Cassian’s coming up with more hairbrained schemes to get Rhys and Y/N back.” Amren ground out.

“Thought we talked about that already?” Mor glanced quickly at everyone before turning her attention back to the blades in front of her.

“We have.” Azriel growled. “Too many times to count.”

“We can’t just leave them down there forever.” Cassian snarled.

Tempers had been rising steadily for a while, and Azriel was sure there was soon to be a fight. A real fight, not with words and insults, but fists and blades.

“I know that.” Pinching the bridge of his nose to fight off the headache, Azriel leaned back in his chair.

He hated doing nothing just as much, if not more, than everyone else. His mate was down there, suffering.

It was faint, but he could feel her pain down the bond, as if… as if she were consistently being sliced open.

He resented Rhys a bit for letting it happen, even if he knew there was probably no stopping it. He resented her a bit, too, for going when he had told her he had a bad feeling about it all and asked her not to...

But he resented himself most of all for not fighting her harder, not holding her closer. Gods, he fucking missed her. He missed her so bad that it physically hurt him.

Every single night when he would go to bed without her, he felt his heart fracture just a bit more. And every morning when he woke up, he reached for her, hoping that she would have magically appeared overnight. He had been disappointed every single time he woke up. It was getting harder and harder to pull himself out of bed. Velaris wasn’t the same without her. And without her in it wasn’t a place he wanted to be.

“We’ll come up with something.” Mor said offhandedly.

Azriel hoped they would, but he knew better than to expect it.

*****

I awoke to the sound of the door to my cell flying open and slamming against the wall. It was too early for them to be coming to get me, so I clamped my eyes closed and evened my breathing.

“Here you are.” The Attor said, followed by a thump that could only be a body hitting the ground. “You’ll have a roommate. How fun for you.”

When I heard the door clang shut, I let my eyes open completely and took in the sight in front of me.

There was a human girl in my cell. She was bloodied and bruised, testing her face for wounds. A flinch wracked her body as she touched her nose, but she didn’t cry. I could tell she wanted to, but she refused to cry.

“What’d they throw a human in here for?” I finally asked.

She whipped her head around, her golden brown hair flying over her shoulder before her eyes met mine.

“Sorry… I didn’t know you were awake.” She ground out.

I shrugged, taking her in. This must be the human that Rhys had mentioned.

“Nothing to be sorry for.” I shrugged. “I cried my entire first week after they threw me down here, you know. It’s okay.”

She nodded, but didn’t so much as sniffle as she seemed to mull that over.

“What’d you do?”

“I came after my… I’m trying to break a curse.” She mumbled. “What did you do?”

“I killed a dozen of her men a very long time ago… Turns out she holds a bit of a grudge.” I propped my head up on my hand. “That, and she thinks I have information that I do not.”

“You killed a dozen people?” She asked.

I only hummed in response. She looked harmless, but it was possible that she was a different tactic to get me to spill my secrets. I would need to be careful. She seemed to be sizing me up, as well.

“I’m Feyre.” She said after a moment of tense silence.

“Y/N.” I gave her my best smile. “Nice to meet you.”

*****

Feyre had come back utterly torn apart and covered in shit and mud after her first trial. I gagged on the stale bread they had brought me as she fell into a heap on the floor. One of her arms looked to have a piece of bone protruding from it, and I cursed under my breath as I scrambled to her side.

Fuck, this was bad. Her human body couldn’t heal itself, and she still had two more trials left before this was all over. I wished for Rhys to come. Now would be the perfect time for him to step out of the shadows.

“Let me get a look at that.” I whispered.

Rhys hadn’t been down here since I had been given a cell mate. I wasn’t sure if it was the girl keeping him away or if Amarantha had learned of his trips down here. Either way, I would have to do this myself until I could get a healer to take pity on us and help her.

She held it out to me, and I cursed again. We had no fresh water in the cell, and with my power gone, even the small kernel of my father's magic that I had been given at birth had dwindled down to nothing.

“Bad news is, without fresh water, we really can’t clean it, but I can wrap it in bits of the blanket.” I glanced at the bed and winced. Even the blankets were filthy. “We’ll wait for tomorrow's water and use half of it to clean you up…”

“What's the good news?” She asked through clenched teeth as I got to work.

“What?”

“Bad news is usually followed by good news.” She met my eyes. “What’s the good news?”

“I’ll bet Lucien can heal this. We just need to get word to him somehow.”

She nodded, but didn’t offer any ideas. I sent another silent plea out to Rhys.

*****

Cassian grunted as Azriel’s fist connected with his chin.

Tensions were peaking. Time was up, and yet Rhys and Y/N hadn’t come home. All Azriel could think of was whether she was okay. It had been weeks since he had felt anything down the bond. And while everything had been faint up to this point, it was still there.

Cassian swung, and Azriel dodged. It was the same dance every single day. Neither of them could get rid of the bad mood that seemed to follow them around like a rain cloud, and there was really no other way to work through the energy.

“Maybe we could go to Rita’s. Drink a little bit.” Cassian said, grunting as Azriel landed another punch.

“I would rather light myself on fire.” Azriel spat.

Cassian flinched, his eyes flicking down to Azriel’s scarred hands.

“Okay… Then maybe we could take a fucking cooking class.”

“A cooking class?” Azriel wanted to laugh at that. Wanted to find humor in something, anything. He wanted a reason to smile again. But without her, it was like every bit of happiness had been removed from the world.

He couldn’t think about that, or he would start to think about the bond. Maybe she had just put a wall up? Maybe now that time was out, she was trying to keep the worst parts away from him?

Gods, he really hoped she was okay.

“Well, I’ve got to get you out of your head somehow, and this,” Cassian gestured between the two of them, “doesn’t seem to be working like it did in the beginning.”

He was right. Fighting was a distraction, but the twitchy energy was still there once they had finished.

“What we need is for the curse to be broken so they can come home…” Azriel huffed, storming over to the water station.

Cassian moved silently behind him, leaning against a training dummy. His eyes shone with concern, but he didn’t press.

“I need her back, Cass.” Azriel said, his voice so quiet, Cassian wasn’t sure that he had even really heard him.

“I know. You’ll get her back even if I have to go under that damned mountain myself.”

Azriel finally met Cassian’s eyes. “It feels like she’s gone… The bond has been quiet for weeks… It was weak before, anyway, what with her being so far away and magic being dwindled to nothing… What if she’s-”

“She’s alive.” Cassian growled. ‘They both are. They have to be.”

Azriel only nodded before downing a cup of water and gesturing to Cassian to follow him back to the sparring area.

*****

Mor sat in the shadows of the living room, staring into the flames as they flickered in the hearth.

“What do you propose we do, Cassian?” Amren asked, her voice quiet.

“We have to do something… We’re losing him.” Cassian replied.

“We have to break the rules to get them back. But we can’t just… march in there.” Mor said, louder than intended. She cleared her throat and continued, quieter than before. “We need to find a loophole.”

Cassian grinned then. “Finally. I’ve only been saying that for fifty years.”

*****

“Go to hell.” Feyre growled, her words colder than I had ever heard.

“Rhys, what the hell are you doing here?” I asked over my shoulder as I attempted to wipe the gunk out of her wound.

“Heard you call for help. Figured I would comply.” He shrugged, picking a piece of lint off of his perfectly pressed jacket.

“I called for help days ago.” It was my turn to growl. “Took you long enough.”

Rhys ignored me, looking to Feyre instead. She was watching him through heavy lids. I hadn’t been able to get the wound to stop bleeding, and I could smell the first signs of infection in her blood.

“What would Tamlin say if he knew his beloved was rotting away down here?” Rhys asked, his voice dark and elegant.

Feyre bared her teeth, trying her best to look scary. It reminded me of a small child. Rhys could filet her alive if he so chose.

“Rhys, stop taunting her.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” He cocked his head to the side as he studied Feyre.

The look in his eyes reminded me so much of Azriel. The cool calculation mixed with something warm and familiar. It nearly knocked me to the floor.

I had closed my end of the bond so that I could focus on keeping the human alive. She was our only hope at this moment. Our only hope of finally, finally, getting out of here and going home. Gods, I missed my mate and my bed. And my tub… I couldn’t wait to take a real bath again.

But those emotions, those feelings did nothing to help us in our current situation, so I shut them down, refused to think about him, refused to let myself feel things that I knew would only make this harder.

Feyre was our only hope to get out of here, and right now she was dying.

“If you’re not going to help her, you need to leave.” I growled. “Send Lucien or even my father in your stead, but leave.”

“I’ll help her.”

“What are your demands?” Feyre rasped, finally finding her voice again.

I bit my lip as I watched Rhys kneel in front of the cot that she was occupying.

They seemed to stare at each other for a long moment, and I thought that I could hear Rhys’ heartbeat pick up.

“So… You have learned something about our ways, then.” He grinned.

“Your terms.” She repeated.

“Two weeks, every month, with me in the Night Court.” He stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

My brow furrowed. Why would he want to bring her to the Night Court?

Feyre was fighting an internal battle. I could tell she didn’t like Rhys, but she seemed to also be coming to terms with the fact that this was probably her only choice.

“Go to hell.” She growled.

“Feyre…” I whispered. “Take the bargain. You need help.”

“Not from him.” She spat.

Brave girl, spitting at the most powerful High Lord in Prythian.

“This is the last time I will extend my assistance.” Rhys purred. “Either take the deal or don’t.”

He stood, making his way towards me and the shadows that I had backed myself into.

I stared at him with horror in my eyes. Was he seriously about to let her die over something like this? He refused to look at me, and I could tell that he was nervous to see how I would react.

You’re my best friend. He spoke, and it took me a moment to realize that he hadn’t said the words aloud. Don’t let this sway your opinion of me.

I gave a nod, and he seemed to visibly relax. There wasn’t much that he could do to make me think less of him.

He took his time melting into the shadows, his edges beginning to blur before he became less and less solid. Before he could disappear completely, Feyre managed to choke out a sound.

“Wait.” She said, “just two weeks?”

“Yes.”

“And what are the terms of this deal?” She was sweating. A fever was a terrible sign. I looked at Rhys, but he only smirked at her.

“Telling you would ruin my fun.” He said, his voice like honey. “And I simply will not allow that to happen.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes more alive than they had been in almost a day.

After a little back and forth, they settled on a week, and Rhys was healing her arm and her blood from the infection, leaving behind a black tattoo of swirls. He had even removed the mess from her skin, leaving her looking as though she had just bathed. Even the vomit in the corner was gone.

A laugh escaped me as I watched her stare down at her new tattoo in horror.

“A bargain mark.” My gaze landed on a smug Rhysand. “You marked her.”

“What have you done?” She growled. “Get this thing off of me.”

“No.” He grinned. “I’ll be excited to see your beloved's reaction to this when he sees you again.”

She spat at him once more, and I choked on another laugh. She was feeling better, that much was obvious.

*****

“There’s no way to remove the mark, Feyre.” I said as I watched her rub at the skin.

She sighed, sitting back on the cot.

“So…” She started after a few beats of silence. “Tell me a story.”

“A story?”

“Yes. Something about you. To take my mind off of this…” she held her arm up to me.

She wanted a story… about me? “What kind of story?”

“How do you and Rhysand know each other?” She asked, meeting my eyes.

“He… he saved me.” I shook my head as my own gaze fell to my lap. “I know you don’t like him, Feyre. But he hasn’t always been so… bad.”

She only snorted, and I didn’t blame her for not believing me. Especially not after he had almost let her die.

“I don’t expect you to speak ill of your High Lord.” She said after a moment of silence.

“He technically isn’t my High Lord.”

She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. I could tell she was trying to figure me out, and I couldn’t blame her for that, either.

“My father is Thesan. High Lord of the Dawn Court.” I let myself smile a bit at the thought of my wonderful father. “That’s where I was born, where I grew up. But, before all of this, I spent a great deal of time in the Night Court.”

I watched her for a moment before deciding that I could trust her with more than just this.

“My mate is there.”

“Mate?” She grinned. “You have a mate?”

“I do. He’s… he’s waiting for me to come home to him.”

“Tell me about him?” She asked, propping herself up on her elbow.

“He’s quiet and brooding most of the time, but when I have him to myself he’s charming and funny and he’s so painfully handsome it physically hurts.” I sighed, “I miss him terribly.”

She opened her mouth to ask more questions, but the cell door flew open, creaking and scraping against the stone floor.

“Y/N.” The attor growled. “You’re being moved to a room.”

“A room?'' I asked, sitting up and staring wide eyed at the creature in the doorway. His tail swished over the stone floor and I swore I would have nightmares about the sound for the rest of my life.

“The human is to be by herself. Come along before I come in there and drag you out by your hair.”

I flinched, and Feyre touched my arm. I wanted to weep for her, for the fact that she was going to be down here alone, for the fact that one of my only true allies in this hell was being taken from me.

“Go.” She said, bravely. “Go, I will be fine.”

“I… I'm sorry…” I said, standing.

The Attor growled again. I was obviously taking too long.

When I made it to the door, a hand grabbed my arm so hard I could feel the bruise forming already.

“Pity.” The Attor growled. “I am going to miss our time together.”

I flinched as his breath fanned over me.

With one last look at a wide-eyed Feyre, I left her behind.

*****

Taglist: @eos-princess @brekkershadowsinger @cmay25 @fall-myriad @i-am-infinite @mis-lil-red @judig92

#acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #acomaf #acowar #azriel spymaster #azriel x y/n #azriel x you

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goblinpuppy35 · 4 months

Text

Out of Place Together

University Remus x Male Reader

(Previous Chapter) - Part 3 - (Next Chapter)

Summary: An academia-core themed story about the Marauders during their final year of university in the Muggle world. Soon after meeting each other Remus begins to fall for one of Sirius' friends Y/N another shy student.

CW: Implied previous truma

---------------------------

Lights faded and the small stage fell into complete darkness. After a pause audience members began to clap. "Claire can you give me a cue when all the actors are back on stage please" Y/N ask letting his fingers pressure off the comps button to his headset. A soft crackle emerge around his ears before the stage managers replied "Okay, yeah all actors are on stage, ready for you", thanking the stage manger Y/N from the box set off his last lighting cue. All the stage lights shot back on revealing the ready and waiting line of student actors, who with beaming faces took several bows. After which they gestured to stage left to encourage a round of applause for the stage hands and then their arms rose up towards the box, as a recognition for the technicians. Y/N always felt a smell amount of pride in this moment, looking down he smiled to himself.

While the actors left the stage and the members of the public began to stand from their seats and ascend the stairs to the lobby, Y/N switched on the house lights, thanks the stage manager for all her help, then removed his tight headset and sighed, leaning back and resting his hands on his neck. Tilting further he scanned the clock above, 10:45pm, his eyes began to drop. As planned Y/N had arrived at the drama theatre at 7:30am that day. Preparation for the performance had been productive but long, between rigging lights, checking cables, testing the smoke machine and helping actors know where spotlights appeared for their marks, Y/N had barely had time for lunch himself that day. "One down .. three more nights to go" muttered Y/N turning to his fellow technician across on the sound deck. Tiredly grinning at one another they began to shut down the equipment.

After checking and clearing up the stage it was just passed 11pm as Y/N exited the building from the back, his breath instantly creating small clusters of clouds. There was still a substantial group of friends and family all huddle around the actors sharing hugs and compliments. While people watching Y/N hardly notice a small collection of people making their way to him. "Y/N!" was all he registered before the figure of Sirius leaped upon him, bring him in for a long bear hug. "Sirius! Ah you came, thank you!" Y/N chuckles against his friends shoulder. "We all did!" declared Sirius stepping back and presenting James and Lily, waving towards Y/N and behind them towered Remus. Y/N was shocked, his eyes wanted to stay fixed on Remus' but out of politeness they flickered between everyone's. "He came. I can't believe it" Y/N thought. They all chatted in the cold night air, Sirius insisting he could have done a better job then the lead actor and James admitting he didn't quiet follow the plot but enjoyed watching the fight scenes. "I thought the lighting was great" Remus chimed in before allowed his manic friends to take control of the conversation once more. This comment brought Y/N's eyes back to Remus' and they shared a moment which felt so precious to Y/N, his wrapped his fingers around his shirt sleeve tightly.

"Will you come out with us for a drink now Y/N?" Lily asked sweetly, shivering slightly as the breeze picked up, James wrapped his arm around her. "Sorry I can't, this show week will be pretty intense for me but I'll definitely need a drink after the final performance on Saturday" Y/N said and Lily egerly agreed as the other two started to make their way down the street. "You coming Remus?" called out Sirius, the tall man was hovering next to Y/N with his hands deep in his pockets, "Errr no, I was going to offer Y/N a lift home again if he wanted it?". Y/N stared dumbly at Sirius and then at Remus realise the question was directed at him. "Oh gosh, thank you Remus! if that's okay with you that would be really helpful!", Y/N felt himself rocking on the heels of his shoes and a smile stayed painted on his face. "Well you two have fun" called out James grinning, carrying to walk down the street the two man where now alone.

"Honestly, I really liked the lighting you did. Especially creating those lightening effects!" insisted Remus as they approach his car and ducked inside. Y/N enjoyed having someone noticing the work he was putting into the show and happily spend the car ride home explaining how the production worked behind the scenes. Remus seemed genuinely fascinated and while keeping his eyes on the road still asked numerus questions, enjoying each answer Y/N gave him. Driving down Y/Ns street Remus' car slowly halted outside Y/N student house, behind closed curtains shown sickly neon flashing lights and a slow repetitive thumping could be heard seeping through the brick work. Staring pensively through the passengers window Y/N let out a long groan and exhaustion. "Your house mates have impeccable timing don't they" Remus said, tapping the steering wheel with a long finger. Y/N stayed stationary, he felt deflated, he had several long days with early starts ahead of him. Remus studied Y/N's face, "Do you have all the stuff you need for the play in your bag" he asked. Y/N nodded still staring out of the window, his trance of despair was broken as the car engine erupted to life again and Remus began to reverse the vehicle. "What are you doing?" Y/N asked looking back at Remus, he couldn't help but stare down at Remus arms, his large jumper sleeves pulled back to his elbows revealing his skinny but tones arms. Small muscle definition on display as he held onto the steering wheel. Y/N bite the inner part of his lip. "You can't sleep there Y/N. I'm taking you back to ours. Sirius would insist the same if he was here", Y/N didn't argue, in fact he was relived by the suggestion.

As they drove across town again Y/N told the story of how when him and Sirius were on the same course Sirius has demanded to play the leading role of Juliet, resulting in a month long fude with theatre kid turn star pupil and local commercial actress on the course. Each time Remus laughed, his deep husky nosies made Y/N cheeks blush and his fingers fidget. He found the sound intoxicating. By the time they arrived at Remus' house it was close to midnight.

Remus opened the door to the living room but before he flicked the light switch a series of curses fell from his lips. Peering in between his chest and arm Y/N could make out two figures, one draped across the sofa, boots still on , and clutching a half drunk bottle of something with the other half poured down their shirt. The second unconscious guest was on the floor facing downwards, an attempt to get undressed was made by this individual but alas they had only got as far as pulling their trousers down to their ankles, shoes still on, before surrendering to a drunken sleep. Both were snoring loudly and irregularly. "Fuck sake. These are Peter's mates" Remus grumbled visibly annoyed by the unexpected guests.

Y/N's own levels of exhaustion were finally getting to him, making his eyelids heavy and his legs slightly wobbly. He just wanted to sit down. In his state he suddenly said something he normally wouldn't dream of uttering, "Can you take me to your room please Remus". The tall man looked down in surprise but his eyes quickly softened in-between strands of his messy brown hair and nodding he guided Y/N up the stairs. They passed what Y/N assumed to be Peters own room, with the door half open, several crumpled beer cans laying in the open door way where sporadic snoring erupting from with in. As they passed Remus grabbed the door handle and sharply closed the door. Remus entered his bedroom and started fumbling to find a light, Y/N frozen in the open door way, suddenly feeling rather nervous. A click of a lamp created a dim radial of light from the rooms far corner. Remus room was small with a large single mattress laying on the floor above a grand four panelled window, the view from outside was endless darkness. There was a chest of draws with a mirror and cassette player on top of it, on the other end of the door was a shabby armchair with a battered guitar propped against it. Every other possible space in the room was littered with piles upon piles of books. One pile nearly surpassed the height of the armchairs armrests. Even the lamp next to his bed was on a makeshift stand out of several thick spine book piles. Y/N simply had no idea where to place his feet, the room had an overall vibe of organised chaos. "Please come in" called out Remus as his quickly removed several books from the bed.

Thirty minutes later Y/N had successfully made his way into the room and onto the mattress. Perched on the corners edge he was flicking through a paperback he's found in a pile which after scanning the spines he believed to all be poetry. Remus re-entered his room after going down to the kitchen to make them some tea. There was a subtle but cool breeze which sept through the old window frame which Remus apologies for multiple times as he passed Y/N his tea. "It's really nice Sirius was able to get you guys to all come along, turn outs like tonight are great for everyone's moral in the department" Y/N said in-between blowing on his hot mug. "I demand Sirius had to bring us along actually" Remus said sipping from him own cup, "Oh really?" the hairs on Y/N's arms started to prick upwards. Cradling his tea Remus smiled and then looking up met Y/N's gaze "Yeah, because I wanted to see you again". Placing his mug on the ground Y/N picked up the book of poems again and awkwardly began to flick through the pages, "Why .. I mean you barely know me", "Maybe" mused Remus "but I like all the parts of you I know about so far". There was a strange echo in Y/Ns head which was urging him to get up and leave, instead he continued to scan the books pages, trying to ignore how Remus has not stopped staring at his face.

"Ode to a nightingale by John Keats" stuttered Y/N tapping his finger on the open page "it's a really good one". The duvet under them moved slightly as Remus shuffled a little closer to Y/N, "Read it to me" he requested softly. There was a pause as Y/N contemplated this, rotating himself slightly so his back was to Remus, clearing his throat Y/N began to recite the poem. "My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains. My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk." his voice jittery at first then gradually smoothing out as he got into the flow of the verses. He could feel Remus' presents behind him and tried to focus simply on the words upon the page. He was nearing the penultimate verse when he froze as the obvious sensation of Remus' hand gently placing itself on his waist became apparent. The book in Y/Ns hands suddenly felt weighted, nearly slipping through his fingers before he placed it beside him, his eyes still facing forward as a second hand was placed on his opposite hip. The feeling of tightness returned to his chest. "Is this okay" Remus whispers into Y/N's ear from behind. Several thoughts were rushing through Y/N's mind at once, closing his eyes he waited for them to calm down. Once peace re-entered his mind he tilted his neck to the side, meeting Remus face, which was closer to his than he thought. God Y/N thought he was beautiful, his piercing blue eyes gleaming against his strong features. Wisps of hair falling down over his forehead, almost covering his eye.

Their heads leaned in together and their lips met. A slow intimate kiss was followed with a second, and third and forth. Remus' moustache brushed up against Y/N's nose and he felt the taller man's warm forehead rest against his. Each kiss made Y/N desire another and as they opened their mouths Y/N let out a relaxed sigh, he could feel Remus' lips curve into a smile between embraces. As they continued Y/N began to feel Remus' weight above him and Remus' arms gradually guided Y/N's body down onto the mattress, with Remus' own body above Y/N's now. Everything around Y/N from the duvet to their clothes, to Remus cheeks felt so comforting and soft.

But then Remus' hands dipped under Y/N's shirt, reaching his bare stomach and a sharp feeling of panic hit Y/N in the centre of his chest. As Remus' finger tips glided around, Y/N breathe quickened and images started to flash inside his head. Imagines which made him tense and scrunch up his brow. "Stop" muttered Y/N barely audibly, then again loud enough for Remus to hear and freeze his actions. Seeing the clear distress on Y/N's face he pulled his hands out of Y/N's clothes, "I'm sorry! What's wrong?" he asked as he let Y/N sit up and place his head in-between his knees. Y/N felt foolish and ashamed, "No, nothing. It's fine. I'm sorry, it's just" he paused and tried to steady his breathing. Remus sat next to Y/N, his hands resting on his knees and observed him, wanting to help but not sure how. His ocean blue eyes look at Y/N's fidgeting hands and then rapidly tapping foot, then back to his hands. After a moment Y/N sharply sat back up, brushed his hair out of his face and exhaled loudly, "I haven't .. for a while .. and the last time was .. well it .. it wasn't" Y/N paused as he felt one of Remus' hands place itself on top of his clenched fist. "It's okay" he said kindly, Y/N smiled weakly and stared up at Remus, "You have beautiful eyes" Remus remarked and delicately kissed Y/N's forehead, just above his eyebrows, Y/N laughed bashfully and looked towards to ground "And I like the way your cheeks blush" Remus remarked planning a single kiss on each side of Y/N's face, Y/N could feel his tension reducing. "Would you like to get some sleep here? I can sleep on the floor?" Remus asked sincerely, "No please stay, I'd like you to stay" Y/N said, finally opening his fist and interlocking fingers with Remus, it was now the messy brunettes turn to look down and blush.

Turning off the lamp and room was engulfed in the night, the two men laid down on the mattress. Y/N put his back against Remus' chest and felt one of Remus' hands drape over his hip while the other made it's way to his head and he felt Remus fingers gently caress him hair. They seemed to fit together so naturally. Peaceful sleep came to both of them gradually.

Y/N's mind was blank. Quiet. Then his subconscious flashed and pulse abruptly. Again and again with violent painful images and scenes. Bright red filled his mind. "Stop .. stop... STOP" screamed repeatedly inside his mind until the noise was defending and then silence. Silence and the picture of a face. A face he knows all too well. Even silhouetted in the dark Y/N still knew those terrifying eyes anywhere. His own eyes shot open and he was awake but Y/N wasn't sure at first. He jolted up right in fear and tried to remember where he was, his pupils darting across the unfamiliar room. "please don't be here. please don't be here" repeated frantically in his mind. Looking down next to his he saw the vague shape of a body. Remus' long body next to him, still asleep. Scooting along to the end of the bed, Y/N rested his feet on the cold floorboards, placing his hands over his eyes, "Stupid... Idiot" escaped his lips over and over.

"Y/N.." Remus' body shifting behind Y/N as he rose up from his sleeping position. Y/N wishes he was somewhere else. "Y/N .. your shivering" Remus whispered ever so lightly against Y/N's bare neck. Y/N could only answer with erratic hitched breathing. Within the dark the sound of rustling fabrics arose and then Y/N felt the woollen weight of Remus' jumper going over his head. He didn't object to Remus helping him put it on, despite feeling foolish, all Y/N could currently do was sniff. Wrapping his knuckles into the cuffs of the oversize knitwear. The jumper smelt musky just like Remus did, it was pleasant. A secondary pressure came upon Y/N as he sensed Remus' slender arms snake under his armpits and wrap around his stomach. Remus' legs were either side of Y/N and using his arms Remus pulled the whimpering Y/N up against his chest. "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry" Y/N's voice quivered, he felt humiliated, refusing to acknowledge how nice being this close to Remus again felt.

"Shhhhh, it's okay" Remus murmured gently into the crook of Y/N's neck. In the dark touching one another felt even more intimate. "It's not! I don't like people seeing me like this" Y/N sniffed getting more frustrated with himself with every sentence he spoke. "Why?" Remus asked calming, huffing in the dark Y/N's cheeks grow warm. "Because I don't like people seeing how broken I am". Y/N was trying so hard not to cry but both men could hear the quivers rising from his throat. There was a long gap before Remus spoke again. "Have you noticed the scares on my body?" the question took Y/N by surprise yet as he thought back to their previous meetings he suddenly become aware of several notable scars littered across Remus arms and rising above the collar of his jumper. Y/N remembered even seeing one just above his eyebrows. The scars seemed to vary in freshness, "Umm yeah I have, on your arms and stuff". "I have lots more." Remus said plainly "My infliction has left me feeling like an outsider my whole life. It makes me scared to every let other see me for who I really am". "Your infliction?" repeated Y/N confused. Another long pause passed between them. "I'm a werewolf Y/N." They both sat in the dark, motionless.

"Does that scare you?" Remus finally asked. Y/N honestly thought about it, "no" he replied. "It's alright if it does, you don't have to pretend" Remus urged, "No I know, but genuinely it doesn't frighten me" Y/N said confident in his own words, "I still trust you Remus". Y/N felt Remus grip on him tighten suddenly. Both men felt cathodic and in sync drew each other back down to the mattress in their embrace. There was still a few hours before Y/N had to get up so they tried to rest for a little longer.

It was early the next morning when Y/N woke up significantly calmer then before, still wrapped in the tender arms of Remus. Y/Ns eyes felt heavy with sleep yet his company was an endearing way to start his day. As he shifted around to face Remus he watched the gorgeous man's face slowly flutter awake. Once Remus' eyes adjusted to see it was Y/N's face smiling at him he grinned back, "Good morning" he grumbled. "Hi" Y/N said softly placing a hand on Remus cheek, his fingers running over his skin in circles, "I'm afraid I need to get going". They both pouted dramatically before laughing and then groaning both proceeded to get up.

Y/N was at the bottom of the stairs by the front door putting his coat on as he heard Remus' foot steps creaking down towards him. He was wearing the same baggy jumper and pyjamas bottoms Y/N had seen him in the first time they met. This made Y/N smile privately to himself. "I'm sorry for last night. Not the sexiest thing having someone have a panic attack in your bed" Y/N attempt of humour was masking a mortified mountain of self hatred. As Y/N was preparing another self deprecating statement Remus without a word leaned down and kissed Y/N tenderly on the cheek and then on his neck. The second kiss made Y/N gasp slightly. "The first night with someone should always be filled with the bearing of one's soul and fears." Y/N awkwardly twiddled with the strapped on his shoulder bag, he badly wanted to kiss Remus back. "I liked you Y/N" Remus said honestly "And I would like to spend more time with you but we can go by your terms and pace okay" and Remus out stretched his hand. Y/N studied it carefully, taking note of the scares spanning across the knuckles "Okay" Y/N hummed taking Remus hand, the touching of fingertips transported him back to last nights embrace. They stayed smiling and shaking each other's hands, both clearly enjoying the touch. "Can I take you home again after the play tonight" Remus asked, a look of hope in his eyes. "Yes" Y/N replied quietly before turning to the front door and opening it. They both whispered goodbye to each other, taking in each other's faces until the very last moment as the door shut, separating them.

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eruden-writes · 9 months

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Strictly Pleasure - Part 11 (Jek x Heidi)

orc x human age gap paranormal romance 11 of ?

Summary: An awkward fresh-out-of-a-relationship woman and an orc that owns a sex store enter an adult theater together. She, intent on pushing her own boundaries. He, just looking to give her some sense of safety. Well, that and he wouldn't complain about having a bit of fun himself.

After they inevitably get interrupted, Jek deals with the problem while Heidi flees. Resigned, he believes he'll never see her again.

Thus begins Jek and Heidi's sporadic interactions until, eventually, they find themselves fumbling around each other daily at the very place it started: Strictly Pleasure.

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Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 (Coming Soon)

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Heidi remained very still after Jek's words registered. He was testing her. The longer she didn't react, the broader his smirk grew. Conflicted feelings roiled within her as she tried to decide on the best course of action. He was definitely goading her to kiss him, but was that from true interest or from wanting to get some action? Even if they only kissed, that was better than talking. Though that wouldn't guarantee he wouldn't try to coax her to do more, not that Jek would do anything like that.

Did any of that matter?

She liked him and she wanted to kiss him. Hell, she might even want more. And by the gods, she wanted to wipe that knowing grin off his lips. Focusing on that thought, Heidi realized there was a darker coloration tinging Jek's pointed ears and his cheeks.

Maybe she had affected him more than she realized.

"That's what I th-" Before Jek could finish his conceited jab, Heidi surprised him by moving forward. Her hand braced on his chest as she leaned over him, her knee pressed against the juncture of his legs. It was only when her smile curved with further delight that he realized his eyes were wide, his cheeks warm.

The cut off taunt and his expression growing further shocked sent a little jolt of satisfaction through Heidi as she leaned down. Her eyes fluttered shut just before her lips met his.

All at once, the heat of the evening hit a high and washed over the two as Heidi deepened the kiss, vaulting over the brief moment of chasteness. All previous thought washed away in the tide of pleasure. The heat of her mouth parting for him, the curl of her tongue against his, made a deep sound vibrate through Jek's chest as he met her kiss eagerly. A little sound deliciously escaped her lips as his right hand splayed against her back, pulling her bodily closer to him.

Without much thought passing from his brain and his left hand, Jek pulled on the futon's back and unlatched the mechanism. The folded up end of the futon fell flat and his body continued moving without input. Flipping their positions, Heidi faintly registered her back hitting the futon as Jek's body pressed against her, but she was too intent on continuing the kiss.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as her knee propped up between his legs, nudging her thigh against his groin. Heat razed down Jek's back as his hips involuntarily ground against her leg, against the friction. Heidi's other leg curled around one of his legs, rolling her hips against him, seeking his firmness pressed against her. Inside her, a need to feel Jek against her, weighing down on her, crushed against her, burned hot.

It was Jek who broke the kiss, coming up for air and inviting sense to return to his thoughts. "I should stop."

Not we should stop, Heidi noticed. He should stop. Heidi blinked her eyes open, her eyebrows furrowing with confusion. "What do you mean?"

"You said you were still buzzed." Jek brushed hair that had fallen into her face back, behind her ear. "I shouldn't have let it get this far, honestly."

Heidi's lips scrunched to one side, her nose wrinkling as she retorted, "You drank more than me."

"I have a higher tolerance than you." Once again, he flipped their positions, lowering himself to the futon as he gently tugged Heidi on top of him.

"It's not like I'm sloshed!" Conflicting feelings made Heidi's cheeks burned as she struggled to untangle a new knot of thoughts. She'd only had one hard soda! Even if she didn't drink much, a hard soda definitely wasn't enough to make her feel blitzed. She could still make decisions that she wouldn't regret.

But a small part of her knew Jek didn't know that. Just like she didn't know him very well, he could exactly gauge her capabilities. Still, Heidi didn't want to let the moment go. She wasn't sure if she'd get another chance or if she'd ever feel quite so confident around him again.

"I don't want you to do something you might regret." He'd been there too many times, before he realized that not everyone was as cognizant when inebriated as he was. Jek settled back against the cushions with a sigh.

"Jek, I swear I'm not-" Her words abruptly halted as a familiar ringtone called out from under the futon. Shooting him a look that said 'we are not done here,' Heidi crawled off him and across the cushions to reach for her purse still stowed under the futon.

As Heidi answered her phone, Jek sighed and slumped back. Raising an arm over his eyes, he tried to quell his raging hormones and frustration. More than anything, he wanted to continue with her. The phantom sensations of what she felt like under his palm taunted him. But he'd seen and experienced enough 'morning after shame' for a lifetime. Adding anyone else, especially Heidi, to that count was not happening.

It still didn't change the knot of heat at his center and the temptation, though.

No, those things didn't relax and cool until his ear caught a shift in Heidi's voice. A concerned tone that sobered up her voice and sent a heightened awareness through Jek. He lowered his arm and propped himself up on his elbows, eyeing her.

"Oh. Oh no. Thank you, Tiffany, I'll get home as soon as I can." Heidi quickly finished up the call before she realized Jek watched her. As she dropped her phone into her purse, she swung her legs over the edge of the futon and stood. "I need to go. My son is sick."

At once, Jek sat up and swung his feet to the ground. "Ah, that sucks. Need me to drive you home?"

Heidi had just lifted her purse to her shoulder when she caught his offer. The look she gave him was one of petty annoyance. "You've been drinking."

"I'm an orc, I burn through alcohol like it's water." Jek got to his feet and returned Heidi's expression with a no-nonsense look of his own as his hands landed on his hips.

"Still," she sniffed, not looking at him.

Sighing, Jek ran a hand over his hair. There was no point in pushing the point. Even if she was just using their prior conversation as an excuse, if she didn't want him to drop her off, he had to respect it. But she said she was buzzed and he was certain her nymph friend had been drinking as well. "Need me to call you a cab?"

Finally, Heidi relented. She sighed, knowing she was acting childish. That sensible voice in her reminded her that he didn't know what she could handle, how poorly she held her drink. He had every right to be careful. That didn't help the disappointment in her chest much, though.

Half turning back toward him, she gave Jek a little smile. Her smile grew a little wider than she intended when she noticed how he perked up at her acknowledgement. "I'd appreciate that. Thank you."

While Heidi poked her head into the theater to let Periphoia know about her change of plans, Jek arranged the cab. He made sure his credit card was on file, before sending Heidi on her way. Within ten minutes of getting the call, Jek stood outside his store, watching the vehicle tote her away.

A bittersweet heaviness hung in his chest. Once again, Heidi had been dropped into his periphery just to be yoinked away by some happenstance. He really should have asked for her number, he thought, as he made his way back into the store. But asking for her number when she was worried about her kid seemed callous.

Jek made his way behind the counter with Gnadi, settling on a stool as the faun turned to face him. "Bummer about your date, boss."

"It was not a date," Jek snorted as he braced his foot on the counter, tilting the stool back on two legs. At any other point in his life, he would have just drowned his disappointment in the theater with his buddies and their guests. The thought didn't sound too appealing that night, though.

"Weird, most people don't leave their number for not dates." The faun grinned as Jek's attention shot to them. Between their fingers, they held up a folded piece of paper.

With the stool thumping back on all four legs, Jek reached over to snatch the paper from Gnadi. "Wipe that look off your face before I fire you."

"What look, boss? I'm just smiling." They stuck their tongue out between their grinning lips, clearly unperturbed by the threat.

Jek almost retreated back to the breakroom, before a sense of responsibility caught him. As far as he knew, there hadn't been some unexpected rush between bringing the party home to now. Hells, he wasn't even sure if there'd been a customer. Leaving Gnadi to manage the store when he himself had little better to do didn't feel right.

Pocketing the piece of paper, Jek inclined his head to Gnadi. "You good out here by yourself?"

"Yeah, it's been super slow." Gnadi raised a hand, wiggling their fingers at Jek. "Go flirt with your squeeze."

With little else to say, Jek made mention of going back to the breakroom and left Gnadi to the storefront. As soon as he got to the quiet sanctuary of the breakroom, he flopped onto the futon. Rolling onto his back, he pulled the piece of paper from his pocket. Unfolding it, he found a phone number and a simple message:

I had fun tonight. Feel free to text me if you want. - Heidi

Staring at the writing, he was relieved he hadn't completely fucked up the night. He had worried that part of the reason for Heidi's quick departure was due to his own misstep. Goading her to kiss him, even after all that was said. He really should have done better.

What was done was done and couldn't be changed. Trying to ignore the mild shame lingering in his chest, Jek fumbled for his phone. Once Heidi's contact information was safely in his phone, he had another problem.

What should he say? Jek stared at the blank messenger, an array of words and messages raining through his mind. Something funny? Something flirty?

Hey, this is Gujek Korgak. Y'know, the world-famous guitarist of Theoretical Menace? Hope you didn't forget about me already.

Reading over the words, one of his tusks awkwardly digging into his cheek, Jek wrinkled his nose. Gag. Heidi had left to take care of her sick kid, he shouldn't open with a coy taunt. Deleting the words, Jek tried again. After four more attempts and deletions, he finally settled on something relatively basic:

Hey, this is Jek. I hope your kid is doing alright and it's not something serious. If you need any help or anything, let me know.

By that point, nearly thirty minutes had already passed. Surely, she'd be home by now. Maybe not near her phone, depending on what state her son was in. But it wouldn't seem like he was too eager, too self-centered, to think she had nothing better to do, right?

Setting his phone to the side, Jek sighed and tilted his glasses up, rubbing his palms into his eyes. Excitement still lingered in his bones, but exhaustion was quickly catching up. A reminder of his age. Just as Jek was considering rolling over and trying to get some sleep, his phone dinged.

Tiredness took a backseat as he snatched up his phone. A text from Heidi blinked on his screen:

Thanks, Mr. Rockstar. I think he just has a stomach flu.

After debating whether her opening with a taunt meant he could parry, Jek replied: Glad you remembered me this time.

Half a beat passed, before Jek decided to hurriedly add: Must be a helluva stomach flu. He's half orc, right?

Almost right away, Heidi answered: Ha. Ha. You'll never let me live that down, will you?

Of course not, Jek texted back with a grin. You're cute when you're flustered. Or annoyed.

Another stretch of time passed as Jek waited for Heidi to respond. A vague worry nagged that he had overstepped again, when the text bubble with the ellipses returned.

Yeah, scratch the flu. I just found, like, five pounds of candy wrappers under his pillow. Right after that message came through, Heidi topped it off with an exhausted sighing emoji.

Hah. That'd do it, Jek shot back.A soft chuckle bubbled out of him, recalling how Jade would also suffer from massive sugar intake when she was younger. Even orclings were susceptible. Perhaps a little more than other children, since moderation was a skill many orcs struggled to learn. Jek knew that well enough himself.

After another pause, and not being able to shake the instinct to help her, Jek texted, Do you need anything? Like medicine or something?

Her reply was quick: I have it handled. Thank you though.

Alright, take it easy. Hope your kid feels better soon. Before Jek could stop himself, his fingers had already typed another text, Talk to you again tomorrow?

Shit. That was kind of presumptuous, wasn't it?

Or whenever. Jek's fingers flew over the phone's keyboard, shooting off yet another clarifying text in an embarrassed rush. Doesn't have to be tomorrow.

Groaning, Jek rolled over and buried his face in the crook of his elbow, his phone a safe distance from his hands. Gods, he was acting foolish.

The self-deprecation didn't stop him from jerking toward his phone as it dinged once more. Picking it up, relief and delight swelled in his chest as he read Heidi's latest reply.

Yeah, I'd like that, Jek. Talk to you tomorrow.

Tomorrow. He could wait to talk to her again until then. It was better than being completely out of touch, unable to connect save for serendipitous moments that weren't even guaranteed. Forcing himself to put the phone away, Jek tried to still the eagerness still chomping at his insides.

#exophilia #orc #orc lover #monster #monster lover #monster fucker #contemporary romance #paranormal romance #monster x human #exo writing #monster boyfriend #monster romance #strictly pleasure #jek #heidi #jek at the end: kicking his feet and twirling his hair while giggling #lol

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pisupsala · 1 year

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Of All The Stars in The Sky | 12 | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

Summary | War looks different from high above in the sky. But when Bradley finds himself on the ground, far behind enemy lines, it becomes a race against the clock to get out. And try not to look back at what he’s leaving behind.

Pairing | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc (no use of y/n)

Warnings |Mature content | 18+ only[WWII AU] swearing, war, violence, death, explicit smut

Words | 9.6k

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Chapter 12 - I Fall in Love Too Easily

“Do it, you coward.” You challenge him instead, that mischievous smirk suddenly on your face again—it is fast becoming his favorite thing about you. Fearless, stubborn, and oh so sweet when you want to be. You keep surprising him on every front, encircling him, until he cannot think about anything but you. He’s dreamt of this moment—that you would come to him. Finally, admit that you really felt something for him. That you wanted him. That he wouldn’t feel so goddamn alone anymore.

And now you’re challenging him. Because of course you are.

Dropping the matches at his feet, he reaches for you, cupping your face gently and closing the distance between you. Your breath is coming out in rapid bursts, your face suddenly flushed—you almost don’t believe he’d actually go through with it.

He lightly brushes his lips against yours, like he is testing the waters—giving you a chance to retreat. You parried his advances—overt or subtle—so many times like a doe shooting away through the forest.

Your breaths mingle as his mouth hovers only millimeters away from yours. It’s so familiar. The flames you had been desperately trying to extinguish are roaring higher than ever before. You’ve been close to Rooster before, felt his skin under your hands, his hot breath on your face—but never like this. Never this real.

You can’t wait anymore. Pushing yourself up on your tiptoes, steadying yourself with your hands on his broad shoulders, your lips meet his.

Your lips are as soft as Bradley imagined—for all your boldness, your kiss is almost shy, lips gently brushing against his. But you are finally here. He lets you lead, not wanting to break the spell or spook you, trying to have the moment last.

If you ever thought just getting a taste of Rooster would be enough to quench your want for him, you feel almost cursed by the knowledge that this isn’t enough. It will never be. You want him whole.

With the slightest sigh, you open your mouth, Bradley grabbing the chance immediately to deepen the kiss. His hands slide down your neck to the collar of your coat, causing you to shiver under his touch. A smile tugs at his lips. He cannot deny how much he enjoys every small reaction he draws out of you, like with every sigh and every moan; he learns how to read you a little bit better.

You press yourself into him, hand snaking up the back of Bradley’s neck, raking your fingers through his hair. It’s silky and soft. Your fingers instinctively tighten around his curls, like you’re looking to anchor yourself against him. He groans into the kiss. The vibrations of his sounds are quaking down to your core.

Your kiss turns hungry, greedy almost, and Bradley welcomes it, pulling you impossibly closer to him. He noticed long ago how nicely your body fit against his, even though it was only in fleeting moments, through accidental touches. Now that you’ve launched yourself into his arms with purpose, your want is apparent; everything has fallen into place—even just for this moment. It feels right like this is precisely where you are both supposed to be together.

Bradley tries to hold back, but you are so goddamn beguiling, balancing on your tiptoes, softly moaning into the kiss—he cannot help but match your fervor.

Your breath hitches as he pushes your coat down your shoulders. As the sleeves slide down your arms, your fingers untangle from his hair, almost automatically falling by your side You break the kiss as you land back flat on your feet. Looking up, you study Rooster for a moment—he looks flushed, but he moves with purpose. The soft thud of the heavy wool of your coat hitting the ground is the only sound in the room besides your heaving breathing. You gasp loudly as Rooster pulls you back into him and latches his lips on the column of your neck.

The soft skin of your neck has been beckoning to him, teasing him in glimpses for so long now. He smells the soap on your skin—it’s so deceptively simple but completely intoxicating. It’s like you are melting in his hands, stretching your neck, exposing more of your skin to him.

Your fingertips lightly dance over the quickly forming scars on Bradley’s face and neck—the wounds you treated for him, a constant reminder of how he got here, why you are here.

He sighs as he finds the pulse point on your throat, dragging his teeth across it—his mustache tickles against the sensitive skin, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine. You can’t stop the moan that tears from your mouth. Bradley’s hands tighten on your waist, bunching up the fabric of your sweater under his fingers.

Your lips find him again. You don’t even care if it’s evident how desperate you are for him; you just want more. It gives you no small amount of satisfaction that Rooster doesn’t seem to be able to hold back either, his hands roaming over your sides frantically, pushing your sweater up, fingers tantalizingly dancing over your rib cage.

“Tell me to stop.” He mumbles, voice raspy and breathing heavily against the shell of your ear. “Anya, tell me, and I’ll stop.”

“N- no.” You stutter desperately, voice high. “Please, Rooster, no.”

His mouth returns to yours feverishly as he guides you backward, your feet tripping over your coat on the floor. Bradley catches you easily, pulling you up against him, a strong arm wrapped around your waist. Your toes are barely reaching the floor anymore as you fist his cotton shirt on his back, pulling it out of the waistband of his slacks.

Your back hits the cool wall as he sets you back on two feet. His forearm is resting flat against the wall next to your head. You grapple at him, pulling his face to yours, kissing him fiercely, desperate not to break the spell between you.

You’ve spent so long filing off every edge and hook of yourself, fitting yourself into an unassuming role, slotting neatly between everyone else, you almost forgot that that’s not who you were before. It feels like Rooster’s hungry kiss is peeling back the layers of you, exposing every imperfection, every sloppy stitch, and every rough edge that is part of you.

The realization that this is the first time in maybe years you have genuinely felt like yourself, like the person you were supposed to be instead of what you were made to be, stokes the fire in you even more. You want to remember this moment, in all its chaos and passion, and you want to remember him because he’s making you remember you.

You press yourself into his muscular chest, hooking your leg around his thigh. Bradley’s hand travels down your side to the curve of your ass, dragging you up while kneading the flesh through the layers of fabric. Wedged between Bradley and the wall, you decisively pull his shirt up, your nails grazing over the exposed skin of his stomach. His muscles twitch under your touch. Bradley groans into your kiss, grinding his lower body into you as he shrugs off the garment.

He feels so hot against you, like a fever taking hold of you. He’s making quick work of your sweater, pulling it over your head in one fluid motion, his lips following close behind, anointing the newly exposed skin of your collarbone with kisses.

Your mouth travels over Bradley’s neck, lightly licking the newly forming long scar over his throat. He hisses at the contact, your heart skipping a beat at every reaction you elicit from him. Bradley nips your shoulder, fingers hooked under the straps of your slip dress and brassiere and pulling them down.

Bradley grinds into you again; you feel how hard he is against your pelvis. You gasp in ecstasy, your fingers clumsily traveling down his torso to the fly of his slacks. The soft trail of hair on his stomach tickles against your wrist. He is pushing your skirt up now, his calloused fingers palming the delicate skin of your thighs.

He isn’t sure how it’s gotten from you playfully taunting him to him pinning you against the wall, feverishly pulling at each other's clothes. It sure wasn’t what he was expecting, your propensity to sidestep him at every turn when things got a little too real, but he’s far from complaining. Every little dream, every dirty thought he tried to bury somewhere deep inside him, guilty he cast you in that light in the first place, is now suddenly turning into a reality.

You taste sweeter than he could have ever conjured up in his mind, and the fact that you came to him on your terms, reeling him in with that teasing twinkle in your eye, makes it all the sweeter to Bradley.

Progressively, your movements turn hesitant and light, Bradley notices. Like you’re unsure how to proceed—as if the haze is melting off you. He forces himself to slow down, heart almost beating out of his chest, matching your pace, before he pulls back to look at you. You meet his eyes with a dazed look, eyes lidded and swollen lips. He’s breathing as heavily as you are, the swell of your breasts blooming over the top of your simple cotton slip with every movement. You’ve never looked more beautiful to him as you reach out back to him, gripping his hair and pulling his face back to yours.

Your kiss is shy. Bradley lets you take the lead—maybe reality is setting in for you, the ebbing rush of adrenaline suddenly leaving you cold. He waits for you to break the kiss and turn away, but selfishly, desperately, he hopes you don’t. But then you grind against him, a small moan falling from your lips as you arch your back, the top of your breasts brushing against the bare skin of his chest. He curses, painfully grasping your hip.

You still, your arm wrapped around his neck. You open your mouth like you’re about to say something,but uncharacteristically hesitate again, fixing your eyes on his shoulder instead, where your fingers trace a delicate pattern.

Shit.

“Have you -” Bradley starts, willing himself back into equilibrium, trying to calm the blood rushing in his ears. “Have you ever been with a man before?” He asks gently, his voice husky from need. Bradley cannot imagine you didn’t have everyone wrapped around your little finger with that beautiful smile. His heart is pounding in anticipation so loudly now; he’s sure you can feel it, as close as you are still to him, your arms still tangled around his neck, his large warm hand still under your skirt, holding you up between his hard body and the cool wall.

You lick your lips nervously, eyes fluttering across the room but avoiding him. The tiny crease between your eyebrows is there again. It would be adorable if Bradley weren’t burning for your answer.

“Yes.” You swallow. “Once.” It comes out in almost a whisper. You burn in embarrassment. Fuck. Rooster had his choice of girls, and a dark part of you is suddenly intimidated that you will not measure up to his experience. One somewhat drunk, certainly regretful roll in the hay is your best offer.

You hate to feel exactly what he called you: a jumped-up little schoolgirl —hopelessly, only playing at it.

“Was he good to you?” Bradley asks, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth in a moment of selfishness, wanting to pull you back into him. The question catches you off guard as you look at him in confusion. However, he doesn’t elaborate or cease his efforts to keep your head spinning—his large warm hand massages your thigh, fingers creeping a little higher with each motion. You sigh deeply before closing your eyes.

“No.”

“I’ll be good to you, sweetheart.” He promises, trailing kisses up your jawline, hot breath caressing the shell of your ear. “So good.”

You are convinced that at this point, Rooster could tell you the sky was purple and the grass blue and you would believe every word. You want to believe him more than anything. Every off-hand comment, teasing joke, all those lingering touches; in your heart, you always wanted it to be true.

“I trust you.” You breathe.

The hunger and desperation of Rooster’s movements become a simmering heat as he methodically moves his hot mouth over your skin, leaving a fire trail in his wake. Your nails rake over his broad shoulders. Tortuously slowly, his mouth moves over your now-exposed collarbone. You are breathing hard,like your throat is parched with an intense thirst only Rooster’s lips can alleviate.

But he won’t give in to you. Bradley is savoring the moment, committing every little noise you make, the softness of your skin, the heat of your body to memory. It’s been so long since he’s been close to someone—Bradley can barely remember, only in vague shadows and flashes, the last time he fell into someone's arms like this. It must have been before he left for that last cursed sortie; it all feels so far away, like everything that happened in England, let alone back home in the United States, happened to someone else in a different lifetime.

All he can think about now is how he feels completely touch-starved God, he wants to be good for you, but right now, he needs this. He needs you in every way he can have you; take as much as you are willing to give him, from every smile you grace him to your sharp spitfire tongue, but most of all, the comfort of your body.

He needs to feel a measure of control. You whine in frustration as Rooster keeps denying you his kiss, his mouth only inches away from yours as he bumps his nose tenderly, teasingly against yours. It’s hard to miss the grin on his face as he watches you struggle.

Of course he’s enjoying this.

The bands of your slip hang off your shoulders, the fabric slipping over your heaving chest alluringly. With nimble fingers, Rooster pops the button at your skirt's waistband and effortlessly pulls down the zipper. Taking a step back, his fingers sliding down the length of your leg, fingertips playfully skimming past the back of your knee, he sets you back down. You’re not proud of the whiney sounds escaping your lips as the cold air suddenly hits you.

Rooster just grins at you. That devastatingly handsome grin; it fills you with want. To slap him or to kiss him—either would work right now. His hands are skimming down your sides, quickly tugging your skirt down your hips—the rust-colored fabric pools at your feet. Stepping out of the skirt, you kick off your shoes and socks, shivering again as your bare feet touch the floor.

You look so cute—wild strands of hair that have escaped from your braid frame your face, your lips swollen from the kiss, the small marks on your skin from his teeth, pupil blown. In that simple white cotton slip, so deceptively simple, so deceptively innocent -

“If you back out now, Rooster…” Your words are forced, the barely concealed anger seeping through. Your hands are balled into fists. “Then I’ll…”

Taking a deep breath, nostrils flaring, you look at Rooster, eyes blazing. He is perfectly unbothered by your unfinished threat, still grinning at you. You don’t get another second to consider how you would finish the sentence when Rooster’s fingers graze over your cheek so tenderly before sliding up the nape of your neck into your hair at lightning speed.

There is nothing gentle about how his fist closes at the roots near your scalp, pulling your hair tightly. He tilts your head back, exposing the length of your neck. He ghosts his lips over the taut skin, not quite touching you, but you feel his mustache brushing against you—your skin erupts in goosebumps. You hiss, not in pain, but in anticipation.

“You’ll what, Anya?” Rooster practically purrs. You are firmly wedged between him and the wall again, suddenly keenly aware you are only in your underwear.

“Ah- I’ll -” You screw your eyes shut. Something clever, hell, even something dumb, would be great now, but the words won’t come. It’s like you’ve lost the ability to form sentences. Head tilted up, you can’t see Rooster’s face, but you can practically feel that smug grin on his face. Swallowing hard, you struggle to finish your threat.

“I- I swear I’ll… - shit, Rooster!” You cry out as he nips you just below your ear, jerking your head involuntarily in reaction to the overstimulation. Rooster’s grip immediately eases, allowing you some movement back, but he keeps his hand buried in your hair, fingertips pressed against your scalp.

He watches as your eyes flutter shut as he slowly tightens his grip again. Arching into him, your hands rest on his chest, a slight tremor shaking your fingers. Oh, so this is working for you. It’s a secret Bradley gets to uncover about you. One Bradley doesn’t want you to share with anyone else. A part of him hopes no one else will ever hear your soft breathy moans; he wants to be the only one you cling to so desperately with that longing look in your eyes.

Bradley doesn’t consider himself a particularly selfish person. Or possessive, for that matter—he is keenly aware most things in life are just passing. Temporary. And the one time, it should be more evident than ever that there is absolutely no chance of this going anywhere beyond what it is—just in this moment —he cannot help it. He wants more, and he wants all of you to himself.

Somewhere from deep in his gut, words start bubbling up—but Bradley thinks better of it, kissing you rather than saying anything, releasing your hair, and pulling both legs around his waist. You hook your ankles around his back, anchoring yourself against him.

Bradley moves back, pulling you away from the wall. You gasp in surprise, suddenly self-conscious that Rooster is holding you up, although he does not indicate any struggle. You try to steady yourself by grabbing onto his shoulders—Rooster’s muscles are tensed, and suddenly you feel the definition of every plane and edge. He is not only good-looking, he feels goddamn good. Strong. It’s making you weak at the knees—something you haven’t felt in a long time.

A giggle escapes you as you land lightly on the narrow single bed, back first. Rooster is hovering over you, looking at you in wonder. Whenever he thinks you can’t look prettier or more attractive, you’re happy you prove him wrong. Your slip dress has ridden up your thighs, bunched up at your hips as your legs are still around his waist. Hair mussed, lips kissed swollen—you look ravished. And he’s not anywhere done with you yet.

Leaning on your elbows, you look back up at him. So many times you had wished Rooster would look at you with longing—lust even —not to tease you, but genuinely. You hated yourself for it because you were sure that would never happen. But now Rooster is looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world.

He leans back, gently unhooking your legs from his waist. You sit up a bit straighter, planting your palms on the mattress, following his movements sharply. Your stomach clenches as he pulls back from you. Rooster is not looking at you as he maneuvers your legs, placing your feet on the mattress.

“Rooster…” You trail off, frowning slightly as he finally looks at you, his face suddenly uncharacteristically serious, but he doesn’t reply.

“Wha-” Not even able to finish the whole word, you yelp loudly as Rooster suddenly grabs your ankle and yanks your leg up, pulling your weight off your hands. You land flat on your back again, head just below the pillow, as Rooster casually drapes your leg over his shoulder.

You start laughing—from shock, nerves, the way his mustache tickles against your calve as he peppers it with kisses—everything feels so strange, and your emotions are so high-strung after today it’s coming out in weird ways. Rooster’s shoulders shake as he laughs with you before he looks at you again. You bite your lip, holding your breath in anticipation.

“I don’t think I like it anymore when you call me that, Anya,” He says earnestly between kisses—gone is the playfulness of just a few moments ago. His hand is running up and down your thigh, thumb gently brushing the hollow of your knee, tickling the sensitive skin.

You breathe to confirm. He doesn’t reply, gently nipping you right above the knee. Your hand comes up to cover your mouth.

“I think you should be calling me by my name,” He clarifies, meeting your gaze again. It never bothered Bradley what people called him—most people call him Rooster. But you are not most people, and he wants you closer. He is not just his call sign and the reason he got it; he doesn’t want that to be how you look at him. Not anymore. He just wants to be Bradley for you.

“Bradley.” It sounds almost like a question, the name unfamiliar on your tongue, a slight lilt weighing down the L. No one has ever said his name in such a delightful way before; he is sure of it. The dazed look on your face, your fingers resting lightly on your lips, your state of undress and laying on his bed, is the perfect way to finally hear you say his name.

He groans heavily, screwing his eyes shut. Bending forward, Bradley rests his head against your stomach, your leg still hooked over his shoulder—your slip has now bunched up above your hips, exposing your panties. His hand moves up under your slip dress, comfortably resting on the bare skin of your waist. He stays there for a moment, trying to get a grip.

Gingerly, you rake your fingers through his hair. Bradley hums in response, pushing your slip up further.

“Bradley, please,” You whisper, squirming, trying to move your hips. The fire in you is burning almost painfully, and you desperately want Bradley to fucking move.

He cannot stop the litany of curses as he hears you say his name so needily, roll your hips against him so wantonly, fingers tightening in his hair. Hearing him lose control and swear like that spurs you on more—seeing your effect on him is exhilarating.

“Anya - fuck,” He groans as he finally lifts his head, tightening his grip on your waist to keep you still. But you do not intend to make this easy for him, arching your back and tugging at his hair. “Sweetheart, wait one second.”

You stop deliciously contorting under him, only your heavy breathing moving your body now. The frustration passes over your features like a shadow, although you try to hide it. Bradley knows that the following words out of his mouth will probably not make you much happier.

“Sweetheart, you don’t happen to have condoms, do you?” There’s no way to make the question less awkward, but you are both taking enough risks. Leaving you as a lover is one thing; leaving you as an unwed mother is another.

“No,” You narrow your eyes at him momentarily as you lean on your elbows again so that you can look at Bradley. “Why don’t you?”

“I must have lost them when I crashed my plane.” He deadpans in response. You pout before you drop yourself back onto the bed. Hand covering your face, your shoulders start shaking. If Bradley didn’t know you better, he’d think it looks like you’re crying. But your laughter suddenly fills the room.

You cannot believe this. It’s absurd.

“This is so stupid!” You exclaim between bouts of laughter. Bradley can’t help but laugh as he sits up again—all the tension you've built up needs to go somewhere. And he likes to hear you laugh like that, without inhibitions.

“Is this really how this night ends?” You ask, peeking at him between your fingers, trying to hide your disappointment by filling your sudden emptiness with words.

“I wasn’t aware of the night ending, sweetheart.” Bradley purrs, his hands suddenly moving up your legs again. You look at him wide-eyed, reminding him that despite your nimble fingers and plenty of bravado, you’re quite inexperienced.

“I promised I’d be good to you, Anya,” Bradley soothes. “And I’m a man of my word.”

He pulls you up before grabbing the hem of your slip and tugging it up, stopping just under your breasts. “Will you let me show you how good I can be to you, sweetheart?”

You swallow heavily, averting your gaze. “But…” “I won’t do anything to compromise you, Anya,” His fingers wrap around your chin, gently guiding you to look at him. He seems earnest—there is no trace of him joking or teasing. “I promise, sweetheart.”

Inhaling deeply, trying to make sense of all the feelings rampaging through you, you look back into his warm brown eyes. You feel nervous because you are in largely uncharted territory here, making you feel vulnerable. Both physically and emotionally. One part of you wants to start laughing again, to somehow diffuse the tension you are feeling.

But looking into Bradley’s eyes as he patiently waits for your response, his fingers caressing your jaw—what are you really feeling?

Trust your gut.

“I trust you.” You echo, your hands coming up to gently cradle his face. His eyes close for a moment, leaning into your palm. You feel vulnerable, but when you examine it, it doesn’t feel heavy or scary. Nervous but not apprehensive. Not with Bradley.

Pulling Bradley’s face to yours, you don’t hesitate as you kiss him again. This whole night felt like you were hurtling downstream on a violent river—the tension and stress of sending the message, the desperation and burning need you felt for Bradley—it now finally feels like a calmness besets you because it feels right.

This kiss feels a lot more intimate, and it’s giving you butterflies. Bradley’s hands travel from your jaw to your collarbone before he breaks the kiss to tug your shift dress up further. He doesn’t need to say anything; you understand him instinctively as your arms come up automatically to allow him to pull the garment over your head.

His hands start roaming over the newly exposed skin of your stomach, back, and rib, while he presses kisses on your collarbone, before his thumb lightly brushes over your breast. The sensation feels dull through the layered fabric. You push your chest out, pressing your breast into Bradley’s hand. He gladly obliges, squeezing and tugging the band down further.

The anticipation in the air is electric as Bradley's touch sends shivers down your spine. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, your senses heightened, every nerve on edge. With a soft sigh, you let your hands wander over his shoulders and chest, caressing his skin—his muscles move and contract under your touch. You want to make him feel good too.

The soft click of your bra unclasping should have you hesitating. But you want to feel Bradley everywhere, that this goddamn thing is in the way right now. You boldly pull the bra off down your arms, pushing it away. In a flurry of movement, your panties follow suit.

Bradley was always gentle around you, never fighting as you pushed and pulled him with you—gladly following your lead. You know he was strong—the broad shoulders, the defined arms, and the chiseled chest make that hard to miss, and god knows you’ve sneaked enough peeks—but before today, he rarely demonstrated the functionality of his physique. The effortlessness with which he picked you up earlier and he now how lifts your hips, sliding your panties down, pulling them off your legs with one hand, is leaving you breathless.

It’s exciting to realize how you’re at his mercy right now and how much power he has been allowing you over him all this time. He trusted you all this time—the realization makes you feel warm. A fluttering comfort settles in your bones. Trusting him back was the right choice.

You are naked now—instinctively, you want to cover yourself up, bringing your arm over your chest as if that will make you feel less self-conscious.

“Don’t, sweetheart.” Bradley pulls your arm away, holding your hand down by your wrist as his mouth covers your nipple, his tongue flicking against the puckered bud. He uses his other hand to manipulate your other breast, teasing your nipple between his fingers. At moments, it’s painful, but it doesn’t hurt—it’s like every sensation heightening your pleasure.

Bradley is kissing and licking his way down your body, like he is determined to mark as much of your skin as his, to taste every little bit of you. Every moan and whimper you make for him is a reward for him, marking you as his own. He is so patient and precise in his endeavor you lose yourself in his touch. Only when his mouth lands on the inside of your thigh it suddenly breaks your reverie. You gasp, instinctively trying to move away. But his hand rests flat on your stomach as he gently shushes you.

“It’s okay,” He cajoles you. “You lay back, sweetheart, relax,”

Bradley’s head dips down again, kissing your hipbone, his hands running down your sides before he places his lips just above the slit of your pussy. You whimper softly in anticipation. “And tell me if it feels good,” Bradley murmurs against your skin, his hot breath brushing against your wet, sensitive core. You open your mouth, but no sounds come out as Bradley’s tongue slides up your slit. It’s as if your rational brain has completely disconnected from your base desires. Your hips buck up in Bradley’s face, because you want him to do that again. His hand tightens around your waist, steadying you.

His tongue moves against your clit slowly as he explores every fold of your pussy. You’re wet for him already; shit, it’s such a shame he doesn’t get to fuck you properly tonight. All the more reason to blow your mind with his mouth—especially since it seems he’s the first one to do so. Good. You deserve to get taken off properly, and he gets to enjoy your perfect pussy.

He takes his time licking and sucking, listening for your reactions, sounding off your enjoyment. You writhe under his ministrations, but no words come out. That won’t do for Bradley.

“Does it feel good, baby?” He purrs, looking up. “You taste so sweet.”

Your body is moving shakily, contorting, your breathing rapid.

“Tell me with words, Anya.” Bradley teases you as his hand travels up your stomach to your breast, pinching your nipple. You moan, but he wants to hear you say it—he wants to hear you say his name in ecstasy. A dark part of him wants you to sing him praises with that same sharp tongue you’ve cut at him before. But he wasn’t lying when he told you he is a man of his word—he will make this good for you.

“Y-yes,” You stutter out between shallow breaths. “Don’t stop.” You whine, rolling your hips, heavy with need.

He rewards you by sliding a digit into you—god, you’re so wet for him. Your back arches as he sets the pace, none too slow to not lose the momentum of getting you to your peak. Not another word makes it out of your mouth, everything distorted by your moans.

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” He encourages you, teasing his mouth close to your clit again. “I want to hear you.”

The first coherent thought that flashes through your mind is that if Bradley’s face weren’t buried between your thighs, you would probably kick him in the face. However, it all falls apart rather quickly as he slides another finger into you, the angle of his fingers putting pressure on the most sensitive nerves—but he keeps moving back, applying a little bit less pressure each time. You curse lowly, not being able to find the words.

“Please, please, please,” You beg, blinking hard. It feels like every fiber in your body is tense, wound up in knots, and you are desperate for release. Every moment his mouth is not on you is almost painful. You feel desperate, you don’t know what to do, what to say to make him move again, your bravado drowning in the lusty mist of your brain.

“I need you,” You finally whisper, like in a broken prayer. “Bradley, baby, I need you to-”

That’s all he wanted to hear. The rest of your sentence drowns in a moan as his tongue presses against your clit, moving quicker than before, hooking his fingers up. You exclaim loudly, as electricity seems to be coursing through you now. The words now come off their own accord, like an emergency part of your brain, has finally engaged with one single mission—don’t let him stop.

“You feel so good,” You moan him praises, his name on your lips like the chorus to your favorite song. The tension in your body is rising, your hips rolling of their own accord, your muscles growing taut. Bradley reads you like a book, understanding your fervor, and meeting your need with quicker, harder movements of his fingers.

“Bradley—more, I need more,” You’ve been reduced to begging again. “I want you harder.”

Jesus fucking Christ, it’s like you’re vocalizing every single thing he’d been fantasizing about, begging him to go harder in that cute little needy tone. He liked to think you might like it rough, but shit, you’re so inexperienced; he didn’t think you’d ask for it already. He is more than happy to oblige you, of course.

But Bradley needs to keep his mind on getting you off because he’s so pent-up at this point; he might cum in his pants like a schoolboy from just your voice and sweet-tasting pussy. Putting his free hand on your ass, he props your pelvis, creating more tension around your abdominal muscles. It takes only seconds for your foot that is resting on his back to start shaking. The irregular tremors have him intensify his efforts.

“I’m almost… there,” You hum, anchoring yourself to Bradley, grabbing his hair and probably pulling too hard. He groans against your core, the vibrations nearly leaving you screaming. “Please -Please—like like this, Bradley,”

And then, suddenly, like a band snapping, your body collapses and you finally find your release. Bradley presses his face into you as you cum, not stopping licking you, wanting to taste you at your peak. Your thighs tighten around his head, delightfully painfully before shakily releasing him again—the way you tighten around his fingers, makes him wish it was his cock instead. Fuck, you are tight.

As your body melt into the mattress, all tension suddenly gone, every knot untangled, Bradley withdraws his fingers from you. He helps you ride out your wave, softly kissing your folds, feeling how it still makes your leg shake. Bradley wonders if you’d let him make you cum for a second time, but you start squirming the moment he applies more pressure.

“No - no,” You’re feebly trying to pull him up, grappling at Bradley’s face and shoulders. “I can’t, I don’t-” The words come out disjointed, but your intent is clear. You’re overstimulated and don’t want any more right now. Luckily, Bradley understands you perfectly and simply kisses your hip again, before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

You’re still trying to catch your breath, and focus your vision as you come off your high. Bradley moves up to you and pulls you in his arms, moving you onto your side, sliding your leg over his hip. Your head is resting comfortably on his arm, nose brushing against his chest. Closing your eyes, you cuddle up closer to him.

“You’re so beautiful,” He tells you softly, as he kisses your forehead. “Next time, I want to see your pretty face as you cum.” Bradley adds teasingly. You giggle, as you look up at him, your eyes meeting his. He is teasing you, of course, but he’s looking at you lovingly.

Fuck.

It’s really never going to be enough.

You will have to go living the rest of your life with the knowledge that your paths only intersect at this moment in time, and that Bradley’s loving looks, strong hands and skillful mouth are not yours to have. Just for now. Just for here.

So where do you go from here?

Do you pull back and accept the burden of knowing that you’ll never have more of him than this? Or do you plunge in head first, understanding that every additional touch, every kiss, and every way height Bradley teases you will be the impossible measure for every future encounter?

Right now, your head and heart still buzzing, your limbs tangled around him, and his fingers dancing down your spine, the answer is so easy.

Craning your neck, your mouth seeks out his—you are pretty sure you can taste yourself on his wet lips. It exhilarates you. If you’re going to let this change you, you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t at least try to make sure Bradley won’t forget about you so easily, either.

Your hands are traveling down his torso, your fingers clumsily back at the waistband of his slacks, unbuttoning them. You can feel how hard he is against your stomach—it would be incredibly unfair if you didn’t reciprocate. Even though you’re not quite sure what to do. Bradley hums as your hand brushes against his erection.

“You don’t have to, sweetheart.” He lies, wanting nothing more than your hands on his cock, or, even better, your mouth. But he also doesn’t want to force you into anything—for tonight, he can take it slow.

“I want to,” You reply determinedly, tugging at his pants. Well, who is he to deny you? He thinks with a grin. Raising his hips, he helps you strip him off his pants and underwear. Finally, he is a naked as you are. Your eyes greedily roam over his body, and linger on his erection. The way your tongue darts out to wet your lips, the fact you’re probably not even doing that consciously, has Bradley’s head spinning.

“Show me what you like,” You whisper against his mouth as your fingers move up and down over his treasure trail. He groans, screwing his eyes shut.

He must have dreamed you up. He must have died the night he crashed, and gotten stuck in a strange purgatory where you are his redemption.

Gently, Bradley takes your hand from his stomach, and wraps your significantly smaller hand around his cock, covering it with his own.

“Just like that, baby,” He moans as he moves your hand with his own. Using your hand to jerk himself off makes him feel like he’s corrupting you, and it’s turning him on even more. Bradley is unsure how long he will last as he guides your hand to just the right amount of pressure and speed. You’re kissing his neck, experimentally nipping at him, finding his most sensitive spots. God, you’re so eager to please, so determined to excel—and a quick study.

“You’re so big,” You hum in between kisses. “Can I… taste you?”

Bradley curses. He wasn’t going to ask, but if you’re offering…

He lets go of your hand, moving onto his back. You’re half draped over him, your hand still on his cock. You move back, sitting on your knees between his legs. Propping his head up with the pillow, he follows your movements with rapt interest. Tucking a few trends of your now-messy hair behind your ears before your hand returns to his erection, moving slowly but determinedly. Cautiously, you bring your mouth over his cocks, dragging your tongue over his length. Bradley hisses, and you almost stop moving. “Keep going, baby,” He encourages you.

A blush is creeping down his chest, and he is breathing heavily as he’s looking at you with hooded eyes. Pumping your hand, you take as much as you can in your mouth—it’s never going to fit—a slight chocking sound escaping you, Bradley’s cock hits the back of your throat. You hear him curse between encouragements as you begin to move more, trying to find a rhythm.

You hope he’s not just being kind to you and this is actually pleasurable for him, as your jaw soon starts straining. Releasing his length, your eyes meet Bradley’s for a moment, and you wonder if it’s really clear you have no idea what you’re doing.

Bradley reaches out to you, caressing your jaw before winding his fingers through your hair again, grasping you tightly at the scalp. Your eyes flutter.

“Let me show you how I like it, baby,” He guides your head gently over his cock again, pushing you down until he feels you resist with a small whimper. Fuck. Just that sound over and over would be enough to send him over the edge.

“Your mouth feels so good, Anya, and you’re doing such a great job,” Bradley’s constant flattery has you on a cloud. “Relax your throat, baby.” He advises you as he sets a rhythm, moving your head up and down. You try your best to fit more of Bradley, moving your hand over his thick cock in tandem with your mouth, but tears spring in your eyes as he bucks his hips up.

Bradley is so close already he’s almost embarrassed. But when you lock eyes with him, his cock filling your pretty mouth, as you valiantly take more and more of him, he can’t take it anymore.

It’s been a long time since the need to orgasm has almost caught him off guard—god, he wants to cum in your warm mouth, and watch it dribble down your chin. No, not this time, not if this is only your first time giving head. That would be unfair to you.

You yelp in surprise as Bradley suddenly pulls your head up—for a moment you’re scared you did something wrong. Your hand still as his hand comes to cover yours again, pumping along his length hard and fast. Bradley arches backward, every muscle in his body taut, as this ropes of cum shoot all over your chest.

Bradley collapses into the mattress for a second before immediately sitting up, a worried look in his face.

“Shit, sweetheart- I’m sorry,” He starts hurriedly.

“Why?” You ask, unsure, but also a little dejected.

“I didn’t mean to cum all over you,” Fuck, he’s never going to get his vision from his mind. You, sitting on his bed, naked and marked, with his cum covering your beautiful tits. “Let me get you a towel.”

“You’re saying it like it’s a bad thing.” Your tone has a light edge.

“Not a bad thing, sweetheart,” Bradley assures you as he moves past you. “I think my cum looks great on you,” He winks at you over his shoulder as he grabs a towel from the small adjacent bathroom. You playfully narrow your eyes at him.

Bradley helps you wipe down, stealing teasing kisses from you as he does. Finally, he pulls you against him under the covers on the narrow bed, slotting his legs between yours as he spoons you.

“Stay the night.” Bradley murmurs in your ear.

“I can stay now, not the whole night,” You reply, fighting your heavy eyelids.

“I can live with now.”

***

It’s still early in the evening—it can’t be later than 8 PM—but the sun is almost set. Over the hills flanking the river valley in the center of the city, the sky is dappled in quickly fading shades of pink and orange. It’s not warm after the long rainy day, and the April air still has a bite to it. You are wrapped up in your coat, a light scarf helping protect you from the chill.

But what helps most is being cozied up to Bradley, your left hand wrapped up in his, tucked securely in his coat pocket. You are strolling, shoulder to shoulder, savoring the moments when you can appear just as any other couple. He knows the way now—as many escape routes and diversions as you could teach him, there is no reason to pretend this is still for practice. It’s for you.

Six days is such a short goddamn time, and you’re already halfway through your allotted time together.

It’s been hanging over the two of you like a sword. You don’t really talk about it, both tacitly electing to avoid the subject. Of course, it’s not like you can pretend it’s not happening. Bit by bit, you’ve been trading and searching for things for Bradley’s journey. All you know is he will be traveling south, towards the Austrian border, where his liaison will take him on the rest of the journey. The southern border is mountainous and overgrown with this pine forests. It’s muddy in spring—slippery and treacherous.

Good boots. Dark, warm clothes. Wax-covered matches. A torch. Food.

The list in your head goes on, but always stops short before the final items you should return to him. The ones you took from him all those months ago, hidden away, tucked into an old shoebox behind at the bottom of your closet. His papers. His gun.

Bradley's identification bracelet suddenly feels heavy in your coat pocket, where it’s been for all this time.

Your heart clenches. When you give Bradley all those things back, it’ll be the real end. He’ll disappear out of your life, and you won’t have a tangible trace of him left. Which is the safest solution.

But what if you forget him? Forget his warm brown eyes, soft honey curls, that cocky smirk, and the sound of that deep raspy voice in your ear? What is your mind cannot conjure up the smell of his skin anymore? Is it all eventually meant to fade away in a dream?

Just because that’s the sanest, most sensible, and safest thing to do?

Your face pulls into a sorrowful frown, staring down at the cobbled pavement under your feet. It’s easy to forget around Bradley, he drives you to distraction with one look. But you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t long for the intimacy, someone to share your secrets with, and just him. You’re throwing yourself into this romance with reckless abandon, but the reality is never far away.

Whenever you allow yourself to dwell on it for more than a few seconds, the dark pit in your stomach seems to get deeper. In just a few days, you will have to take the plunge, and you’ll watch him turn away from you for the last time—and you’ll still be here with only memories for company.

It’s only when you feel a slight nudge against your shoulder, you look up. Bradley is looking down at you wordlessly, but fondness and worry are evident in his eyes. Why spend your precious time worrying? He’s here now. And he’s looking at you—only at you.

You smile, stopping him, not minding the people on the street rushing past you. You bounce up, aiming your lips for the corner of his mouth. Bradley automatically inclines his face to you, almost as if by a magnetic force, easing your access. His mustache tickles against your lips with easy familiarity, like you’ve been packing a lifetime of experiences into six short days.

Slowly you resume your journey down the street, turning onto the embankment. It’s fully dark now, the promenade lit by the orange glow of the ornate wrought iron streetlights, casting creeping, flickering shadows around the street. The soft wash of the flowing river and the call of birds fill the background.

You pass a few other couples—the vista of the old town, the thousand spires, and quiet spots on the benches between the trees make it a prime spot for romantic couples. It feels like the most natural thing to be walking here with Bradley—you can’t help but think that this is exactly what you’d be doing together if it weren’t for the war.

Carried on the wind, a piano melody sounds from an open window. You recognize it. It was a popular pre-war jazz song. The tempo is lower, and the pianist is adding flourishes and improvisations, almost as if any recognizable part of the melody is just a coincidence. You slow down a little bit, almost involuntarily, to stretch out the moment.

Bradley notices—how can he not? You’ve been comfortably burrowing yourself into every part of his brain. And heart. Although he’s not quite sure, he is ready to admit to that. To what end even? To make an impossible promise?

He follows your gaze up to the open window. Whoever plays the piano is exceedingly good at it, carefully weaving the simple melody in complex patterns. It’s almost surreal, mesmerizing even—the quiet promenade in twilight, the music fluttering down. You’ve come to a standstill, almost wistfully looking up at the window, lips just a fraction apart.

Bradley takes your hand from his pocket, lacing his fingers through yours. Your eyes meet his as he pulls you against him, other arms sneaking around your waist. He could charm the devil with that smile, and you cannot help but smile back at him. “Can I have this dance, miss?” He teases, voice soft, leading you through the first few steps. Your free hand comes up to his shoulder automatically. “Gentlemen ask first.” You chastise in a whisper, grinning, following his lead. The last time you danced, you were so distracted you barely noticed how well Bradley danced—he always moves with such ease, so fluidly. He maneuvers you so easily through the steps it’s like you’re floating in his arms.

“And miss a moment of this?” Bradley’s voice is suddenly earnest, brushing his nose against yours. You just chuckle in response before closing your eyes and sighing. In a faraway part of your mind, you allow yourself to uncover your unspoken wishes, the dreams you hardly dare to dream, the fantasy where nothing but Bradley happened. You go dancing together, laughing and joking instead of speaking in covert glances and whispers, where he’ll wait for you after class with flowers in his hand, sweeping you off your feet every time. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” You utter softly. Saying it out loud makes you feel strangely light, like for a moment, you are living that fantasy.

Bradley twirls you playfully, heart jumping slightly as he catches sight of the dreamy smile on your face. The giggle that escapes your lips mingles with the music as if it was always supposed to be part of it.

He’s known you for almost two months, you being the only person he ever saw, ever spoke to—and he thought he had you figured out pretty well. But it’s as if he’s had a crash course in you in the past three days. From your spitfire attitude and drive to excel that excite him so much, to your endearing innocence and warm generosity that have his head spinning.

Bradley’s been in love before; he’s quite sure of it. Had anyone asked him a few months ago, he would have joked he’d been in love a thousand times for a night at a time. But nothing he ever felt before—even when he was sure he had been in love—measures up to the maelstrom of feelings he has around you. Everything else just fades into the background when he has your full attention.

Bradley pulls you back into him, wanting to feel your closer again. Now that he still can. Your fingers trace over his cheek, where the scar has been forming. The soft look of fondness on your face makes it impossible not to kiss you. Bradley wasn’t planning on restricting himself when it comes to that. Every kiss might be the last.

You welcome his mouth against yours, immediately opening your lips for him. It’s hardly appropriate for him to kiss you so passionately in public, but you cannot find it in yourself to truly care.

All you want is for this moment never to end. ***

You try to stifle a yawn unsuccessfully, turning your head away from your companions at the small table at the café. It’s mid-morning, and you and Eva are having a friendly catch-up over tea with old classmates. You have a vague recollection you promised you’d tag along, but you didn’t remember it was supposed to be today—or rather, you didn’t think about it anymore—until Eva dragged you out of bed this morning.

Forcing yourself to participate in the gossip and light chatter, you can’t help when your brain fogs over from tiredness. You didn’t slip into your bed until 5 AM that morning—the sun was already coming up by the time you managed to untangle yourself from Bradley. He keeps insisting you sleep over; you keep insisting that you can’t.

It’s about patterns. Like you take the same route to work each day, you greet your neighbors, you sleep in your own bed. Because there is no explanation for why you wouldn’t.

“Anna, are you okay?” As Tereza asks, three pairs of eyes at the table all turn to look at you, all other chatter stopping short like they’ve all been dying to ask the question. “You look...” She hesitates as if she’s looking for the right word. “Exhausted.”

Oh.

“I’m on the night shift a lot.” You clarify, smiling serenly, taking a sip from your tea.

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it these days?” Eva’s quip elicits giggles from the whole table. You titter along, shooting Eva a sharp look. She just shrugs in response, a satisfied grin on her face. Mercifully, the conversation moves along quickly; after all, it’s a lot more fun to gossip about people that are not at the table currently.

When you finally leave the café, you feel like you’re dead on your feet. Eva hooks her arms through yours, and together you start walking back home.

“It was fun seeing the girls again,” Eva starts conversationally.

“I’m glad they’re doing well,” You reply, blinking against the sun. “The tea was good too.”

“It doesn’t compare to before.” Eva retorts. “And those cakes! They’re more sawdust than flour.” She adds dramatically.

“I’m sure they don’t put actual sawdust in it.” You laugh. Eva just rolls her eyes. “It tasted more like sand to me.” You whisper conspiratorially.

Eva elbows you in the ribs as you laugh together. When you feel another yawn coming up, you don’t bother hiding it, merely covering your mouth with your hand.

“I don’t know why you bother pretending you sleep in your bed,” Eva says in that tone, where it sounds so very clinical and non-accusatory, but you’ve known her long enough to know it’s a dig at you.

“I like sleeping in my own bed.” You reply simply.

“Funny,” She snorts. “As you’ve barely done so in the last few days.”

“Okay, Mom.” You roll your eyes at her.

“Hey,” Eva stops walking, grabbing your sleeve. “I’m just making fun of you—I can hear you sneaking in the early hours.”

You regard her impassively, expecting some sort of lecture.

“And Tereza was right; you look exhausted. But… you also look happy.” Eva cracks a genuine smile. “And I just want you to know, you don’t have to pretend on my account.”

“Thank you.” You tell her warmly. Of course your best friend would be able to see beyond your facade—and you don’t really expect differently from her.

“That said—I want details. Who are you spending your - ehm, “night shift” with?” She starts walking again, pulling you with her, wiggling her eyes brows. You groan, trying to tear your arm from hers. “I’ll start guessing.” She warns you.

The strangled sound that escapes you is way too loud, akin to a dying animal. Several people walking down the street past you on the street look around at you like you’ve grown a second head, which sends Eva into a fit of giggles.

“You are so dramatic sometimes, Anya, honestly.” She chastises you, still laughing.

“No, you just drive me to insanity.” You sigh.

“No, but really, you have to tell me,” Her voice is suddenly quiet, as she quickly looks around to see if anyone is near. “Is it that tall and handsome piece of ass that you have stashed, you know…” She jerks her head upward. “Up there?”

A part of you wants to slap your hand over Eva’s mouth to stop her from talking out of embarrassment and to stop her from blabbing something dangerous. The more rational part of you decides it’s better not to react at all and just write this off insane ramblings. So instead of saying anything, you just shoot Eva a stern look as you shake your head—this is not a topic you’ll be discussing.

Of course that’s all the confirmation she needs.

Maybe one day, when the story is no longer a threat to your life, you will tell Eva the whole story over a bottle of wine or two—your crazy, dangerous, and impossible wartime romance. One day, that’s all it will be; a story rooted in distant memories.

note | im the actual worst, sorry (but mostly slow)

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #rooster fanfic #rooster top gun #rooster x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster x female reader #top gun fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x oc #rooster bradshaw x oc

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deltastra · 1 month

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My Thoughts on Tower of God Season 2 Episode 6

Finally, FUG is here!! And I believe this is the episode where we meet a certain somebody? :3

WEBTOON SPOILERS WAS TEASED BUT NOT OUTRIGHT STATED

Rating: 7/10

Summary: Music and tension was on point! However, Jinsung's face looked a bit wonky?? Maybe that's just me. I think the stiff movements while they talk is actually making the scenes feel more awkward. Either way, I really liked the pacing for this episode and I hope they COOK for the next!

You know as crazy as Yihwa was for flat out insulting Viole in front of FUG (and insulting FUG to their faces), I feel like people often miss the fact that she was angry for the whole team. She genuinely thought Viole betrayed them. While of course, her assumptions come from the fact that she was always suspicious of him to begin with, I still feel like she was just looking out for the team.

And now we are hearing Viole speak more (with emotion at least)!!! I love this older Bam voice!

Haha I love how Miseng always breaks the ice by being herself! Despite her "crybaby" personality, she genuinely helps the team ease up. The way Jinseng gave her more apples makes me ;-;.

Yea...maybe I'm just looking too deep into it? I don't know, but Jinsung's face looks a bit off??? He looks a bit too young here.

THIS is why I love Team Sweet and Sour. Like Arkraptor said, they're all defective in their own way. They cover eachother's weaknesses and provide comfort when needed. They aren't from rich or well-off families and even if one of them is, she still struggles a lot. It's just the way they're all so casual with eachother that makes me love this team so much! Found family <3.

This reveal is so well done to me. It's just told in a casual conversation. "Hey, you're very lucky. That guy who was overly friendly with you wanted to kill you all at first!". It shows how, yes, not all FUG members are insane killers. However, they cannot be trusted so easily either.

I genuinely did not like the change season 1 did at the end where Bam stands up on his own. Because it gave the impression to anime-onlies that Bam WILLINGLY joined FUG. Now this scene feels awkward. Because all of a sudden he cannot decide? This is just a nitpick and I'm sure not many people will care. But I feel like it shows how you have to be careful what you choose to change in an adaptation because it may break the immersion later down the road.

Hmm they didn't mention the memorial rings that were used to track down Bam's friends? Well it wasn't mentioned in the first season so it makes sense. I appreciate that they're still following the webtoon this time even if they have to correct some parts in order to make it flow better with season 1's changes.

Hehe Hwaryun munching while Wangnan furious. I do wish they at least showed his face properly or make him stand up in order to show his anger over Viole's situation. Sitting stiff while yelling all that feels awkward at most.

Aww I wish they showed that panel with the two of them and that glowing tower (I forgot its name whoopsie) between them! It was one of my favourite scenes :(

BAHAHAHAH IM SO SORRY BUT THAT ZOOM IN ON KARAKA WAS GENUINELY SO FUNNY AND GOOFY LOOKING. I hope season 2 part 2 has improved camera movements/zoom-ins because these look too strange. It's like the animation cannot keep up with the music.

AWWWWW VIOLE SMILING <3

Awww I wish they showed Miseng on Viole's shoulders like in the webtoon </3.

I love everything about this. Hisoka's VA voicing Urek is so good!! I love the tone of his voice which gives off a threatening vibe.

I always liked this introduction of Urek. He looks and sounds threatening, but the moment he found out that they are Regulars and not Rankers, he was willing to let them go. He isn't a "good guy" in this, but he can definitely be reasoned with. I always loved Tower of God antagonists because of how multi-layered they can be.

And this is the best reason to why Viole is stubborn/ruthless in these tests. It's not cause he's "edgy" now. He literally cannot afford to fail a single test. It's a great motive that can keep the story constantly progressing in my opinion.

YES LETS GO MY SECOND FAVOURITE VIOLE QUOTE!!! AND MAN THE MUSIC IS SO GOOD I FELT SO HYPED UP.

AND WHEN THE BEAT OF THE OST "Guardian" BY KEVIN PENKIN DROPS...GOD THIS IS SO GOOD. THE ELECTRIFYING MUSIC IS PERFECT FOR THE UREK REVEAL! I will admit, I always pictured "Bubble in the Wine Glass" for Urek's reveal but this is better!

Yea I really wished they showed us this shot, at least its in the ED!

Okay so this episode was slightly better but man, the stiffness during talking scenes was pretty obvious here... I really hope they try a bit harder for next cour. But that Urek reveal was so hype!!! I cannot wait! I hope it's episode 1 animation again!!! They have a lot of expectations given the Great Journey OP which had the fight animated for the first time. Hope for the best! P.S. I know my opinions have been very...wishy-washy. So I want to make my stance clear. I am enjoying the anime. But I also acknowledge that it's not a great adaptation. There are very obvious flaws.

#my thoughts #deltastra watches #tower of god #tog #tower of god anime #tog anime #tower of god spoilers #tower of god anime spoilers #tog anime spoilers #tog spoilers #tower of god season 2 #tower of god season 2 spoilers #tog season 2 #tog season 2 spoilers

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valeriefauxnom · 3 months

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Chapter 14 - Bad Writing or Something Else?

So, as you may or not know, there was, to put it mildly, a lot of bonafide discourse regarding chapter 14 when it first released. While quite a bit revolved around Elisanne, with the short scene that initially seemed to some that she had given up Zethia to Nedrick voluntarily, the true centerpiece of debate was Euden.

Specifically, him in the big scene of the chapter with Morsayati.

Now, I'm not here to tell you chapter 14 is a perfect masterpiece, because it most definitely isn't, along with the rest of Dragalia's plot. However, I will make the claim that Euden's actions here were inevitable and destined to fail from the start.

Let's take a look at what had people so up in arms about Euden in chapter fourteen, first:

In this scene, Euden near-instantly capitulates to the Other offering to free Zethia, offering himself up to free her and, in his view, save her life. Now, there's plenty of fair critique that could be made here from a logical observer- why trust a demon overlord's words to begin with? What about his previous claims that saving and protecting the kingdom is his primary goal instead of Zethia?

At first glance, it understandably looks that Euden has conveniently flipped course between ch.9 and 14 for the sake of drama. I really can see where there were a lot of people up in arms about Euden not exactly being the brightest bulb in the overwhelmingly blond family (among other insults).

Nevertheless, I'd like to present a bit more nuanced view than just 'Euden did a 180 in values and ruined everything, chapter bad' opinion that many seemed to have.

For starters, it is made as clear as chapter 7 that the Other now has the explicit goal of making Euden his next possession victim, even if not spelled out explicitly:

Valyx and Harle are rightly advising the Other that if one wants to stop Euden's growing momentum, it needs to be put down soon and with excessive force. Morsayati, however, pish-poshes this, and actually is invested in letting Euden gain power. That seems stupid on Morsayati's part, and initially would likely come across to players as just the villain setting up their own downfall as so many stories write.

But no, not with Morsayati. As glad as he was to jump from King Aurelius to Zethia to gain some sweet sweet magic power, he's already looking for the next biggest thing to accomplish his ultimate goals of destruction, and has found it in Euden. However he can, Euden has rapidly assembled many dragons' power, all surviving Greatwyrms included, which are formidable in their own right. And with his capacity to control and corrupt said dragons through their pact with the whole mutual 'tugging' I've described previously, Morsayati sees a silver platter of natural forces of destruction in Euden.

In short, by chapter 7, Morsayati is already scheming to possess Euden. And, likely, scheming the most efficient way to get Euden to capitulate.

Now, I can't remember exactly if it was indicated how much insight Morsayati had into his hosts' memories and all that, but regardless of what degree, Euden gives him all the keys he needs to figure out the answer to that previous question in chapter 10:

Morsayati, in this same conversation, seems to be trying to test out another potential tool for capitulation, namely, his desire for peace:

That, however, failed, Euden instead directly revealing his hand:

To Euden, it's less of a 'give up everything for Zethia', but to Morsayati, all he sees is that he offered Euden what Morsayati believed was Euden's version of a 'perfect world' only for Euden to refuse because of Zethia. His actual reasoning involves more than Zethia, as seen when he continues, but I digress. The Other has found his weak point.

Enter chapter 14...but first, let's look at chapter 13.

The only reason chapter 14 comes about is because Leif, a very well-trusted friend and skilled commander, encourages Euden to press an assault on the capital.

Leif's reasoning is sound from a military standing point. It makes sense to attack when enemy forces are in disarray... but unbeknownst to either of them, Morsayati has already realized the lacking security in the capital and yet is more than willing to roll out the red carpet to make it even more of an tempting invitation to Euden by permitting Valyx to leave in the first place:

In essence, Euden and most everyone with strategic sense sees a golden opportunity, so much so that delaying it would be foolish.

One problem: he's not ready to face Morsayati as a person or army. And he's just taken the Other's perfect bait. Opportunities only last for a short period of time in the military, which means that Euden's attack and plans were likely pretty hastily drawn-up since the capital seemed to be so far of a goal away before.

Even if they weren't just charging in with 0 plan, we do see the results of their lacking intelligence as to what their enemies are capable of with Harle at the gate. They called upon secret defectors within the capital to force a hole through the walls of Sol Alberia (since it is a giant, completely-encircled city) if they couldn't go through the gate, but failed to gather info regarding Harle's trickery.

In addition to any military hastiness in their assault, Euden personally isn't ready, either. We see all throughout chapter 5 to 14, as demonstrated by that bit I showed Euden saying to Zodiark in chapter 10, that Euden shies away from conflict with the Other directly, because that means swinging a sword/claw at his twin's body. I think that's an understandable hesitation even when said twin is possessed. It's not easy to harm those you care about.

However, it causes the biggest glaring hole in whatever plans they could cook up in the quick turnaround from Lake Reeve to the Halidom to the Capital: they haven't actually discussed what to do about Morsayati. They're going in with a plan of stopping the Other, sure, but beyond that, they've no concrete way in mind.

Now, this admittedly isn't the wisest decision, but I will point out that this doesn't entirely fall upon Euden as a failure. Nobody had a plan how to separate Zethia and the Other, or otherwise incapacitate the demon without risking Zethia's life. All they knew is that this was too good of a chance to pass up, and that being wishy-washy and letting this go by would be its own failure and would let Morsayati rebuild his forces.

We also see Euden start struggling hard in chapter 14 even before they entered the city. It's already becoming too real that Zethia, possessed, is in the castle he grew up with, and he's going to have to lead a hastily-gathered army to attack Sol Alberia and accept all the death and destruction that will inevitably cause to both sides and civilians.

Harle is not the only schemer in the capital at that time, as Morsayati turns the entire castle into a trap solely to make Euden more vulnerable to him.

He immediately separates Euden and co from the bulk of their army, preventing him from showing up with such numbers that even Morsayati couldn't handle, and disorients said small group. That likely doesn't help any sense of desperation that might be building in Euden to put an end to this, in addition to making him hasty.

Euden recognizes the Other's 'invitation' now, but with the door locked behind them and no way to exit, they can only head deeper into the wolves' den instead of retreating to regroup and formulate strategy.

Morsayati also went to the effort of conjuring illusions specifically to get Euden running into traps, further weakening both his allies and Euden both physically and mentally:

Now, before his, Euden was just about to take a break. Smart idea, but now that break has gone poof.

Enter the damning segment.

While it might seem unequivocally obvious to us that the Other is possibly lying about 80% of the time, to Euden, I will point out that there is a rational basis to believe Morsayati's words that his presence is harming Zethia.

Namely, as a demon overlord filled with Bad Vibes (er, black mana, but that's almost literally what it is in lore anyways), it's a pretty fair assumption that having a demon overlord crammed in a single human body is not good for their long-term health. The gang have seen again and again so far how black mana can wreak havoc and pain for humanity and even dragons both. Why would Zethia be immune?

Furthermore, Euden also has a reason to believe that Zethia might stand better in a 1 v. 1 against the Other. The Other possessed her, in part, to eliminate a critical threat to him to begin with, after all, as Euden witnessed here:

The most legitimate reason he'd have to not do it would be the possibility of his dragons falling under Morsayati's sway, but even that isn't quite as strong as some think.

I highly doubt the Fire Emblem collabs were canon, where Euden received his most explicit warning against allowing possession, despite many people using that as a gotcha against him, for starters.

Fractured Futures would be a more reasonable warning... but it's much more vague.

Euden has pieces to the puzzle, but neither Audric nor Chronos spells out that this future is because Euden became possessed. All he knows, at most, is:

-Euden is Chronos' master, but 'not as he is in the present'

-Zodiark and the Greatwyrms are in Chronos

-Notte is angry at him for murdering friends

To Euden, however, this might just be a case of this world's Euden just not being quite as cool of a dude as he is. Nothing ever explicitly tells him that he was possessed, and the whole whirlwind nature of a trip of it all likely meant that Euden wouldn't be able to catalogue all the hints and remember them to stew on later. Audric tries to share this lore more directly at the very end, but he refuses:

The more obvious hints this world's Euden is possessed happen when Euden is not there, like when a swarm of his dragons attacks the Halidom in Audric's story. What he actually has isn't enough to definitively pin the tail on the Other and connect that Morsayati's possession of him is the cause of it all instead of this world's Euden just being a jerk or some other strange shenanigans.

His actual biggest demonstration that the Other could control dragons through a pact happened in chapter 5 where Zodiark attacks them because of Aurelius. Even that, however, could have seemed to Euden that Zodiark wasn't aware that Aurelius was possessed and was attacking him because 'Aurelius' willed it with again, nothing actually correlating that Zodi's attack is solely because he is being forced to.

(also, what 'ancient grudge'? I dunno myself!)

So yes, while there technically was room for Euden and co to realize that possession while pacted = bad news for the dragons, it's far from as solid as some make it out to be.

Thus, we have all the pieces for that scene. Euden walks in resolute as he can be...

...only for Morsayati to immediately take the wind out of his sails.

Between all the mental unpreparedness he's also walking in with, Euden might also be thinking that with the operation successful in the city, goal number 1 is already mostly 'accomplished': the city will be freed. The only piece left to topple is Morsayati, and Zethia is the only known piece that has countered the Other before.

Even before factoring in his emotional state, that's a pretty darn good argument to make a wild wager to allow Morsayati to possess him and his weakened self and free up Zethia. With Euden's self-disregard, he wouldn't care what happens to him, either. If his friends had to kill him to break Morsayati's control over Alberia, so be it- he's already established that he views himself as an expendable piece to his friends in this war game:

With Chelle and Leonidas coming around (again, in Chelle's case, even if her defection was fake), he also has siblings that could reign well left to pick up the pieces.

Now, you'd fairly and correctly point out that Euden most likely wasn't thinking of this when accepting, but I thought I'd bring it up that even a more coldly logical Euden might have accepted the Other's offer. (Honestly, that might be an interesting spin on how a Euden might have gotten Grand Theft-ed Body there!)

I digress.

We now have all the pieces to my overall argument, though:

-Morsayati has been planning for a long time exactly how to break Euden's will the fastest,

-Euden was all but forced into making a move for the capital without proper preparedness in ways both militarily and emotionally,

-Euden has few concrete reasons to fully understand the implications of the Other's possession,

-Euden is overwrought with emotion even before stepping in the castle, and with his only true friendly sibling in Zethia he grew up with at stake, he's inclined to rash decisions,

-His first goal is already mostly 'accomplished' - an uprising is in bloom, and Harle (the only other major commander) has been routed

-Euden doesn't view himself as the exclusive key to Alberia's peace- he's a sacrificial 'brick in the road' as said by him in other conversations

So on and so forth, but this is getting long enough. The long and short of it is that Euden was in no position to be waltzing to the castle, and Morsayati prepared to hell and back exactly how to make him crumble. There was little to no chance that the day truly would have been won as a decisive victory in Euden's favor.

On a final note, at the end of the day... is it really so hard to understand why someone might grow panicked and rash at any notion that their twin is about to die?

#dragalia lost #dragalia #dragalia analysis #Chapter 14 sure isn't perfect but I really don't see how else it could have ended up with the pieces given y'know?#The writers wrote themselves into such a box that Euden was not going to win that they felt compelled to Beren Ex Machina their way out.#In a meta sense they were also likely struggling how to pivot to Nedrick plot since Dragalia plot was pieced together by 3 writers working #...SEPARATELY. But yeah in all senses (narrative and meta) the plot just didn't seem to be set up to end in a Euden win!#I love my boy but Euden at the end of the day is deeply emotional. It both rallies and curses his cause.

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il-predestinato · 2 years

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Let’s test your speed writing shall we? 😛

Hmm… my favourite number maybe? 38 🥺🧡

38. "Small Talk" by Katy Perry; pairing - lestappen (what a surprise!)

I just can't believe We went from strangers to lovers to strangers in a lifetime

So... Al, this one completely got away from me: it’s um... slightly longer than 5 sentences (2093 words apparently).

send me an ask with a number between 1 and 100 and I'll write a 5ish sentence fic inspired by that song on my 2022 wrapped playlist!

Title: One Day

Summary: The Monaco Grand Prix is cursed.

Day 37

Max always remembers. Charles always forgets.

Max remembers the address of Charles' apartment in Monte Carlo. (Charles told him on Day 5. Not too shabby, thought Max, for two people who were never friends and closer to enemies.) This time, he goes there first. The speech is well-rehearsed by now. It was a blabbering mess on Day 9, and Charles nearly tossed him off the balcony. (Day 10 was worse; Charles actually called Christian, fuck his life, and nearly called a sports psychologist before Max yeeted his phone off the balcony in desperation.) By Day 13, Max had a polished version of 'the speech'. By now, he could probably rhyme it off in his sleep. Not that it ever yielded any better results, so he abandoned this approach on Days 30 to 36. And that got him nowhere either. So back to square one.

He waits patiently for the five stages of grief to cycle past on speedrun; to give Charles some credit, despite the lack of memory retention, he did seem to get over it quicker and quicker each time. Perhaps something of each Day lingered, even if it wasn't remembrance per se.

"So it's always at Nouvelle Chicane or Le Portier?" questions Charles, hands rubbing at his temples.

Max nods, and then shakes his head. "At the Swimming Pool once," he amends. "On Day 12, I think... a crane fell on my head."

"Why was there even a crane?!" Charles groans, scandalized.

Max shrugs. He hasn't even told Charles about Day 31; a jewel thief literally ran across the race track and smashed a briefcase full of diamonds straight into Charles' helmet at 285 kph.

"So sometimes you die, and sometimes I die?" mumbles Charles with a frown.

"It doesn't matter who," confirms Max. "Then the Day restarts with my alarm going off at 7 am."

Day 38

"You've got to be kidding!"

Max is trying not to smile, but Charles looks absolutely petulant.

Charles glares at him. "I died at La Rascasse?" He throws both hands up in the air. "Like... how?! La Rascasse! At the hairpin?! I drive faster to the supermarket, mon dieu!"

"This time I think you took Lando with you -"

Panicked green eyes met his. "Oh, putain!" screeches Charles. "Did I kill Lando? Oh my God, oh my God. Max, please tell me I didn't -"

"Relax, mate." Max rubs both temples. Why is he always cursed to remember? "Everything resets. Lando will be fine."

"But are you sure?" insists Charles anxiously.

Max squeezes him gently on the shoulder. A little shiver runs up his arm, and he's not sure why. This wasn't exactly their first physical contact off the track. (Some Days he can remember more vividly than others; he's not quite ready to admit that the hug from Charles is the reason he remembers Day 9 more clearly than the 29 days that followed.)

"I promise," he says softly. "I got both George and Lance on Day 24, and they both came back just fine the next day."

Day 40

“Okay, what if we kill someone else first?”

Max is both impressed and mildly alarmed. It really didn’t take Charles all that long to make the leap from ‘wallow in despair about the unbreakable curse’ to ‘let’s move on to murder.’

“It won’t work.” He shakes his head. “Day 17. Toto and Helmut sort of decapitated each other mid-race, but the Day didn’t end until Carlos put me into the barrier.”

“Toto and Helmut did what?”

Day 43

"Tell me what happened yesterday."

Max freezes. The ache in his chest hasn't dulled at all.

Yesterday.

“It’s easier if I show you,” he murmurs, as he tries to ignore the sting in the corners of his eyes.

He steps closer to Charles. He hesitates.

The problem is that he has spent 42 Days with Charles, while Charles has spent none of those Days with him.

He laughs inwardly. But then again, Charles won’t remember this Day either, so what does he have to lose?

Boldness, grief, desire - seizes his chest all at once - and he gathers Charles’ face between his hands; for a fraction of a second, he realizes that Charles isn’t flinching, isn’t moving away. He kisses the soft lips, the very same ones he kissed for the first time yesterday.

Charles kisses him back. And it’s like it was yesterday again.

Day 61

It’s worse when he is the cause of death.

Day 87

No, it’s worse when Charles dies in his arms.

Day 90

He’s wrong again. Nothing is worse than seeing the grief in those green eyes as Max dies in his arms.

Max wants to rip at the gaping wound in his chest. Let him bleed out faster. Let it be tomorrow already.

Day 91

“Tell me what happened yesterday.”

Max laughs and sobs. (He sobs in joy.)

He thanks all the stars that Charles didn’t remember. That Charles never remembers.

Day 113

“I wish I could remember,” confesses Charles. “It doesn’t seem fair that you know so much about me, and I know almost nothing about you.” He traces his hand along Max’s exposed chest, nestling his face deeper into the crook of Max’s neck.

Max lets him explore. He selfishly loves it. There’s a certain awe in Charles’ expression that he adores, the way he “learns” (relearns) Max’s body each time.

“It’s better that you don’t,” he teases, going for levity this time. “It’s the only way I can guarantee you mind-blowing sex every time, like you’ve never experienced.”

Charles punches him lightly on the sternum. (Max smiles; it’s kinder than the mean little pinch Charles gave him on Day 99.)

“Let’s stay in bed today,” he suggests. “No racing today.”

Charles nods, pressing a feathery kiss to his collarbone. “Maybe that’s the trick.”

Max doesn’t have the heart to tell him that they already tried: Day 7, Day 21, Day 78, Days 103-109. If anything, they always died faster.

Day 188

“I love you,” Charles tells him.

Butterflies dance in his chest, and Max fights to maintain composure, just like he did all the previous times when Charles said those words. “You’ve only been with me for a few hours.”

“More than half a year,” corrects Charles.

Has it been that long? Max doesn’t say out loud.

He squeezes Max’s hand on their way out the door, on the way to the race track (on the way to their doom).

“Even if I don’t say it tomorrow, or the Day after that, or for a few Days,” insists Charles. “Just remember that I love you. Always. Even if I don’t remember it.”

Day 213

Charles dies for the fifteenth Day in a row.

Max prays to a deity that he doesn’t believe in.

Day 219

Charles dies for the twenty-first Day in a row.

Max curses the deity he doesn’t believe in. He vows to let the world break its fucking neck if it means he can keep Charles.

Day 220

He tries a different approach. He reaches for all the ugly parts of him that he once swore he would never become.

“- and that is why you will never win the Monaco Grand Prix,” he snarls at Charles, even as he feels his chest - his whole body - fracturing. He wants to bite until he bleeds and swallow his own tongue, but he ploughs on for Charles’ sake. “You will never live up to what you promised your father or Jules -”

Charles punches him. Hard.

It hurts.

He’s glad it hurts. Maybe if Charles hates him, like the universe did, maybe then - just maybe - he might live.

Day 224

“I didn’t mean it,” he swallows thickly. “I didn’t mean any of it -”

Charles kisses away whatever apology he was trying to form in his throat.

He can’t help but think: If Charles could remember, truly remember, he would never forgive me.

Day 330

Today, he doesn’t go to Charles at all.

Maybe he is the problem.

The poison that feeds this curse. He is the constant variable after all, the part of the equation that dooms them to this eternal purgatory.

Day 359

Charles tries to go to him.

He never accounted for that.

Max wants to open that door. Just one twist of the door knob, and Charles will be on the other side. Beautiful, kind, brave Charles. He wants -

It takes every might of his willpower to pull his hand away from the door.

Day 362

It’s raining. It never rains. This Day is always, unfailingly sunny.

Charles is in his arms once again, bleeding out on the pavement. The rain tries to wash the blood away. Tries to wash Charles away.

He’s crying, but Charles can’t see that, because the rain washes his tears away too.

“I should have been with you.”

All that wasted time. And for what?

He hasn’t seen Charles for twenty-two Days, but the green eyes that stare back at him are calm, even as the life behind them fades with every passing second.

“You’re with me now,” whispers Charles weakly.

“I love you,” he sobs. He doesn’t care if he’s practically a stranger to this Charles, the one dying in his arms. “I’m so sorry.”

When Charles’ eyes close at last, his face is peaceful, almost the hint of a smile tugging on his lips. A little bit of pain departs with the last breath that Max releases before his world fades to black.

Day 363

Charles launches a baguette at his head, and Max cannot believe the man still insists that he doesn’t possess a single iota of French ancestry.

“You abandoned me for how many days?” Charles’ accusation makes him flinch harder than the impact of the baguette on his forehead.

“Schat, I -”

Charles growls at him. “Don’t ‘schat’ me! First of all, I have no idea what that means -”

Max makes an offended noise. Charles loves his pet name, if only he could remember.

“Second of all,” continues Charles relentlessly, “I may not remember, but I felt it.”

That causes Max to fall silent.

“Oh.”

Charles sniffs, picking up the discarded baguette off the floor. “I don’t know how to explain it, but even when I don’t remember, I feel all of it. I can feel everything we went through.”

Day 365

Some Days are easier than others. He’s not sure which Day this one is yet. A quick, painless death after a long, beautiful day of laughter? They even made it past the actual race twice. (The first time, Charles drowned in the Monte Carlo harbour during the after party; it remains the one and only time he’s ever won the Monaco Grand Prix, which Max continues to tease him about. The second time, Daniel accidentally cracked Max’s skull with the podium champagne.) Or will it be a painful, drawn out death after a gloomy, joyless day? (Max is still embarrassed about that time he slipped on a bar of soap in the shower on Day 81, ending the Day about 15 minutes after it had started.)

Charles lays a bowl of tomato soup in front of him.

(Max once told him that he loved tomato soup. Maybe 150 Days ago. Maybe earlier than that. He mentioned it only once. Not that Charles ever remembers.)

Somehow Charles always remembers.

“So what’s the plan today?” asks Charles lightly.

The morning sun is streaming through the pearly white curtains, and a crown of light dances around Charles’ soft brown curls. A soft breeze through the open window wafts the tangy aroma of tomato soup towards him.

He takes Charles’ hand in his own and pulls him down so he can taste him on his lips.

“Just being with you,” he whispers, and his heart lightens when Charles rewards him with a dimpled smile. “If I have to live one Day over and over again, then I’m going to spend that Day with you.”

He understands now.

He thought the universe had cursed him. Had cursed them. But even a single Day with Charles was a gift. And he got to relive it over and over again. He won’t waste it again.

Day 366 Tomorrow

The alarm doesn’t go off at 7 am.

He only wakes up when the warm duvet is rudely snatched away from him, leaving him shivering in the crisp morning air. A pair of ice cold feet burrows their way into the warm space between his thighs, and a whiplash of messy brown hair makes his eyes sting after settling on his pillow.

Hope you enjoyed, @alestire

That kind of... spiralled.

#charles leclerc #max verstappen #lestappen #*#my fic #elle.ask #al tag #ask game #spotify wrapped inspired #this is how i cope with the monaco gp curse

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