#the slow burn has burst into flame

[inuyashaluver]

Maybe you could write one where Alessia has a girlfriend who is a firefighter (which means she is taller and more muscular that lessi). And the relationship is the typical sunshine and grumpy?

fire safety - alessia russo

alessia russo x reader

description: in which you and your girlfriend are absolutely smitten for each other, even if your girl is embarrassed for your initial interactions

warnings: do me a favour and imagine lessi has played in arsenal for much longer xx, swearing

a/n: this request had me GIGGLING like stopppp too good, thank you so much, please please please enjoy!!

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whenever someone asks for the introduction of your relationship with you and your girlfriend, alessia, your girl can’t help but be embarrassed.

it’s easy for alessia to say that your introduction to each other was degrading for her, not believing how much she embarrassed herself in front of you. however, the whole interaction with the arsenal striker, you couldn’t help but find her bubbly-self cute, completely contrasting your stern personality.

you’re a firefighter, a job that you absolutely loved. you were very serious about your job, often seen with a scowl on your face. helping people in need was one of life’s greatest rewards, until your girlfriend came along and took a joint first place in your heart. your girlfriend, the princess of women’s football loved nothing more than to do what she loves, both of you incredibly passionate.

—

it was a regular, cold day in england. a slow day for alessia at training and a slow day for you at the station. both of you were painfully single, seemingly, no one caught your eye, so much so that the both of you were constantly set up with people you just didn’t like.

“(y/n), just meet with this girl, she’s really cute” your colleague pleads, you were both currently sitting in uniform in the small break room at your fire station, patiently awaiting for the signal to go off in case of emergency.

you let out an exasperated sigh, leaning forward to cradle your face with your hands, shaking your head in frustration. “no, when the right person comes along, i’ll know, no more stupid dates” you point your finger at the girl with a glare, “ugh fine” she gives you a light shove, sinking into her seat as she glares at you over the table.

you were about to argue with her and instead got interrupted by the blaring of the alarm system, an emergency.

you quickly rush to get on your protective gear and head to the truck, hopping in the driver’s seat and going as quickly as you could.

“head to the arsenal training facility” your colleague informs, you let out a little hint of a smile, your favourite team, you nod and turn on the sirens.

—

“alessia! that’s fucking burning!” leah yells, alessia was currently making food for her and leah in the arsenal training facility kitchen when she looked away for just a quick second, the pan somehow bursting into flames.

“shit, shit, shit!” the fire alarm floods the facility, people rushing around to get out as quick as they could. smoke was filling the air of the small kitchen, no circulation causing the fire to stay put.

alessia was in a panic, she just froze, she had no idea what to do. leah was no help either, claiming she didn’t know how to use the fire extinguisher staring at them in the corner.

“what the fuck do we do?” alessia exclaims, looking at leah’s shocked face for help until she sees fire fighters filling up the room.

all of them had big helmets on, covering their faces, two of them put the fire out in no time. meanwhile, you see alessia and leah watching in horror, your eyebrow furrows at why they were still inside the smoky room, extremely dangerous for the both of them.

you colleague grabs leah and drags her outside, meanwhile, you walk up the prettiest girl you had ever seen, you’ve seen her on tv but god was she gorgeous in person. “focus” you whisper to yourself, you quickly place a hand on her back and direct her outside to where the staff and teams were waiting for clearance.

alessia looks up at you when she feels a hand on her back, you were so much taller than her, uncommon for the girl. all she could see was your eyes, your face covered by your thick helmet. she was red in the face looking up at you, completely dazed.

“are you okay?” a muffled voice says to her, she recognises that it’s yours. all she could do at this point was nod, your gloved hand still stationed on her back, keeping her relatively close to you.

you quickly nod at her, moving back inside to help the rest of your colleagues, coming out shortly after to the people outside staring at the 7 firefighters in their training facility.

you take off your helmet, lightly shaking your head and holding it under one of your arms. “fuck, okay” alessia mutters under her breath, looking at you with a dazed expression, taking in your muscular build and slightly flushed face, you were breathtaking.

a few of the girls on the team were looking at you in shock, many of them smirking and whispering at each other but all you could focus on was the pretty girl you took outside, her looking at you with pink cheeks.

your chief firefighter began talking to everyone, giving clearance to go back inside after about an hour, so the smoke could clear out. you stood to the side, eyes drawn to alessia, you were so intrigued by this girl, what were you going to do?

you take off your big jacket and store it in the truck, someone else would be driving on the way back. you were now in a short sleeve shirt, your muscles on full display. you only did this because you wanted the pretty girl to see you, not missing her ogling expressions towards you, you couldn’t help but smirk just at the thought.

suddenly, you feel a light touch to your shoulder, turning around to look down at just the girl you wanted to see.

“hi” she breathes out, smiling brightly at you, you give her a soft one in return,

“hey” you cross your arms and lean on the side of the truck, looking at her expectantly as her eyes trailed your body, shamelessly checking you out, you do the exact same thing, trailing your eyes over the gorgeous girl in her training kit.

“um, thank you for putting out that fire” she smiles sheepishly, rubbing her hands over her exposed arms.

“that’s my job” you smirk and shrug your shoulders, alessia turned a bright shade of red

“can i ask why you stood there in smoke when you could’ve died?” you move off the truck, standing directly in front of her with your arms crossed, she looked up at you with her piercing blue eyes, you were done for.

“oh! um..you see” she lets out an embarrassed laugh, “i kind of started the fire” she sighs, looking down at her shoes, lightly kicking the ground out of embarrassment.

“would you like me to give you a fire safety lesson..?” you bend down to dip your head towards her, catching her eyes

“alessia” she adds, you smile at her brightly,

“alessia, cute” you exhale through your nose in a little giggle, “now this is very serious, alessia, you could’ve seriously got hurt, your life matters you know?” you start, a stern expression evident on your face, alessia frowns a little at your scolding, nodding her head along with your words.

“you have seriously got to be more careful, this could’ve been way worse” you grumble, alessia nods again, avoiding your eye contact, getting scolded by literally her dream girl was quite humbling, she was so embarrassed.

“now that i’ve given you a scolding, let’s go through some fire safety” you quickly squeeze her arm as a comforting gesture, alessia’s breath hitched as your warm hand made contact with her cold arm.

“you must pay attention while you’re cooking, alessia” you remark, alessia cheeks were so pink, you couldn’t help but find her adorable.

“i was paying attention! and then leah showed me a video and we got distracted” she shakes her head and you look up to see leah looking at you both with a smirk, you squint your eyes at her and focus back on alessia.

“hm i see” you nod at her words, she finally looks up at you again, your eyes meeting with hers, you let in a sharp inhale,

“w-well okay, that’s fine, let’s just be more careful” she smiles at you and you just about die, feeling your cheeks grow warm. “i will” you smile back softly at her, just looking at each other for a few moments until you hear your chief calling for your team to leave.

alessia looks at you sadly, “now i hope the next time i see you, alessia, is that you’re not trying to die in a fire” you say cheekily, the girl lets out a small giggle at your words.

“and i hope the next time i see you..” she pauses,

“(y/n)” you fill in the blank expectantly,

“(y/n), pretty” she copies your previous exchange, “is that you’re not giving me a fire safety lesson” she smiles and you smirk at her,

“hm, we’ll see” you shrug, lightly squeezing her arm again as you move back to the truck, smiling when you see alessia waving bye to you shyly, you return her wave and get situated in your seat, ready to go back to the station.

both of you had the same thoughts after that, you need to see each other again.

—

about two weeks later, you were told a couple of firefighters needed to do a check up at the arsenal training facility for their fire alarms, you immediately volunteered in hopes of seeing alessia again.

alessia had thought about you everyday since she saw you, she only had your first name and it was incredibly hard to find you on social media, all she wanted was to see you again.

the girls were in the gym, doing slight warm ups. alessia was on an exercise bike, mindlessly peddling but stopping when she noticed a familiar build she had been thinking about for two weeks. you stroll in alone, letting out a slight smirk when you hear a wolf whistle when you walk in.

“sorry ladies, just need to check your fire alarms” you gesture to the ladder you were holding in one arm.

you look around and spot the girl you’d been thinking of everyday, the same one you’d been stalking on social media everyday. you had a hint of a glare on your face until you smile and wave at alessia, she just looks at you absolutely starstruck, this must have been a dream. leah beside alessia picks up her hand and waves it back at you, you smile and set up the ladder in the middle of the room, the girls around stopping what they’re doing to watch you.

it takes two seconds to check a fire alarm so you were very quick, not missing a few of the frowns when you climb down the ladder. alessia had stayed on the bike, watching your every move with a slightly agape jaw. all the girls watched in shock when they watched you walk up to alessia with a smirk, stopping in front of her and placing your hands on the handles of her bike, your hands brushing when she places them next to yours.

“hello, alessia”

“h-hi, (y/n)” she stumbles,

“i’m very happy to see that you’re not trying to die in a fire” you smirk at her, she can’t help but let out a little laugh,

“i’m very happy to see you” she smiles and you raise your eyebrows amusingly, “i mean! i’m very happy to see you’re not giving me a fire safety lesson” you smile at her pink cheeks, nodding in understanding with her,

“ah okay, well i actually came over here to give you a fire safety lesson” you joke, lightly grazing your thumb over her pinky, she looks down at them with a shy smile.

“yeah, okay” alessia laughs, moving her hand slightly closer to yours. “i came over here actually to get a pretty girls number so i could give her a private fire safety lesson, since she clearly needs it” you smirk, shrugging your shoulders, alessia flushes slightly, you own pink cheeks prominent.

“hm” she hums, “i think i do, so i’ll give the pretty girl in front of me my details so i can be extra safe.” alessia and you pull out your phones at the same time, exchanging numbers and shy smiles.

“well, alessia, i’ll call you about your private session” you wink at her, she smiles and nods, watching you pick up the ladder and walk out of the room, but not without glancing back at her with a grin.

“alessia! what the fuck! how did you pull her?” katie exclaims, getting harshly shoved by caitlin in the corner.

“i have no idea” alessia mumbles, looking down at your contact information in her phone.

—

and so, you invited alessia out on a date, going extremely well. you met up multiple times during the week, finding out you lived 5 minutes from each other. slowly, you both begin to date, now being in a relationship for just over 2 years.

you moved in together, finding a new flat in the same location, both of you absolutely smitten with each other. you always came to alessia’s games or came to visit her at training. alessia loved it, calling you a big softie and always laughing at your scowl.

you went to a game one day, sitting in the friends and family section to watch your girl play in your ‘russo’ jersey. arsenal had won 3-1, alessia scoring one of the goals. she spots you waiting for her near the tunnel, her eyes lighting up and running over to you. you smile brightly at her, lifting her easily over the barrier to stand right in front of you, alessia wraps her arms around your neck and pulls you into a tight hug.

you hide your face in her neck, placing a small kiss there and rubbing your hands over her back, pulling her closer.

“hi, baby” she breathes out,

“hi, lessi baby” you give her a light squeeze, pulling away to be at arm's length so you could see her face.

she puckers her lips up at you and you smile, leaning down to place a sweet kiss on her lips, moving together tenderly, gently and filled with so much love. you both kept it tame from the peering eyes of spectators, pulling away with a quick peck before picking her up and placing her back over the barrier.

alessia smiles shyly, “let me shower and i’ll meet you at the back” you nod at her, alessia smiles brightly and blows you a kiss before running off to the change rooms.

you wait for her by your car, alessia was your passenger princess and she loved it way more than she would like to admit. she walks out tiredly, dressed in one of your hoodies and some shorts. she smiles at you brightly and trudges towards you, you run up to her and sweep her up in your arms, carrying her to the car with a bright smile. she smiles at you so brightly, “softie” she whispers, giggling at your fake scowl, “star girl” this time you laugh at her scowl full of complete amusement, she rolls her eyes at you when you place her in the seat and buckle her in with a peck to her lips.

as soon as you both got inside of the house, both of you get changed, and when you near the couch, alessia pushes you down and completely lies on top of you. you let out a little laugh when she sinks her weight into you. you place your hand under her hoodie to roam your hands on the skin of her back, the girl hums at your contact.

she moves to hover over you, smiling at you brightly.

“my pretty girl” you whisper affectionately, puckering your lips up at her, she immediately moves to kiss you, kissing each other softly until you grab the back of her head to deepen the kiss. you both pull away breathlessly, smiling at each other brightly.

“i’m so happy you gave me a fire safety lesson” she says cheekily,

“well i’m not going to say i’m happy you almost died in a fire but i’m happy i saw you anyway” you remark with a wink, grinning at her, she groans in embarrassment, hiding her face in your neck, you let out a bright laugh, holding her close to you.

—

whenever you and alessia visited each other at work, you would look at each other so proudly, bragging and showing each other off. everyone could see how in love with each other you were, incredibly endearing for the ones that were trying to set you up on dates for years and years.

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liked by leahwilliamsonn and 44,232 others

alessiarusso99: i’ll commit arson if it means i get to see her in this uniform

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yourname: have we learnt nothing?

↳ alessiarusso99: i learnt that i love a woman in uniform?

↳ yourname: baby, do we need another fire safety lesson? seems like you learnt nothing from our previous ones

↳ alessiarusso99: hm, i think i do

↳ yourname: minx

[garoujo]

・✶ ｡ﾟthere’s something intimate about the way gojo holds you as he fucks you.

♱ warnings — f!reader, unprotected sex, creampie, some soft sex w gojo & him holding your hand as he fucks you.

♱ note — this is very much for this nonnie . i hope u see this ! fank yew 4 giving me this excuse 2 write about ‘toru . i’ve missed him so much ><

the squeeze of your walls around gojo’s cock is tight but the way his hand is intertwined with your own feels even tighter, and it makes something warm burst and heat along your skin when you feel his lips graze along your jawline.

“squeezin’ real tight, sweet thing. you like that?” he drawls, he’s breathing as heavy as you are and fuck—it feels good, he always does. your brain is hazy with the way he’s holding you, intertwined hands almost gentle in comparison to how deep he’s fucking you, panties hanging around your ankle before he’s pressing another kiss to your cheek.

“i can’t hear you.” gojo laughs, a breathless croon that’s low and ragged in your ear, and you’re wound so tight you feel something burn and twist in your stomach at the sound before he’s squeezing your hand against his — arm curling around your waist to keep your chest pressed against his broad one.

“it—ah, it feels so good, ‘toru.” your legs hook around him with a squeak when he pushes deeper, lips pressing against your cheek and you can feel the way they curl into a grin along your skin, your words making him shudder above you before he’s pinning your intertwined hands above your head.

“oh yeah? can tell. pussy’s so greedy f’ me, princess.” gojo pants against you, hips pressing tight against yours so you can feel the strength in them — making something delightful burst and ache inside of you when his cock smoothes along your swollen spots, making you exhale in reverence.

he’s groaning into each kiss he presses into your skin, your eyes rolling back as you try to meet every wet connection of his hips with little, needy rolls of your own. you’re so soft and pliant for him, drinking up everything he gives you and more, knuckles almost white with how tightly your squeezing his larger hand with your own to ground yourself.

“fuck—satoru! please, wanna cum.” you whimper, tight and needy and you hear gojo hum teasingly against your cheek with your plea, but you can feel the way his cock throbs inside of you all the same. “hmm, i hear you, sweet girl.”

the next draw back and wet clap of his hips feels like it knocks the air out of your lungs, intertwined hands pushing higher above you as you chant out choked moans of his name, desire heavy in his rhythm as he fucks into you.

you feel his arm uncurl it’s way from your skin to let his fingers split through your folds instead, easily rubbing sticky circles into your swollen clit along with the perfect drag of him inside of you that has you seeing stars, stretching you wide around his thick cock as your tits bounce beneath him.

“shit—pussy’s fuckin’ made f’ me.” gojo’s words feel like they burn you in the best way, making your eyes roll back as his fingers twist around the puffy mess of your clit — making your hips twist in time with the deep press of his cock along your fluttering insides.

“satoru.. g-gonna cum.” you cry as your voice takes a pitch higher, fingertips almost white as you squeeze them around your intertwined hands.

“go ahead, nice ‘n pretty f’ me. yeah?” his voice drips like honey through you until your ears ring with the next deep stroke of his cock into you, rocking your hips in tandem with his restless flicks and rolls of your clit as you cum while he sucks at your pulse point.

gojo curls himself over you with the next tight squeeze of your cunt, his thrusts losing his pace as he fans the flames of your orgasm, cumming so thick and heavy inside of your twitching walls it makes his whole body shudder with a shameless, long groan into your neck.

you feel pliant and limp beneath him when his thrust ease into slow, shallow grinds — hearing him moan sweet and whispery into your ear before his hips are halting and he’s pulling back to look over you with a drowsy sort of smirk through his messy, snowy bangs.

“stop staring at me, ‘toru.” you grumble, a pout sitting on your lips that are still swollen from his kisses. but he chuckles and smears a kiss along your hands that still lay intertwined, before he’s leaning in to press one against your lips after with a pout that almost mirrors your own.

“what? no thank you, satoru. my sweet girl is so mean.”

© 2022 garoujo. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[lunargrapejuice]

please be okay

sephiroth (pre nibelheim) x reader with no pronouns used

angst with a happy ending, reader is mentioned being shorter than him

you felt the momentary shake under your feet before any news of what actually occurred had made its way around the facility. it was a tremor that maybe you shouldn’t have questioned when this deep in a shinra facility, let alone in the public security wing. it’s entirely possible 2nd and 3rd class soldiers are destroying a training room and some of those around you hadn’t even batted an eye but there’s a dreadful pit in your stomach telling you something was so terribly wrong and as quickly as it had come and gone, your walk back to the first class office turned into a full blown run.

“what the hell was that?” your words fill the room the second the doors are open enough and with each quick step you’re making your way to the desk lazard sits behind. as soon as the doors close behind you, the alarms outside begin to blare.

angeal is standing facing lazard, buster sword attached to his back and his arms folded. you can’t see either of their expressions but the seriousness of the situation is evident by how thick the air in the room feels, the tension it builds forcing you to slow your steps. you quickly glance around and note the lack of anyone else around. genesis left for a mission outside of midgar earlier today so that’s to be expected but you saw sephiroth this morning and no other classes of soldiers are around either. it’s only you three.

“a mako line in the building exploded,” lazard answers, his voice seemingly as calm as ever but his brows are drawn in tightly, giving a bit of his emotions away from behind his hands that are folded in front of his face.

your eyes widen. “it exploded?” you ask with emphasis, noting his choice of words. not a leak or even a burst but an explosion.

where is sephiroth? you want to ask immediately after, your stomach already tying in knots, keeping you from asking in fear of the answer but praying to whatever god will listen that either of the men next to you will tell you he’s not in the building for one reason or another.

lazard nods, unfolding his hands and turning his computer monitor to show you a green hued screen displaying the view of the security camera outside of the medical section of this wing. it’s on fire, getting hazy through the smoke clouding the lens but you can make out troopers and other staff struggling to leave for more reasons than just the flames, unable to breathe the little air there was with such high concentration of mako still flowing into it.

you can see the sparkling particles on the screen as it takes over every free bit of space, swirling with the fire like an ethereal flame, and it makes you swallow thickly the longer it unfolds before you but you’re not even breathing at all when angeal finally speaks.

“sephiroth went in to see if the shut off valve made it through the explosion.”

the world follows suit of your lungs and stops completely, only the heavy force of your painfully slow heartbeats giving you any kind of proof that you weren’t frozen in this horrific moment but rather actively living in it. 

when the air returns to your lungs, burning and aching, you don’t say anything to lazard or angeal before running at full speed out the door and into the chaos of public security. your hands are shaking as you reach for your phone in your pocket and dial sephiroths number, holding back the wet sting of your eyes. maybe it’s ridiculous to be nearly in tears worried over shinras strongest soldier and if you were thinking more logically, out of everyone a first class soldier would be the most likely to survive so much mako exposure and get past the flames quickly but it didn’t matter to you.

not when the force of the aching in your heart nearly rips it completely in two because it’s him, the man who has been burned into your very being from the first the moment he captured your heart without even knowing it. he still doesn’t know. would he accept it if he did? you push the thought away. it can’t be at the front of your mind when all this anxious worry uncontrollably swirls within you and is taking over your every thought.

pick up dammit.

the phone rings and rings and rings and you feel the bile in your stomach rolling but when you’re about to hang up, he finally picks up on the other line, calling your name in a way that almost convinces you that it’s okay. but its so very not okay.

“are you somewhere safe?” he asks and you can’t believe how worried about you he seems when he’s the one in danger. he’s not hiding it in his normally deep and collected tone either, you can hear it in his words.

“y-yes,” you try to will it not to but your voice still shakes. “but sephiroth-”

“good,” he interrupts you with relief and the echo of his quick steps fill the split moment of quiet between you. 

you’re trying to find the words to speak into the universe so he’ll make it out of this, make it back to you.  

“stay put,” he requests before hanging up, knowing you well enough by now that you already weren’t doing that but hoping maybe his words would convince you all the same.

your jaw clenches and you pick up the pace, holding your phone at your side as if it was his hand keeping him tethered to you, any part of your sanity echoing what you know to be true; how strong and resilient he is. he could make it through anything.. right? he has to.. 

there’s a barricade of troopers already beginning to form a good distance away from the explosion and you are no exception to their order to not let anyone through. not that it stopped you from trying but you weren’t even sure what your plan was if you did get past them. run into the mako riddled infirmary in search of him? possibly get in his way because there was no way you are as fast as he is? but fuck.. you just needed to be closer. closer to where he’d exit any minute now - because it had to be any minute now right? closer to him in case he called back and needed you, which was a silly thought in and of itself but even if your strength could not match his, you would do anything to help him right now.

“lazard tell them i can get through!” you’re losing it, absolutely helpless and it’s killing you. your tone says as much when your boss comes into view, having chased after you at angeals heels. 

he looks at you with pity or empathy in his eyes, you really can’t tell which it is in your state but it’s a flicker before his face falls back into a serious expression and he’s firm in his answer. “no.”

before you can protest, the bubbling lid barely held over your emotions ready to crash into the ground and spill over, another explosion shakes the floors and walls, harder than the last time now that you’re closer to the source. you easily keep your balance but you feel dizzy at how quickly you turn around to head straight from it and nauseous when you see more smoke billowing down the long hallway.

you don’t make it a single full step before angeals strong grasp is around your wrist, keeping you in place. there’s no hiding what’s within you when it’s so evident in your eyes, all full of anguish and desperation, and no words are shared between you when you look back at him, just a knowing look that tells you about duty and honor above all else. even above love.

biting your bottom lip, you tear your gaze and your hand away from him and use all the willpower you have to keep your feet grounded but every passing moment your muscles scream to move. 

two slow minutes pass by and the security officers blocking the way begin to urge you back more at the orders you hear their commanding officer give them but you don’t budge and leave no room for question with the biting glare you give them when they try to touch you to get you to move. 

another minute ticks by, your brain not keeping up with your racing heart, neither in sync with the other as you take in breath after breath and beg yourself not to cry. this is agony like you had never felt before. like you were losing a part of yourself you had never had a hold of to begin with but there’s no regret. not yet anyway. just painful impatience while you hold onto hope and everything you have ever felt for sephiroth like it's a lifeline, until it’s being crushed in your grasp.

“i’m going in there,” you hear angeal say from behind you.

you’re ready to turn on your heels and demand to go with him when your eyes catch the faintest movement in the smoke. on bated breath you watch a tall frame emerge from the smoke and use all of your strength to not collapse under the weight of your relief when you can see sephiroth clearly, making long strides right towards you. he’s marked in soot, his armor charred and he’s practically dripping in mako from head to toe. it clings to him, falling like snow behind him in his steps but he’s alive and hardly looks fazed or out of breath.

you cannot say the same for yourself. ignoring the yelling of the troopers who demand for you to stay back when your legs carry you as quickly as they can to him, you look the same as the mess you feel inside but you don’t care who's around to see or what they might think. all you can focus on are the cyan eyes of the man you love in front of you and the taut tether that’s pulling you right into his arms.

throwing your arms around his neck, your entire body crashes against his but in his infinite strength, he holds steady. you can feel his arms hesitate to wrap around you in return but when they do, he holds you with such tender strength that both soothes you and breaks down the last of your barely held together demeanor with one arm strong arm wrapped around your middle, his other hand cradling the back of your skull.

“you’re okay,” you choke out like you had to hear it spoken out loud to believe it, feeling a few of your held back tears fall and melt against his cheek pressed against yours. a heartbeat echoes between you and you aren’t sure if it’s yours or his but underneath the smoke you can faintly smell his familiar leather and floral scent. he’s warm, so warm, his hair soft, his breaths steady against your own that try to match his. “you’re okay.”

his hold on you tightens and he shifts to stand nearly at his full height, lifting you onto the very tips of your toes, your bodies now completely flush, but you don’t struggle to hold onto him and he doesn’t let you go a bit. the large hand on the back of your head tangles into your hair and quietly, like the words were only meant for you, he whispers, “i’m okay.”

comments & reblogs would be so greatly appreciated!<3 thank you for reading ♡

[celtic-crossbow]

I Can Sabotage Me By Myself

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Setting: Early Alexandria

Warnings: Typical TWD violence, descriptions of injuries, temporary character death (I promise)

Summary: You always knew it would hurt to lose Daryl, but you never imagined it would feel like this.

A/N: Honestly, today has not been a good day for me. So I needed some super angst. I apologize in advance.

“Don’t touch him!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, your hands pulling away from the man on the ground for a moment. Rick backed away, his wide eyes shining with unshed tears. He didn’t go far but just away was enough. You leaned down, smoothing back the archer’s hair, not even caring about the blood that was wetting the strands you touched. “Hey, hey, hey. I’m here. Just look at me, I’m here.”

Daryl’s eyes were wide and focused on you; god, the prettiest blue eyes you had ever seen. You always told him you could see everything you had ever wanted in his eyes. Even now, when they were filled with pain and fear, you could still see everything. 

“Ssshhh,” you tried to soothe him, even as blood streamed over his lips. The bite in his throat was deep. It was fatal. You knew that. He did, too. Still, you held pressure against it. He would bleed out faster if you didn’t. You were selfish. He was in pain, choking on his own blood and all you could think about was hoping he’d last one more minute. And then one more. And then one more. 

Daryl brought his hand to your face, cupping your cheek and leaving a crimson print on your skin. You didn’t care. That’s not what you felt at that moment. You felt his touch, cooler but still warm. Still alive. 

“You’re alright.” You lied. You knew that he knew that too, but even as he coughed and red burst past his lips, he smiled at you. It was small and pained but genuine. When his hand fell away from your face and you clearly heard the sounds of your friends sobbing over the gunfire and struggles still happening around you, you knew you couldn’t pretend any longer. “Please, don’t go.” 

Daryl was still now, blinking slowly, any fight left in him fizzling out. He was still watching you. You could tell there was so much he wanted to say. “Please, Daryl, I can’t. I can’t do any of this without you.” The movement was so slow and soft, the very last of his energy. He put his hand on his chest, over his heart, and then pointed a trembling finger at you. You nodded, grabbing that hand to kiss his palm and hold it against where your own heart was beating. “Me too.” You whispered, watching his eyes close. “Me too.”

All other sounds faded, no longer mattering. You stayed frozen to that spot, his hand still held against your chest. You kept it there, trembling as you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his forehead and then his mouth, ignoring the blood there. Your fingers gently grasped his chin and turned his face away from you before you took hold of the hilt of the knife strapped to your thigh. The flames burning all around you reflected on the blade as its sharp tip pressed in just below the base of his skull. “Me too.” You whispered again. The wail you released echoed as you drove the knife forward, all you could hear over and over and over and over and then darkness. 

You sat up with a gasp, skin glistening with sweat that had your camisole sticking flush against you, heart pounding a tattoo into your ribs. There wasn’t enough air. You were looking frantically around the room. The lighting from one small window was dim at best, but you could see the bed you were lying on. There were clothes on the floor, in a pile against the wall. One small shelf. Two nightstands. A door, half open. You could barely make out the toilet and shower stall. Next to the main door, propped against the wall, was a crossbow. 

Daryl’s room. 

Had you come down here and passed out after it happened? You were so confused. Your chest ached, both from lack of air and something else. Still gasping through an onslaught of tears, you looked down beside you to Daryl’s pillow. You fell onto your side and pulled it against your chest, sobbing through uncontrolled breaths. It still smelled like him. 

The door creaked loudly as it opened. Daryl had always scowled at the thing and said he would fix it. You didn’t know who had entered but they turned on the light. You were certain they’d be distressed at finding you like this: tangled in the sheets, crying, and hugging the archer’s pillow. Surely, they’d understand. 

“The hell ya doin’ to my pillow?”

You froze. You stopped breathing, eyes wide open. Sitting up quickly, your bloodshot eyes landed on the very man you had just been mourning. He was standing in the doorway, slowly closing the thing behind him while he kept his worried gaze on you. 

“Ya alright? Ya look like shit.” He drawled. He took a slow step toward you, hands up like he was showing you he was unarmed. Your breathing had picked up again but your body didn’t seem to be getting the signals your brain was sending it. “Y/N?” He was at the foot of the bed now, leaning down with his head tilted. 

Before he could say anything else, you launched at him, arms winding around his neck. Your body collided with his so forcefully that he stumbled back with a grunt, able to catch his balance even as your legs wrapped around his waist. He didn’t say anything as you all but wailed against his neck. His arms, which had been hovering outward, found their way around you so he could gently rub your back. 

“Ya gonna tell me what’s goin’ on?” He walked forward and sat down with you still firmly attached to his front. You shook your head against him. “Fair ‘nough.” He shrugged and continued to rub your back until your sobs quieted to occasional hiccups. You finally pulled back, eyes swollen and red. Daryl gave you a concerned once over and then tucked some hair behind your ear. 

“I had—I had a nightmare.” You knew now it had been just that. Your sleep-addled brain had earlier left you confused and emotional, unable to pull yourself out of the terror you had endured. You were able to remember going hunting with Daryl that morning. The two of you had returned with a small doe. A headache had been threatening to build all day, so Daryl had sent you off for a nap and reminded you to take something for your head. “Alexandria was—there were walkers everywhere—Daryl, you were bit—” Your hand quickly pressed against his throat, as if you were assuring yourself there was no wound. “I watched as—I had to—” 

“M’right here.” Somehow, he made sense of your ramblings. He tried to catch your eyes but you lowered your head.  “Hey.” His finger hooked beneath your chin and guided you to look at him. “M’fine. Been helpin’ Carol for the past couple’a hours. M’good.” He released your chin only to take one of your hands. He pulled his vest aside to place your palm against the shirt he wore beneath it. His heart beat strongly against your touch, if not a little fast. “See?”

You laughed in spite of yourself. You were awake now and had already figured out that it had all been a grizzly nightmare, but this somehow brought you a new level of calm. Before he could say anything else, you pressed your mouth against his, smiling at the ‘oomph’ that escaped him. He proceeded to kiss you breathless, until you were just a boneless heap in his arms. 

“Ya good now?” He asked, pushing you back a little to see your face. 

“I’m good.” You smiled softly, tracing your fingertips along his jaw. 

“Good.” He grabbed your arm and pulled while standing, his other arm behind your thighs hoisting you the rest of the way across his shoulder. Your laughter bubbled up and out of your throat as your fists lightly pounded against his back. “Let’s getcha fed an’ then we can spend the rest’a the night lettin’ ya find out just how alive I am.”

“Oh my god, Daryl! Shut up!”

[divineidolatry]

CONSTANTLY IN THE DARKNESS — CHAPTER TWO

— written by june.

pairing: coriolanus snow x reader*

rating: explicit (18+) — mind the tags, see masterlist for disclaimers

summary: against your wishes, you call the curtain on your relationship with coriolanus snow and walk out of his life for good. against your wishes, he waltzes back in like nothing's changed.

tags: exes to lovers, it's complicated, slow burn but they're constantly fucking, manipulation, toxic relationship, power play, unprotected sex, bdsm, dom!coriolanus, sub!reader, edging, overstimulation, orgasm denial, spit kink, bondage, pearl play, choking, shoe riding, degradation, dirty talk, brat taming, penetrative sex (piv), aftercare

taglist: comment on the masterlist to be added to the taglist.

wordcount: 6,747

index: previous chapter

Coryo, ever good at playing the gentleman, gets out first and offers you a hand, which you take gratefully. It’s comforting, being able to lean on him for stability as you cross the pristine and empty lobby to the elevator. It’s all familiar. Nothing has changed. Even the staff remembers your name. It’s like you never left.

He puts a hand over yours, looking at you with that cool expression of his that you know so well, full of poise and elegance, but there is an unmistakable pull in the air between you. The elevator doors open and he bows his head to the neighbors coming out, exchanging a brief pleasantry, and you put on a pleasant face. Part of you wants him to see you still hold the value you promised: perfect at his side, controlled to the very end.

When the elevator doors slide shut and the gears begin pulling it up, he releases a sigh and pushes you up against the gilded walls, hand dropping down to your hips.

“I missed the scent of your perfume in here,” he whispers in your ear, and it’s hard to trust him, hard to believe he means any sweetness he says — but what’s the harm? He buries his nose under your ear and inhales deep, his breath hot and humid against your skin.

You swallow, licking your lips, watching the floors pass by. 10, 11…

“I missed the scent of you.” His lips graze your earlobe and you can’t hold it back anymore — you missed this, you missed him, you missed his skin pressed to yours, his touch. You moan, and as the elevator slows down as it gets to his floor, you feel him smile against your neck.

The board is all his.

He wastes no time scooping you up to carry you to the bedroom, tossing your fur shawl off to the side somewhere between entrance and bedroom. Setting you down on his bed, he pauses for a moment, looking at you like he has discovered a piece of priceless art thought to be lost to time. You stare back, pulse quick, blinking too much, wondering when the bubble will burst. This is delicate, too delicate, you were supposed to be clashing, ripping clothing off one another, begging for release — and instead there’s a tender fondness lurking in the room, offsetting your balance.

“Coriolanus…” Your voice is barely more than a breath. He stiffens a little, annoyed that you’d dare disrupt his reverie.

And that’s the thing. Even though you are here, there is that tug in your heart that nothing has truly been resolved. You’re just a moth to the flame, likely to get burned.

You squirm under his gaze, wanting him to take you, touch you, tease you, anything. Instead, he just looks you over, inch by inch, his eyes roving and hungry. The fire in him is rising and you tremble, eager to be consumed, and you part your lips a little, wetting them. It catches his eyes and he comes closer, leaning over you toy with the pearls on the gown’s bodice. He tugs a little on them, not bothering to look up at you.

What game is he getting at now?

“Stay still.”

Ah, there it is. The command in his voice, something sharp entering his gaze. A terrible and pleasant shiver passes through you, your body knowing what’s coming before your mind catches up.

He pulls a butterfly knife out from his coat pocket, flicking it against the pearls of your dress, tearing them off and ruining the design. You pout, but he gently traces the knife along the velvet, cutting at the straps, his brow furrowed with intense focus. This is simply meant to debase you, to ruin you, to claim you. And when he pulls up your skirt, he will find you soaking through the silk and lace of your lingerie.

“Coryo…” Your whine brings his eyes back to your face. He looks entirely unamused.

“You know better than that, doll.”

“I liked this dress, sir.” You are huffy and indignant, and you know what that does to him, how it irks him to have you pushing back. It’s easy to read on his face, how he wants nothing more than to lift you up, shove you against a wall, and put you in your place, you begging and blubbering all the while.

And it is exactly where you want to be.

“I know. Stand up.”

No more room for debate. You do as told, turning your back to him as he slices the knife through the ties of your bodice. The sensation of cool air touching your skin makes you whimper, and he presses himself to your backside, letting you bask in the heat of him, a taste of what’s to come.

The wet heat of his breath against the nape of your neck sends goosebumps down your arms, and he leans in to whisper in your ear.

“Do you remember your safe word, darling?”

You nod and he sighs. Is it relief? Is it joy? You aren’t quite sure, and he doesn’t let you linger on it before he turns you around and gives your ruined dress the gentlest of tugs, watching intently as your breasts spill out.

“There you are… starting to look like the slut you are.” His words are unforgving, and he smirks at the whine catching in your throat.

“Oh? Do you disagree? Good girls don’t usually give their exes fuck me eyes at a high society balls, or beg to be taken by them in the back of a car, now do they?” He sounds like a right prick, and you’ve never been more attracted to him in your life.

You shake your head, feeling the warm, salty sting of tears, and he steps close, pressing himself to you as he twists your chin upwards to lick at the wet trail running down your cheek.

“Crawling back to me like this, grinding against me like a common whore… just look at you.” He drags a hand up from your waist to grasp at your breast, pinching the nipple, appraising you in a way that has you pressing your thighs together, something he does not fail to note.

“I’d strip you bare now and give you exactly what you want if I were a better man.” His eyes flash cruel and dark, and he’s so dangerously beautiful like this. Like he wants to watch you turn to cinders in his hands if you’d let him — and you would. “But I don’t think you need that, no. You need to be debased. You need be used. Isn’t that right, darling?”

He wants you to admit it, beg for him to tease you, treat you like a whore, use and degrade you, and you are burning up with want for him to do exactly that.

You only hesitate for a moment before you nod, swallowing thickly. “Mhm. Please put me in my place, sir.”

He laughs at you, harsh and oppressive, but you can feel the growing hardness pressing against your lower belly. As easy as you are, he’s no better for when you drip ’sir’ from your lips like honey for his ego.

“Oh darling…” He runs a thumb over your kiss-swollen lower lip. “You can ask me much better than that. Remember, I’ve seen how low you’ll go to debase yourself for me, so let’s not play dumb, hmm?”

You swallow again and it feels like rocks. He has begun fondling your other breast, letting its weight feel some relief from the way he massages it, watching as your mouth goes agape when he toys with the nipple. Everything is betraying you, any argument you might make faltering in your head.

You close your eyes, jaw quaking with poorly contained need, an intense blush bleeding over your cheeks.

“Sir, I want you to treat me like the whore that I am. Please, punish and use me as you see fit, for I want nothing more than to serve as your slut.”

You sound so desperate and you hate how humiliating that is, but he steps back and pushes you back onto the bed, kneeling down to lift the hem of your dress and bunch it up around your waist.

“Let me see if your words hold any meaning,” he murmurs against the tender skin of your inner thigh. Like a starved man, he bends his head down and sucks at the gusset of your underwear, the sound so loud in your ears that you feel dizzy. It’s obscenely filthy, and you can feel his wet tongue through the soaked fabric, licking at the edges. When it makes contact with your skin, it feels like a bolt of electricity crackling through your nerves.

You lift a gloved hand to thread through his hair, holding him there and bucking into his mouth, stealing a moment of this. When he comes up, your hand falls away, surrendering to the dark and primal in his eyes.

“You’re soaked through, desperate, and what I give you still isn’t enough, mm?”

There’s a shred of defiance in you, and you cling to it like a weapon, leveraging it to egg him on. “I need more.”

He retrieves the knife from his pocket and trails it with a feather-light touch over your underwear. “Look,” he commands as he grabs one side, slicing the knife through, then repeats on the other, peeling the tattered garment away and throwing it to the side.

He sits back, smirking, smugly satisfied with himself. “Look at you. A fallen grace.” He shifts to the side, allowing you to look in the mirror across from his bed, and oh, you know what he means, you’ve seen the marble statues on show from the old world. Your ruined dress pools around your waist, tits hanging out, cunt dripping and accessible: there’s no other way to put it, he’s reduced you to a simple whore.

“You can dress yourself up in your finest, parade yourself around like the queen of high society, and charm the masses with your wit, but I know who you really are.”

Your eyes meet his, knowing he is watching your uneven breath, the minute movements of your body in response to his words. There is a cruel glint in his gaze as he continues to undo you with nothing more than his voice, the words dripping like honeyed poison from his lips.

“You’re nothing more than a greedy little girl who wants to be made to submit, to take cock in each and every hole until you forget yourself, to cum until you’re stupid and no one else in the world would want you… no one but me.”

He reaches down and cups a hand over your cunt, running a finger through all your slick, and there’s a twisted delight on his face.

“You’re dripping, darling. And I’ve barely touched you… what do you have to say for yourself?”

You writhe, bucking your hips against his hand only to find emptiness as he swiftly moves away, clicking his tongue at your greed.

“Ah, ah. Where are your manners?”

You hate him for it, the bastard, but he knows how to wring it from you. “Please, sir,” you whimper, clutching the bedsheets around you so hard you feel the nails tearing the fine fabric. “Please. Touch me. Spit on me. Do anything to me.”

You need him. You are under his thumb.

And he always knows what you want. For his cruel touch, you’d walk through any blaze — it’s the only thing that stirs you anymore, the only thing that feels real in this society of masks and charades.

Deep down, you hope that is what he sees in you too…

He pulls you off the bed and pushes your trembling body down on your knees. He sneers down at you with disdain, running a hand through your hair before he tugs at it to crane your neck up, causing you to let out a whining cry.

“What am I to do with such a filthy whore but use her for her intended purpose, right?”

You watch him, desperate with need. He releases your hair and slaps your cheek.

“You know when I ask you a question, I expect an answer. Do you think you can do that for me, hmm?”

You nod, thrilling at the touch even as it stings.

“Yes, sir.” You wince at how pathetic you sound.

“Good girl.” The words are a purr from his lips. “Now, I believe you know how to service me with that mouth. So show me what you’re best used for.”

Consumed with want as you are, you hastily undo his belt and unzip his trousers, licking the hard curve through his underwear. Your saliva hangs in thick strings between the fabric and your mouth, and he groans above you, fingers tightening in your hair. It spurns you on as you free his cock. You tongue at the tip, messy and wet, saliva already dripping down over your chin before taking it into your mouth, stabilizing yourself with a hand at his thigh. The hand in your hair softens its grip and he runs his fingers through your hair. You sigh around him, the touch so gentle, so pleasantly encouraging as you slowly take more of him in. His length and girth fills your mouth, and you push it as far back as you can take, and he lets out a hitched groan as you begin to bob your head at a languid but steady pace.

“That’s a good fucking girl.” His voice is low, heated. You’re already getting to him, and that’s good, but the praise gets to you too, leaving you whimpering around his cock and bucking your hips, wanting just a little touch, anything…

“You’re not really sucking like a proper whore though, are you?”

His other hand comes up to your hair and you feel his fingers comb through to establish a firm grip. You stutter a little, but pick up the pace, hollowing your cheeks as you suck him as deep as possible, relaxing your throat — if you just breathe a little deeper, maybe you can take him to the root, maybe…

“That’s it, that’s it, good little whore.”

And you can tell he means it by the laboured breathing. Your increased pace is met with him starting to thrust into your mouth, leaving you to choke and slobber around his cock, drooling and making a mess of yourself that drips down over your chin, spilling over your breasts. As you descend further to your place beneath him, you can tell he is doing the same, getting lost in the way he wants to take you, ravish you, own you. No role comes as easy as this to you — and he’s the one who could get you there with a snap of his fingers.

So you give him bite, just like when you first met. The slightest bit of teeth as he fucks your face, and you hear him moan shortly before he cums down your throat. You’ve surprised him, taken that from him, and it is a victory. Credit where it is due, however, he’s quick to pull out and let some of his cum hit your chest, turning you into an even worse mess. Even as you look more the part he wants you in, you can tell he is frustrated, and you’re thrilled to find out what comes next.

You watch — not without a little disappointed whine — him tuck himself back into his underwear, zip his trousers back up, and it isn’t long before he has a cruel grip at your chin.

“Open your mouth. Tongue out.”

He sounds furious and his expression leaves no room for doubt. You obey, and you know it’s coming before his cool saliva hits your tongue as he spits in your mouth.

“Close your mouth and swallow, cunt.”

You swallow, loudly, humiliatingly, and there’s tears welling in the corners of your eyes again, hot and shameful. You open it again without him asking, showing your clean tongue, showing how good you can be.

“Please, sir… I want to cum…”

He laughs at you. There are tears streaming down your face, you know he sees how desperate you are and all he does is stick the toe of his dress shoe against your cunt.

“If you want to cum, darling, you can rut against my shoe.”

You wish you had shame left, but he has ripped it clean out of you with how badly you need him. There’s no hesitation as you cling to his thigh, rocking your hips as you finally find an angle that has your swollen clit pressing against the smooth leather of his shoe, smearing the polished dark with your wetness. You’re close, you hate how close you are, rutting against his shoe, but the moans betray you, everything betrays you, and you look up to find him smirking down at you.

“You continue to impress me with how desperate you are for me. Your first orgasm of the night, and it’s going to be had clinging to my shoe like dirt.”

Sobbing, you rut harder, more desperate, because you need this. You need to cum, you need him to see you like this, pathetic with your need for him so that maybe he might take you, cruelty and all. You know he wants to, know he is as desperate as you from how he just came, he just wants you to play his games, debase yourself, and you’ve never had a problem with that before. The guilt of tonight only makes it sweeter.

“You’re close, aren’t you, whore?”

You nod, your body taut and trembling. “I’m so close, sir, please.”

And he denies you.

He pulls you up, your shaky legs made worse by the heels still on your feet, and he scoops you up to bring you over to his desk, plopping you down on it. The blubbery crying escalates, thick in your throat, vicious and demeaning. You were so damn close.

“Did you really think I’d let you?” He leans over you, grabbing your face. “You truly are a stupid brat.”

It’s a victory, you think, because he’s still upset you made him cum already, but it’s not a terribly sweet one all things considered.

“Stupid little whore thought she’d get to cum just like that?” He punctuates his words with gentle but firm slaps against your cheek, leaving the skin burning hot. “You’re the one who begged me to treat you like this. While you’re crying over that lost orgasm, remember all the ways you’ve debased yourself for me already. And yet you still think you have a say when you cum. Don’t be a fool. It doesn’t become you.”

You glare at him for that, pained from your need and furious for his words. He’s punishing you for leaving, you’re far too intelligent to miss that even at this stage and he knows as much.

He circles the desk where you are sat, seeming to think. The moment drags out, silent and unnerving, your sticky breasts cold in the chill air. It’s getting harder to predict his moves — and a part of you no longer wants to. You want him to wash over you with the ruthlessness of the ocean, drag you under into waves of pleasure. Anything his calculating mind concocts is a treat, however harsh it feels in the moment.

He nudges you into a standing up after a while, tugging your dress down and off, letting it pool around your feet. The gloves go with it, and now all you have on are heels that have become far too wobbly, and the pearl jewelry.

“Don’t move. Heels stay on for the night.”

Ah. You’ve played together like this before, he likes how they look on you and they act as their own sort of punishment, painful and demanding. He arranges you so that you sit straight up, hands splayed out on the dark wood surface on either side — and he makes you wait like that as he steps away to the drawers where he keeps his collection of tools and toys.

Looking around the room as you wait, you note little has changed; it’s as familiar as when you were sleeping here every night, spacious but well decorated, including touches you’d suggested to him. You figured he might have replaced certain things, things you were certain were just him entertaining your vision, but no, the room remains as much yours as it was his… It’s a strange feeling.

He stands before you again, snapping you out of your drifting thoughts as he sets a few things down on the desk behind you, and there’s a bit of an unreadable glint in his eyes. But it’s nothing good, it never is. He palms your breasts again, gaze focused on them as a smirk crosses his features.

“Sometimes I think I should fuck you up against a window so the entirety of the Capitol can see how gorgeous your breasts are, and know that they’re all mine.” He sounds serious, but as much as he would delight in everyone knowing how much he owned you, you knew he was far too possessive to ever let anyone else actually see you like that.

“But no matter, I can treat myself to an even better view, isn’t that right?”

It’s infuriating how smug he is, but you nod. He loves when you surrender to his judgement, accept your place with affirmations, reminding him just how much you want what he doles out.

He picks up a clover clamp, and as he pinches one of your nipples to attach the clamp you let out a whine. It pinches, it aches, and it’s going straight to your cunt, feeling so good and vicious all at once. He retrieves another, repeating the process, and then you see a tiny strand of pearls in his hand and at the center of it: a little weight. He loops one end into one of the clamps and you whimper pathetically as it tugs heavily at your nipple. The other end is attached and you want to cry, but refuse him the satisfaction, biting back.

“Now, I think a trade is in order.”

You don’t comprehend what he means until he reaches behind you to unclasp the double strand of pearls from your neck, pocketing it. You want to pull them back, they’re yours, he gave them to you, but you resist, pressing your palms down hard against the table. He’s pushing you, and you will snap… but not in this moment. You want him to put in the work.

He takes the last items from behind you into his hands, and pushes you back until you’re lying down on the desk. Circling you, he ties your wrists together in silk. It’s slippery and delicate, and you could break loose easily; it’s a test — of willingness? Loyalty? Weakness?

“You’re breathtaking.” It’s like a revelation from his lips, and far too emotional for you right now.

“Don’t—” Your protest is short lived as he puts his hand over your mouth, a warning.

“Do you want me to gag you too?”

When you shake your head, he releases you.

“I’ll say it again, then. You are breathtaking, always, and absolutely beautiful when you submit to me like this.” He is speaking softer, it’s a moment of vulnerability that kind of pisses you off, and on the other hand makes you want to sob. It’s unfair that he knows how to pull at you like this, knows just when to go so soft that it throws off your balance. It shouldn’t make you whimper and rub your legs together, but it does. His mask comes back up.

“Legs apart, slut.”

You don’t hesitate to do as you’re told now, watching with a held breath as he comes to stand between your legs. He sees the eager expectation on your face and quick as a flash, he slaps your cunt with a few light strokes, smiling wide as you cry out and try to press your legs together. He won’t let you.

“Ah ah. Not this time. You’re not getting away from this.”

Pulling the pearls, your pearls, from his pocket, he leans over you and runs them over your wet cunt, coating them in your slick. For a minute, he teases like this, lightly running them along your clit in fleeting touches, a brush of the smooth pearls and nothing more. You let out quiet moans, breathy little things, and he chuckles.

“You’re so filthy, do you know that?”

He takes the pearls and twists them until they encircle your clit, pushing on both sides to create pressure. It draws a ragged moan from you as you dig your nails into your palms, twisting in the soft silk ties.

Removing the pearls for a moment, he gives the weight connected to your nipple clamps a firm tug, leading to a keening wail from you, pulling it until you whimper and whine, your jaw quaking from how good and awful it feels.

He drops it back down on your tummy as if losing interest in it, and continues to drag the pearls around, every so often circling and pressing into your clit, giving you want you want only to yank it away moments later. When he does, he hooks a finger into the chain connecting your nipples and tugs, hard enough to remind you: pain and pleasure go hand in hand. It leaves you breathing heavy, silent tears running down your cheeks and onto the desk. You need release badly, worsened from the earlier denial.

“Remember, you don’t cum without permission.” It’s a stern reminder, and you know the weight of disobeying.

“Please, sir, please, I need to cum, please make me cum, please…” You cry and blubber and whimper, but he merely tuts at you.

There’s no relenting from tormenting your clit, then easing up or ceasing entirely while he toys with your sore nipples, the chain a cruel reminder of all you’ve surrendered to him tonight. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve come close from this, you worry your palms may begin to bleed, and you don’t know how much longer you can withstand this. Theres a sheen of sweat across your body when he seemingly stops entirely and you watch with hooded, cautious eyes as he comes around the desk. You expect him to put the necklace around your neck again where it belongs, where he’s fastened it so many times, and instead he shoves the the wet, slippery pearls into your mouth. You whimper around them, tasting yourself, and he runs a gentle hand through your hair as you notice him straining against his trousers again.

“I’m going to fuck you now, doll. You’re allowed to cum when I do.”

You whine in relief.

Circling back to the other end of the desk, he undoes his trousers, freeing his cock of his underwear, and lines it up with your greedy cunt. He teases the tip along your wet folds, groaning as you buck your hips, trying to get him inside of you already. He pinches your clit until you still, your breathing twisted through with moans and whines, and when he finally pushes in, you swear you see stars as he stretches you open. It’s so good, it’s so filling, you have felt so hollow and empty all night and now he’s filling you to the brim with his cock.

“You’re so wet,” he groans. “Drenching my cock like this… you feel so good.”

It’s the sweetest praise you’ve heard all night.

He starts moving agonizingly slow and the tears continue to come against your will — it’s so much, how your cunt clenches around him, how badly you need him. You want relief and you want him deep inside, you want him to hit that spot and you want him buried inside you until you feel your clit rubbing against his skin.

His pace picks up steadily, and you can feel the weight between your breasts rolling and tugging, making you whimper from the tenderness. He reaches up to remove the clamps, each one eliciting a pained cry from you as the blood begins to rush back, leaving them even more tender and sensitive than before.

Everything in your body is alight from the stimulation and edging, and you feel every inch of his girth stretching you open. You haven’t been fucked in months and your body can’t get enough of his.

He grabs your hips, nails digging in as he picks up the pace, the thrusts growing erratic as he leans over you.

“Look at me,” he groans, and you do.

For a moment, you can’t see anything but him: he fills up all your senses, his words command your absolute attention, and his cock, it’s pushing you to breaking. Though your body is aware, your mind is a haze, and before you realize it you are clenching and fluttering against him, squirting and making a mess of the desk, of his suit, and biting down on the pearls so hard they break apart, spilling all over and making soft noises as they roll over the desk and onto the floor. You’re shaking and trembling and he’s still fucking you, chasing his own need, moaning as he does.

“Such a sweet, tight cunt for me,” he murmurs, licking a long stripe on your cheek were tears have rolled down. “I know you can cum again.”

Your whimpers are desperate, the sensation of him continuing to fuck you is verging on too much, but you cum again, and again, or rather you really never stop cumming. He delights in the mess he’s made of you, working one hand between your sweaty bodies to play with your clit. The sensation snaps the last strings in you, and you begin sobbing, reduced to nothing in the palm of his hand. He’s so cruel, his touch is horrid, and you want him, you need him, you can never get enough of him.

You hear him groan above you, his hips snapping against yours sharply, and you feel him cum inside you. He thrusts deep one final time and you both moan, the mess spilling between you as his mask breaks. He’s spent, and he’s vulnerable, and even though you’re shaking and trembling, you know you have him as much as he has you.

He stands there for a moment, staring down at you with adoration and something you cannot read. You’re sagged against the desk, spent, and you whine as he pulls out, cunt gaping empty. Some of his cum drips out of you and pools on the desk below.

“Messy, my cum leaking out of you like that.”

Your cheeks flush with shame, his gaze feeling too hot now as he gently strokes your clit again, pushing some of his cum back in. It’s obscene, the sound, the feeling, and you’re relieved when he undoes your heels before he unties your hands.

The game is over. You’re not sure who won, only how good and wrecked you feel, thoroughly fucked by the only man that has ever drawn out this side in you.

“You did so well, darling.” His voice is soft, but filled with the same heat you heard from him at the ball.

Your eyes land on some of the pearls scattered on the desk, a tired hand absently playing with one. You’re pretty upset they ended up ruined like that, but if he catches the sullen look on your face he doesn’t say anything, and you won’t be bringing it up. Some losses are inevitable in war. You can take it. The pearls had been like a collar, a profession that you were his. You taunted him with that at the ball but this wasn’t love, not anymore.

The complexity of it all settles back into you, and you blink rapidly a few times, trying to bite down on the mixed feelings. You’re broken up, and yet… You’re here. With him. And now?

He scoops you up silently, watching your face carefully as you look up at him. Neither of you speak as he carries you to the ensuite, easing you into the tub as he turns on the hot water, the level of luxury indulgences he could enjoy knowing no bounds.

You wince a little for the heat against some of your more sensitive areas, but you sink into the feeling, letting yourself finally relax after a long night. Though your eyes are heavy, you watch him, head in hand, as he undresses completely. A sight for sore eyes at least: his body is just as beautiful and firm as you remember it, a surprise to find under his handsome suits.

Gently, he helps you scoot forward, giving him enough room to slide in behind you, putting his legs around yours. He presses a kiss to the nape of your neck and your breath hitches. You kind of want to shout at him for being so tender with you, so romantic, but you’re still a little gone, and there isn’t much room for you to escape as you are. So you try to ease up, let him take care of you. You can try to quell whatever possessive notions he has later. Harder with the ones burning a hole in your gut, but you breathe in deep, leaning into his touch.

He doesn’t speak as he fixates on taking care of you, and you listen to his even breathing and the sounds of the bath, the clink of a glass cup being picked up, filled with water, then poured over your hair. Herbal shampoo that you know costs more than what some citizens spend on a nice dinner, massaged into your scalp. You feel like a prized possession as he rinses it out thoroughly before following it up with conditioner, gently run through the locks of your hair.

Slowly you feel yourself coming back up from the space you sank into as he washes your body, slowly and tenderly, cleaning of the sweat and grime of the evening. You sink further into him, resting your head back on his shoulder, and when he reaches down to help clean off your cunt, you sigh.

“Feels good,” you murmur. Shit. You didn’t mean to.

He chuckles and you feel the rumble against your back, but either he is too concentrated on his task, or he is pocketing that to use against you later. Maybe it is just a mercy he is offering you this once but… no, you know him better than that.

When he is satisfied with his work on you, he lets you both just sit there, bask in the ease of the moment. Surely he knows you won’t let it drift on forever, but it would be so easy to. He places a kiss to your temple and you would cry if you had it in you. He shushes you, as if he knows the inside of your head already, as if he knows each crevice of your mind… and maybe you can’t put it past him.

“We can fight in the morning,” he says, “just relax. You’ve had a long night.”

Well, at least he knows you won’t go down easy.

When the bath has run its course, he helps you towel off and carries you back to bed. Moments like these always make you almost mistake him for a gentleman. Almost. You don’t know all that lurks underneath, but the shadow flickers across him now and again, an abyss you could fall into. Maybe you want to.

When the two of you are tucked under the duvet, he lays a kiss to your shoulder blade and pulls you close.

“Are you alright?” His voice is nothing more than a whisper, and you know he is just checking in with you about the scene. Everything else is too complicated for such a question.

“Mmm, ‘m good.” The words are slurred and messy this close to sleep, and pressed against his body, his arm holding you close, you finally fall away from waking, dreaming of nothing.

Sunlight isn’t supposed to be this harsh this early. Still, as it starts to pour in through the tall windows of the penthouse bedroom, you rub your eyes and wince at how bright it illuminates your shame. You should not be here. It pounds like a depraved headache in your mind.

Despite the way he let your relationship fall by the wayside before, Coriolanus Snow is a possessive fucking bastard and you just played right into his need to keep you. You’re right back to where he likes to keep you, and you let your guard down and let it happen. Foolish. Greedy. Slutty.

He’s still sleeping next to you, arm draped over his face to blot out the sunlight. As quietly and swiftly as possible, you look around for something you can wear home as only your gloves and fur shawl wouldn’t exactly cut it. Not without causing a scene worthy of exile.

You’re not sneaking out, you fully intend to make good on his promise last night and get a few meaningful barbs in before you walk out of his life for good, but it would be best if you could do so fully dressed. Pretty certain you must have left a thing or two behind, you scamper over to the walk-in and peruse your options. Lingerie, a few pairs of heels, and a couple silk slips… not your first choice but it will have to do. With the shawl, it might be just chic enough for stepping out when your chauffeur arrives.

When you step out, his eyes are on you immediately, sat up in bed as he is. He’s watching you with a bemused grin.

“Leaving so soon? I was going to offer you a round two.” Bastard. He looks so fucking self-assured.

“How generous,” you say, flashing him a brilliant smile. “I’m pretty confident in telling you that won’t be happening in this lifetime, Coriolanus.”

“You sure? Last night you were cockdrunk like an addict. If I remember correctly, you even cried over how good it felt.”

He’s not wrong, the words are a blow because yes, part of you does want to stay but in the harsh light of day, your desire to play a better game rears its vicious head. He can’t get everything he wants with just a cocky snap of his fingers.

As you take another step toward the door, you watch his face drop, and you pause, looking back at him.

“Ah, I see how it is now,” you say, the words a dagger you can finally twist back in him. “You’re the one who doesn’t want me to go. If anyone is the addict here, it’s you.”

You leave the room, heading towards the elevator and grabbing your shawl on the way. You hear footsteps behind you but attempt to pay it no mind, waiting for the ding of the lift, but it’s taking too long and you feel his hands on you, shoving you against the wall before you realize it’s happening.

He kisses you hungry, a man possessed, pushing the slip up, dragging his fingertips over your mound. He’s desperate, he wants you to stay, he wants you and it’s a weakness. How rare to see him like this. You know you should push him away, but you melt into it for just a moment — and he breaks the moment as he bites your lower lip, too hungry for his own good.

Fuck. You let him open you up, push in and possess you. Again. You need to get out of here.

The elevator dings. Finally.

You bite him back, harder than he bit you, and when he pulls back in surprise, you push him off you. His lips are red with blood. His, you hope.

“Goodbye, Coriolanus.”

He watches you with a furious fire in his eyes as you wait for the doors to close — but there is a fire in your eyes too this time. A warning. You will burn him just as bright as he does you.

And despite it all, you know this is just the start. There’s no escaping unscathed.

taglist: @ohmeadows @casualhedonists @qalijahbydior @missakward123 @akira1803 @damagdsnow @carebear209 @herewegoagaiinn

[ruiniel]

What You Choose

Fandom: Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba

Pairing: Rengoku Kyojuro x f!reader

Count: 2K

Rating: T (M later)

On AO3

Summary: I recently watched/read KNY and have emotions. Likely done before, but wanted to get this out of my system so wrote it down. Rengoku survives the fight with Akaza, but some battles are not so straightforward.

Tags & Warnings: Rengoku lives AU, multichapter, blood, injury, pining, angst, second person POV, demon slayer!reader, tsuguko!reader, alternating POV, Oblivious Rengoku Kyojuro, for a while at least, Death, Mild Gore, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut

All characters depicted are 18+

I.

Everything fades. His body is going numb, his vision blurs as he stares down at his reflection in the dark pool of his own blood, unable to lift his head. The cries of grief surrounding him become dim and scatter like dying leaves from his consciousness.  

I've done my duty, I've given my all.

The last he remembers is a small, clawed hand and a sudden, blooming flame bursting through his shattered torso, scalding him from within in ways his own fire never could. 

I see... So this is what it feels like… to burn. 

The balmy weather outside has no effect on you, seated at the side of the infirmary bed, your head in your hands. 

“Perhaps you should go and rest. There’s been no change, and we’ll be sure to inform you of any developments.” 

Aoi’s words are void of their usual sternness. You’ve heard them before, and yet—

“I’m fine, I really am.” You gaze back at the prone figure lying motionless beneath crisp white sheets. His gold and crimson hair is messy, and you’ve never seen him so pale, his features so sunken. The bandage covering his left eye is stained red in places, the usually smiling lips dry and bloodless.

Aoi sighs but says nothing else, and soon her departing steps echo against the walls.

I can’t. I can’t leave his side. You wish your thought could reach him, down to whatever place he’s struggling in now. You ball your hands into fists over your knees, a poor attempt at holding your composure. Please, come back. Please.

Weeks have passed since the mission on the train, since your group has returned with wounded bodies and spirits, though none in such a critical state as your mentor. Rengoku Kyojuro has not awakened since, and in contrast, since the nightmares the demon has placed upon you in that baleful encounter, you’ve not been able to sleep more than two to three hours every night. Every time, waking up in a sweat, the memory of what happened always the last image you remember. 

“How is he today?”

You’re drawn from your thought by the gentle voice of the person you feel like you owe a life of debt to, and turn to gaze into the tired, worried eyes of Tanjiro Kamado. He stands by the bed now, glancing down at the Hashira. The slow rise and fall of his chest is the only sign that he is still alive. 

You shake your head as Tanjiro takes a seat. “How is rehabilitation training going?” 

Tanjiro smiles, still staring at the bed and its unresponsive occupant. “Almost done, I feel my strength returning to what it used to be and more. I admire how well you’ve upheld yourself, though,” he murmurs. 

It’s true, for some reason, you’ve been the least scathed of them all, needing much less medical care than the rest. No, you know the reason why. “It’s because of him,” your words escape you. “If… if he hadn’t trained me as he did, if he hadn’t driven me so far beyond my limits, I don’t know if I would have survived for as long as I have in my role.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard. They say Lord Rengoku’s methods are… harsh to say the least.”

A smile tugs at your lips as a known pain pricks your heart. “But… but I’ve been remiss in thanking you, young Kamado—or rather, your sister. If she hadn’t…”  Your throat tightens; you don’t want to break down, not here, not before Tanjiro and not before him, no matter he can’t hear it. 

“Please, please don’t worry, it was a stroke of luck and quick thinking on her part, I only brought the box closer—”

“... she healed him! I saw the flames engulfing him, I saw the wound close. I don’t know how she did it but… Nezuko is someone... very special.”

Tanjiro lowers his head in humble acknowledgement. “I will tell her.” Then, as though remembering something, he reaches into his pocket and hands you a small bag. “Here, I’ve not seen you join meals very often and… well, please take them.”

You don’t have the strength to refuse, and take the bag from his hand, meeting his kind smile. “Candies…”  You thank him before placing them on the bedstand, and after a few more moments of sitting in comfortable silence, Tanjiro takes his leave. You watch him depart, endeared by his manner and honesty. He has a good soul, a strong will—perhaps the strongest you’ve known, apart from…

You stare back at your mentor, memories of the past flooding behind your eyes.

Five months prior

“Good! Again!”

You’re panting, your total concentration breathing nearly failing as you evade another deadly arc of the Third Form: Blazing Universe. 

The sun has westered and a bluish twilight sets over the lands, but your mentor still has you parrying his unwavering techniques, before making you attack using combinations of them in turn. 

“Lord—lord Rengoku—”

His blazing speed cuts your words short as your blades clash, and you stare into bright, golden-rimmed irises. He’s smiling, as usual, with a devilish spark in his eyes. There is a sudden flutter in your stomach, overriding the fatigue in your burning muscles. “Come now, don’t tell me you’re beat! You’ve come so far after only three years!” he says as you fall back, lunging for another attack the following second.

The sudden weakness you feel when you’re close to him has you confused, because it was not there before. It all began in the past year: whenever he stares at you in a certain way, whenever he touches you during training or meets your eyes, something gnaws achingly at your chest. It’s as though you need something from him, but have no idea what it is. 

“I knew it from the moment I took you on as a successor,” he says, merciless in his offensive. “If you—” Parry. Lunge. “—carry on like this—” Attack. Jump. “—you’ll reach a Hashira level of skill in no time at all!” 

You don’t have the chance to reply, though his words feel like honey coating your senses. At first, he’d been sparse and strict, keeping to instructions and nothing else. But you struggled, worked harder than you had for anything in all your life, and it seems he acknowledges this fully now. 

“Now—Ninth Form: Rengoku!” 

That means you must attack, and he must deflect. But—Ninth Form?! “I—I can’t, I’m… I’m too exhausted for the Ninth!”

He bursts forward with Unknowing Fire, forcing you to duck and curl your body, rolling away into the dust, rising on one knee. 

The Flame Hashira turns, pointing his weapon at you. “Is that what you plan on telling the demons?”

“Well, no, but—”

“At no point during a battle will you have the luxury of biding your time. If this were an actual encounter, you’d be dead.” He no longer smiles, his face turned cold, eyes glinting like molten steel.

You feel the rush of shame like fangs biting into you, fueling a horrible need to prove him wrong, to rise up to the challenge in his voice. With a hiss and a groan you grip the handle of your katana tightly, breathing and striving to light that spark in your heart. 

With a cry you speed forward, clashing with him in a desperate lunge. 

“Ha!” The smile returns as you grit your teeth. “Better!”

His face is so close to yours again, so close you feel the rush of his breath on your cheek. 

Your knees feel weak again, and you close your eyes, pushing forward in an attempt to skew his balance. 

What the hell is happening to you? 

“Faster, the fire is still weak! It must rage!” the Hashira says, grinning like a madman now, and where once you enjoyed the path of learning and reaching your full potential, now his attitude brings forth an ache that confuses you and leaves you anxious.

Even so. Your blades sing against each other as you lunge back in a high jump, landing in a lowered stance with one palm braced against the earth. Your uniform is wet on your back, and you’re closer to your breaking point than you've ever been.

But the thought of disappointing him, now that feels unbearable. So you do what you always do: you push yourself more, more, harnessing all your strength into one melting core, bathing your heart in it and firing up your veins. 

You attack.

He laughs outright. “Not bad, but—” Your swords clash, fiercer than before. “I know you can do better, and you can be faster.”

“I’m doing all I can!” you yell, at the end of your tether now. It’s not the first time, nor will it be the last. But he takes no offense, he never does, and that's one of the things you appreciate about him. “But you—you make it impossible! You always want more, even if you know I’m not ready for it!”

It must be the fire rushing through you that has you speaking this way, daring to say such words despite knowing full well what you were in for, when you accepted to become his successor. 

“Wait until you’re ready, and you will never improve!” the Flame Hashira throws back.

A growl leaves your throat as you fall back then speed towards him again, trying the Second then the Third form in succession sloppily but you’re past caring. 

Your arms feel as though they will tear and your bones might splinter as you crash against his unwavering stance, and you meet his scarlet-gold gaze as he speaks softly, his voice imbued with warmth: “You can surpass the impossible. I believe in you.” 

Your eyes widen, that damned ache ringing through your body like a weakening poison and—

For one split second, your stance weakens, and you’re thrown back, losing your balance and falling heavily onto the ground. 

Rengoku stares down at you, tilting his head to the side with a strange look on his face as he sheathes his katana. 

Your vision sways, your lungs might burst. You barely clutch at the helping hand extended to you, aiding you to your feet. He grasps your shoulders. “What happened there just now? Your focus melted like wax.”

“I…” You can’t look him in the eye. His hands on you diffuse heat, permeating through your clothing. It feels good. It scares you. “I don’t… know.”

“Tomorrow, again,” he says, releasing you. “Please do better. Remember we’re doing this for you, but foremost for the people.”

“Understood,” you murmur, biting back tears as you watch him walk away.

Midnight has arrived when you end your reverie, thinking about that emotion that took root in your body and spirit, growing stronger as time passed. And you never dared tell him, never dared facing it nor can you explain why. You take a deep breath, leaned with your arms folded on the edge of the bed, your forehead resting on them. You never told him, and now… 

And now with each day I’m losing hope.

Your shoulders are shaking, and your eyes sting. There is no one else here but you and him, the long chamber of empty beds the only witness to your breakdown. 

You’re so absorbed by despair, you don’t perceive the faint movement, or the hand gently placed on your head.

“... Why are you crying?”

You choke on a silent sob, blinking in shock at the low, throaty voice, broken with disuse. Slowly, you raise your head.

He's staring at you, a bleak smile on his lips, and you're utterly, incomprehensibly frozen.

“You… you’re awake?” It feels like the dumbest of questions: your body knows the truth before your mind catches up. 

“That… depends. Are you really here?” he asks in turn. 

You nod, biting on your lower lip and wiping your eyes with your sleeve. “Yes, yes I am.”

The smile wavers for a moment as he grimaces in pain. “Oh, I see. Then… it seems… you’re not rid of me yet.”

All the gods in all the world couldn’t keep the emotions flooding you at bay, and you shake your head as warm tears flow down your face. 

PART II

[ncteez]

philoselene (k.h.j)

You weren’t sure what to think of Hongjoong, with his ever-changing hair and ever-growing piercings. He is the complete opposite of you, and you’re unsure of why he keeps gravitating toward you, or why he found an interest in you at all. Through his eyes though, he swears you’d be able to handle the weight of the moon if he were to pull it down for you.

or the one where hongjoong would do just about anything for you, and he can’t help but show it when he’s got you on top of him for the first time.

ao3 | m.list | minors dni! | kindly leave feedback and reblog. 

WORDCOUNT― 6.2k

PAIRING― alt!stoner!hongjoong x afab reader 

CONTENT― some weed smoking and moon gazing happen, a little bit of them struggling to translate their thoughts into words that make sense, very fluffy stuff, he’s a little shy about his body, service top hongjoong, first time together, intensely passionate smut

NOTE― just fyi, i know the description makes it seem like the reader is insecure. I can assure you, she is not. It’s just two people learning that they fit together like a puzzle, and wanting to know each other’s thought processes. anyway, im very in love with hongjoong and that’s why I basically just wrote comfort smut. BYE. not proof read so pls dont point out my typos, ill actually cry. 

smut tags under cut:: 

smut tags― makeout sessions, they’re really really high so the experience is kind of slow motion, frottage, sweet-talking rather than dirty talking, brief mutual masturbation, missionary on a couch, he’s a service top but it’s not heavily described here bc like– he’s just hella into her and feels good no matter what she does, ummm, unprotected sex bc im lazy

~

             The man whose hair changes at each new moon cycle, the one who smells like winter but has the eyes of a smoldering flame spreading to a forest fire. Both his charm and his wit are entirely unmatched if anyone you’ve ever met in your life is to go by. His hands are the most gentle, and goddamn does he know how to dress to piss off the local business owners. 

           A new ear piercing for him usually meant heartbreak, be it a lost friend, a failed project, or even an incorrect lunch order at the run-down diner across town. Everything about Hongjoong is telling. He is not mysterious, nor does he want to be.

             You, on the other hand, are the complete opposite in terms of how you carry yourself. You worry too much, your posture is slouched when it shouldn’t be, your confidence wavers more often than you’d like to admit, and you keep to yourself most of the time. Minimizing yourself, snuffing out any flame or glow that threatens to show to anyone less than a close friend. You dress much like your personality, muted. 

             This is why you question the dynamic on each date you end up on with Hongjoong. Dinner dates, movie dates, walks in the park. Normal. fucking. dates. The dynamic between the two of you is anything but natural to you. Time after time now, seeing him after sunset looking at you much like he would if he were seeking out constellations, you feel like you’re not a person meant to be looked at this way. You’ll never get used to another person wanting to spend this time with you, like they’re finding comfort in your silence. What do you have that seems to fulfill him? 

             Even now, six hours after the date started, you find yourself next to Hongjoong and his bright smile. The small rolled joint burned out minutes ago, and the dull city skyline bursts with pinks and purples from the sunset.  His smile is one that is entirely soft and focused on you. All of his attention, on you. The one thing in the world you hate, he gives to you and makes you feel as though you don’t hate it nearly as much as you did before meeting him. 

“Hongjoong,” You whisper into the brisk air, bumping your leg against his as he tilts his chin up as if to let you know he’s listening to whatever you want to say. “This is our– what? Seventh date?” 

           He nods with a hum. 

“First time at my place though, so we can still call it a first date.” He offers, reaching his arms out and feeling the stretch of his muscles relax him.  His arms fall back to his side and his eyes fall back on you. 

           Never have you had this many first dates, nor has any man treated each date as such. 

“Why do you do that?” You laugh, slouching back against the weathered wicker couch, the balcony offering both the most wonderful and shitty view of the city. 

“Do what?” He asks, turning slightly towards you with a curious look. 

“Like, I don’t know,” you trail off, for some reason unable to look him in the eye as you continue to spiral into the slow and fuzzy high that his weed offers to you. He looks insanely attractive tonight, especially in this lighting. The colors somehow glow against his skin, contrasting with the dark and plush sweater he has on. It’s weathered much like this wicker furniture, but you imagine he’s comfortable inside of that sweater, sitting on this furniture, breathing in the same air you’re breathing out. “You always call each date the first one, I’m wondering when it’ll be, like, something more than that?”

           You can hear yourself talking and you can’t help but think you sound fucking stupid, but he chuckles in response. 

“I probably sound lame saying it but, I like that I learn something new about you each time. It’s not my fault that it always feels like a first date with you.” He laughs, making a face towards you that makes you laugh a bit louder than expected. 

“You act like I have something new and interesting to tell you every day,” He cuts you off as you try to speak.

“For instance, today I learned that you don’t even like the coffee I bring to you.” He’s snide when he says it, raising a brow at you. 

“What? Yes, I do!” You defend, definitely lying as you feel your stomach hit the concrete floor of his balcony. You’ve always been a terrible liar.

“Is that why you always leave it in my cup holder pretending like you forgot it?” 

           You narrow your eyes at him but can’t keep up the act much longer as the smile creeps wider across your lips. 

“You’re too observant of me,” You joke, not realizing how true it actually is. “You know I usually spend my days avoiding the idea of people noticing what I do, right?”

           He nods towards you, face fond and droopy from his high. 

“I think you’re cute when you notice that I notice,” he blinks away from you, watching the sun fall and the moon take its rightful spot in the sky. “Besides, if you don’t like it, you’d stop letting me take you out, right?”

           He’s actually looking for confirmation this time, not looking at you, and mostly preparing for the make-it-or-break-it moment now that you’ve finally worked up the courage to stop going with his flow. 

“I think I’m just confused over you wanting to spend time with me at all, actually.” You admit, knowing for a fact that you appear to be the most boring human alive, and not many people stick around to find the actual personality within you. 

           Hongjoong looks at you this time, genuinely shocked that you’d even say that or feel confused over why he chooses to spend time with you.

“Well, I can go down a list of reasons, if you want?”

           You prop yourself up, fixing your posture and wiggling your brows.

“Please, do.” You say, feeling a permanent smile form on your face. 

           Hongjoong claps his hands on his thighs before lifting his legs and turning on the wicker couch to face you, tucking himself into the smallest version of himself as he huddles into his oversized sweater. 

“Alright, for starters, you’re not as boring as you think you are. What person would have climbed that no-trespassing fence with me without asking a single question?” 

           He’s just gloating at you now. Most people would absolutely do that with him. 

“Literally, anyone would have done that with you.”

           He waves you off.

“You like the same anime I like and the same music. You even knew of the band I was in during my senior year of high school!” 

           You nod, he’s got a point there.

“You’re not loud or constantly demanding attention. I like that you just kind of exist. Sometimes I just need to exist too, but people always expect more, you know?” 

           Hongjoong’s eyes trail off, landing on the darkening sky and seeking out the moon. 

“When we hang out, I feel like there’s nothing we actually need to do in order to call it a date. You’re the only person I’ve continuously taken out. You’ve made it clear that you expect nothing from me.”

           You nod, but tilt your head in question as your own eyes follow his gaze to the moon. 

“So, it makes me want to give you everything.”

           Unsure of if it’s the weed talking through him or if he meant what he just said, you still find yourself melting a bit at his voice when he says it. The words feel like they hold a lot of weight for him, and you didn’t even know that weight existed until now. 

“Do you always say these types of things when the moon is in the right position, and the weed is dank as hell?”

           He snorts, tucking his chin into his chest as he laughs before reaching out and swatting you on the shoulder. 

“What I’m trying to get at here, because I know by now that you’re not going to pick up on any hints is that I kind of want this to be the last first date.”

           You find yourself panicking at that, unsure of what the fuck that’s supposed to mean. Hongjoong instantly regrets his awful attempt at wording that. “Unmatched wit” his ass, he can genuinely say the dumbest shit in the most important situations. 

“Wait–” He pauses, mouth falling slack as he visibly searches his brain for the correct words. “Okay, let me rephrase that.”

           You wait, feeling relieved at his panic and the slow recovery of what he just said to you. 

“What I meant by last first date, is like, um–” It’s lost on him again as you watch his eyes squint into a smile instead, the sparkle of his eyes matching the glints from his various earrings. “I’m trying to ask you to be my girlfriend, fuck.”

           This. This is another reason why he likes you this much. Though he saw your eyes fall, and though he said what he needed to say incorrectly at first, you didn’t question him. You didn’t put words in his mouth or react in a way that wouldn’t allow his own recovery. His ability to talk to women right now is highly reduced, but his ability to talk to you is forever comfortable even when he fucks up. You let him fuck that up, and now you’re smiling at him and he can’t help but let his heart swell three times its original size. 

“So,” he coughs, looking back to the moon and then back at you. “I guess we can’t have any more first dates if every time we see each other, we are technically, like, dating, right?”

           You snort at his inability to string together a coherent sentence, knowing full well that both of you have the ability to navigate everyday conversations high. Given the fact that the two of you have been in public before pretending like you didn’t just hotbox his car. It’s just that, this isn’t an everyday conversation and you’d like to think that you probably sound like an idiot too. You’re somehow right there with him even if you feel like you’re on two different pages of two different books. 

“You have a point,” you say, managing to fit his words into a sentence that makes sense in your brain. “Delivery could have been better though.” 

           The lighting on his cheekbones says enough about his own permanent smile matching yours. If you believed in fairytales, you’d genuinely think that the two of you are in your own little world with nothing but the moon and expensive ass weed. 

“You’re supposed to say yes, by the way.” Hongjoong urges you, both of you kind of entering into a giggle fit because of the warmth spreading throughout your bodies. 

           You nod, agreeing that, yes, you’ll definitely be his girlfriend. 

 ~

             The first kiss with Hongjoong may have been the warmest you’ve ever felt. It was smooth, a little peckish, and overall quite sweet. Even over the weeks he had been taking you out, he never once kissed you or did little more than be some of the best company you could find yourself with. The first kiss taking place after making things official was something you weren’t used to. 

           And so, that first kiss on his balcony became a second kiss, and then a third and fourth, until the two of you moved into his living room to escape the breeze that had by then made your fingers cold. Fifth, sixth, seventh– and then finally, the eight kiss was one that could have meshed all of the kisses in your life into one. The first heated kiss.

           His couch became more comfortable than it was when you first came here, especially now with him beside you, cradling your face and leaving gentle kisses all along your jawline before trailing back to your lips. He’s your boyfriend now and for some reason, you don’t feel yourself doubting why that is. He is proving to you right now how much he likes you, and you try to do the same for him. Your hazy eyes are unable to stay open for too long under the pressure of his lips fluttering all over your face, and you feel loved for the first time in a long time. 

           It didn’t feel awkward to reach up with your eyes closed to try and put your fingers in his hair, even when you accidentally knocked him on the cheek instead. It didn’t feel like an alarm went off when he tugged at you to pull you over him, leaning himself back on the couch and reaching blindly for the tv remote to avoid the silence in the room save for lips smacking. 

           For the first time with another person, you felt safe and at home when his hands were roaming your body. 

           Both jackets were already off, and your cold fingers warmed up in his as he would eventually intertwine his fingers with yours as he kissed you. It didn’t feel rushed, and maybe it was just because you both were in a lazy state of peaked high, but you can almost feel every single touch be amplified. You’d be lying if you said your entire body wasn’t tingling. More silent than it has ever been between the two of you, it still feels like it’s where you should be.

           Hongjoong’s fingers in yours, his lips on yours, his tongue licking against yours, all of it is good. The sensations swam throughout your body to the point that you barely even notice that you’re turned on.

           Is it too much on the…what was it, seventh date? Is it too much on the first night of being his girlfriend after your first and eighth or thirteenth kiss? His lips are curled into this permanent little smile that tells you otherwise. He’s the one who pulled you on top of him, he’s the one who hasn’t pushed because he somehow knew you were enjoying the steamy make out session too much to let it end here.

           There’s no end goal at this moment with Hongjoong, nothing is telling you that you need to get off or get him off despite your body already tingling for it. There’s no rush with the man under you, with his moon-like eyes and messy dyed hair. He’s just as telling as he always has been, and without a word, you know that at this moment, he would take anything you give him and be perfectly content. 

“I can see you thinking, you know,” Hongjoong whispers, his fingers tightening their grip between your own. “We can just do this, I’m perfectly fine with just this.”

           You shake your head at him, squeezing his fingers and looking at him for a brief moment. Seeing him now like this, with his kissed lips and his hair just as messy as always, it hits you again that he’s yours. Not in a way that’s possessive, but like, he wants to be yours, and he wants you to be his. 

           Your eyes glance down to his lap, with his length sitting firmly between your legs and it makes your heart swell. Typically, men in this position would push you, pull you, and move you around on their arousal to try and get some sort of release but, not Hongjoong. He’s containing himself, assuring you that you don’t have to do anything more. Regardless of you sitting on his thighs, dangerously close to being able to please him this way. 

“Do you want more, though?” You ask him. 

His eyes are half-lidded and looking up at you as you speak, glancing down to your lips again as if he already misses them. You can see his answer in the silence, his grip on your hand tightening as his brain malfunctions at the very idea of you being the one to ask. He wants more for the sake of having you, but he also wants more for the sake of pleasing you. 

“Yeah?” You ask for confirmation of his silent answer, leaning down to kiss against the corner of his mouth before leaning back again. 

           He gives you a reassuring nod, his other hand snaking around your waist and pulling you closer to him, onto his hardened length with a soft mewl at you. 

“I do,” he whispers against your ear, nuzzling his nose against your neck and trying to prevent his hips from bucking up as you sit on him. “I can give you more, too.”

           The way he says it to you with a soft rasp makes your stomach do flips, almost as if he’s pleading for you to let him, it makes your entire body tingle. Never has a man made you feel this way when you’re being intimate. You suppose Hongjoong is right though, from what he said before, about how almost every date appears to be the first one with the number of new things you learn about each other.

           You don’t need to respond to him though, because almost immediately after those words you turn your face slightly to kiss his temple, and he instantly releases your hand and puts it on the other side of your waist. Practically caging you against him as he holds you in place and dips back in to kiss you. 

           Within that kiss, you can hear his need. Throaty groans as he presses his length against you. Only the sound of fabric rubbing against fabric can be heard but it’s kind of a pretty sound. His weathered sweater feels warm when you tangle your fingers into the loosened fringe along his neck like, trying to work your hips to match his within this tight hug. 

           By the time he notices that you’re moving your hips on him, his grip loosens and he pulls back from the kiss, watching you pull yourself up and planting your arms on his shoulders to actually grind against him. 

           He runs his hands up and down your waist at this point, eyes watching the way you work yourself against him with a deep and burning fondness. He appears to be in awe, a crooked smirk appearing on his softened and kissed lips.

“You know,” Hongjoong chuckles softly, closing one eye and focusing on the feeling of the dry drag against him.. “It might just be because I’m high but I don’t think I’ve ever felt this good with denim practically rubbing me raw–”

           Your hips stop, and you try to ignore the fact that on any other day, those words would have absolutely ruined the mood, but for some reason, it doesn’t. You let out a breathy laugh, falling forward and laughing against his neck. The moon must be in the right position or something tonight, because everything does feel insanely good. Then again, maybe it’s just that he’s in the right position, or maybe it’s just you.

“Why would you–” You cut yourself off as you laugh, breathing in the scent of him once more before leaning back and backing off of his lap slightly. The look he gives you is nothing but fond and it kind of makes you feel more dazed than you already do. “Let's take them off then?” 

           Hongjoong gives you a polite nod, his hands releasing you but still chasing your warmth as you pull yourself off of him and wait for him to remove his pants. 

           He’s quick with it, of course, and you take it another step further to take yours off too, not looking him in the eye as you do it. Almost to hope that he doesn’t see you do it, to hope that he won’t think about it, or smile at it, or make a comment on it.

           Thankfully, he doesn’t and when you sit back on his lap, feeling his bare legs against yours and noting how fucking warm his skin is, all you can do is pretend like feeling someone else’s skin against yours is supposed to feel fleeting like this. 

           Your panties sit against his boxers now, and his warmth seeps through you so fast that you want to feel more. See more, touch more, kiss more, love more. You don’t hesitate to loop your fingers into a particularly big rip on his sweater and tug on it.

“This too?” He tilts his head, his own hand fiddling with the same rip that your fingers are intertwined with, and then looks away shyly..

All you can do is feel yourself spiraling further into the feeling of being with him. He’s got one strand of hair standing stiffly too, probably from the static of the couch rubbing against it, but it’s cute. It’s attractive, everything about him is attractive. 

His eyes continue to avoid your eyes when he lifts his sweater off of him, shivering at the cool apartment air hitting his skin all over rather than just through those rips and tears. You take note, especially when he does look at you and pulls you down into a kiss again as quickly as he can. He’s not letting you see him like this, bare from the waist up and almost from the waist down. 

The two of you must have been one soul at one point because you know what he’s doing and never have you had to be the one on the other side of this situation. Usually, you’re the one hiding when it feels overwhelming, you’re the one imagining that the person with you would be searching for imperfections. You pull back from his kiss, looking into his eyes before glancing down at his bare chest and stomach.

“You’re being shy,” You comment, leaning down to plant a kiss on his collarbone before looking back at him and tilting your head. “You’re never shy.” 

You work up the confidence in yourself now, lifting your shirt off and doing your best not to immediately mimic what he’s already done. Meaning, you don’t hide your exposed skin and instead, you try to sit proudly on top of him.

Hongjoong just watches, his lips falling slack at your bareness with a relieved sigh.

“How can I not be shy right now?” he smiles, leaning himself up this time and kissing against the plush flesh of your breast. 

           You sigh at the feeling of his lips against your chest, fingers automatically finding their way into his hair as you focus on the feeling. The emotion of it all sends you into overdrive because really? Everything about Hongjoong is loud, and you’re making him shy?

           The goosebumps continuously rise and fall as he works his lips across one breast to the other, up until his fingers are pushing the fabric of your bra to the side. He pulls back momentarily to look at them, eyes darting from one nipple to the other before looking up at your face. 

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this.” Hongjoong admits, dipping in and flicking one of your nipples with his tongue. 

“Oh?” You ask, officially grinding your hips again on his lap, feeling his cock twitch in his boxers. The drag feels lighter now that there’s not much fabric preventing the feeling. “For how long?”

“Third date,” he admits, trailing back to the other breast and sucking just next to your nipple, his other hand easily stimulating the one he just neglected. “Didn’t want to rush with you though, I’m always rushing.”

           You hum at his words, feeling special. All he makes you feel is special. And when he finally releases your chest from his mouth and falls back against the couch, even the way he looks at you confirms that your feelings about this aren’t unfounded. 

           You put more effort into your hips now, your mind spinning by this point at the way his touches are gentle. His chest rises and falls with each perfect drag up his length, small mewls of pleasure spilling from his lips every few seconds. Still, he just looks at you. 

           There’s really no rush here and the scary part about it is that you’re already so worked up that you wouldn’t mind a bit of rushing by this point.

           More and more you move your hips, and more and more Hongjoong appears to lose his composure. His hands gripping at you, his eyes unable to stay on one part of your body for too long, his teeth showing as he bites his lip just to compose himself from making the next step– and then–

           There it is. There he is, lunging forward and grabbing you, pulling you so close to him that your core is now seated directly on the head of his leaking cock. He moans at the pressure, kissing against your lips with so much passion that you wonder if he know’s how hot that was. 

           He’s lost in the moment and you can’t help but love it. With the way one of his hands holds your cheek as he kisses you and the other finds itself against your ass to push and pull you on his lap. At this point, you wonder if he could get off this way. With the way he’s acting, you think he could. Easily.

“Hongjoong,” You manage to gasp during the short breath between his frantic kiss. “We can–” 

           You’re cut off by him kissing you again, his hand guiding you down and forward on his length in a way that tells you he’s listening. He’s imagining what you’re about to say. 

“We can,” He groans in an answer to your unfinished question, taking in a deep breath when he pulls back from the kiss and looking down to see the head of his cock occasionally peeking from the waistband of his boxers. “Just tell me what you want.”

           Words escape you in that moment, so you use your body instead. Scooting back and almost taking the boxers with you you see a glimpse of his length. Heavy, leaking, twitching at the loss of your weight against it. You stare, wanting to devour this man whole at that moment but you hold back. You can give him head another time, honestly. After spending so long making out, grinding, and him playing with your breasts? You’re kind of ready to rush. Even just for a moment. 

           He watches your hands as they lower the boxers further, pulling them down until you can tuck them under your thighs to hold them in place. There, you just look at his cock and he just looks at you. 

           After a few seconds, you glance at him with shy eyes, blinking in a way to try and hide your blatant lust for what’s between his legs. He might believe that seeing you look at him this way is the best thing he’s ever experienced. His cock twitches unintentionally when he notices your blown pupils, especially when his eyes trail down. Now that the seat of your panties isn’t grinding against him, he can see a glimpse of the darkened wet spot.

           Now what to do? The two of you sitting here, horny out of your goddamn mind and the weed on top of it amplifying every touch, you can imagine that you both look like a pair of deer in headlights. 

           Hongjoong finishes what you started though, running his hand down your sides before grabbing himself and gently pumping once. You watch as he gathers the dripping pre-cum in his palm before smoothing it down his entire length while his eyes never leave the spot between your legs. Then he continues that, touching himself as you’re on him as if to tell you that he can finish himself off so you don’t have to. 

           Without really thinking, you find your own hand doing the same, sliding down your panties and the instant your fingers bump against your clit, you jolt and find yourself letting out a soft and pained moan at the sensitivity. 

“That–” Hongjoong takes in a sharp breath at the sound, squeezing the base of his cock with his hand and closing his eyes. “sounded so fucking pretty.”

           It wasn’t intentional and for a brief moment, you felt embarrassed by the sound. Once again though, Hongjoong pulls that confidence out of you like it’s what he was born to do. At this point though, your legs feel like jelly after being spread on top of him for so long and you think he can tell. 

“Mm, let’s move,” He comments, releasing his cock and tapping you with the other hand to stand up. “Lay back, I'll do the rest.”

           He gently instructs you, grabbing a pillow and placing it at the end of the couch for your head to lay against. You do so without question, both your legs and heart are weak at seeing him like this. 

“There, better?” He asks after you lay back. He leans over your side after a short nod from you and leaves a gentle kiss against your lips before placing his hand against your thigh. “Can I take these off?” 

           You nod, feeling him slip your panties down your legs before you watch him shimmy off his own boxers. 

           There, there it is. Both of you are entirely vulnerable to each other for the first time and you don’t feel a hint of wanting to stop. Not a worry, doubt, or insecurity can or will stop you at this moment. 

           He doesn’t let his eyes linger for too long at your exposed core just yet and instead he opts to place himself between your legs before leaning down and kissing you much like before. He can’t get enough of your lips if he’s being honest though. 

           You can feel the weight of his cock resting between your thigh and pussy and it does nothing more than make you want it more. You want him so bad by this point that you can’t really question how dumb you could sound actually asking for it. 

“Can you, like–” Your words are lost on you when he pulls back with a small smile and a curious look.

“Do you want to?” He asks, despite knowing this is where the situation was headed.

           You give a shy nod, reaching your hand down between the two of you and gripping him yourself for the first time. 

           He lets out a shaky breath with a laugh, humping his hips forward and into your hand intentionally when he does it. 

“Fuck,” He seethes out. “Yeah, okay.” He sighs this time, without shame still fucking himself into your hand and showing a desperate need for what you’re asking for. 

           You can’t help but get lost in it. Your hand guided his cock down and against your clit for a brief moment of sensitive relief before releasing a breath that you didn’t even know you were holding when you position him at your entrance. 

           He pushes in without holding back, but he’s slow with it. The head of his cock sank into the warm and clenched walls causing a pleasant stretch. Both of you let out a moan at this, feeling him push in slowly, continuously, until he’s bottomed out and nuzzling against your ear. 

“Sound so pretty when you moan,” he babbles against your ear, leaving wet and warm condensation from his breath there. “You could drive me insane like this.”

           You moan again, not entirely for his pleasure but simply because it feels so good. His cock pulsing inside of you when you clench around him, his soft voice in your ear. Sensory overload has never felt so fucking euphoric to you. 

“Like that, yeah.” Hongjoong rasps out this time, pulling his head back in time with his hips. Almost emptying you entirely before pushing back in with that same languid drag of his hips. His eyes are on you now though, arms at either side of your head as he works up a lazy kind of rhythm. One that offers a deep thrust each time. 

           You can’t help the sounds that fall from your lips, and you can’t help that your pussy is throbbing around him, and certainly, you can’t help that the feeling of one of his hands moving to your chest before dipping his head down and sucking against it makes you moan out a bit louder. 

           With each moan, he almost mimics you with his own. He’s riding off of the pleasure he’s giving to you. Then again, he’s always been fond of pretty sounds. Music is his passion but hearing you make such delicate sounds for him makes his head spin in all sorts of directions. 

           His thrusts become more pointed after a few minutes, fucking into you at a pace that feels equally as deep but more powerful now. Your hands grip at anything you can get ahold of, meaning, you grip him. His arms, his back, and then finally you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down.

           His hips stutter at that before he grabs one of your legs and hikes it up and around his waist. This allows him to position himself slightly differently, fucking into you at an angle as his lips immediately fall to yours with a breathy laugh. 

           You can’t kiss him back this time though, with the new angle he’s driving into you causing his cock to bump repeatedly against a soft spot inside of you. Your mouth is left slack, releasing empty moans against his attempts to kiss you.

           He takes intense note of it, keeping up his pace and falling in love with the way you react to this angle. His hands find purchase above your head and he leans back to watch you as he fucks into you. 

“God,” He says slightly out of breath, dipping in briefly to kiss you on the forehead. “I’m going to come in about five seconds if you keep doing this.”

           Your eyes roll back slightly at his words and instantly you’re shoving your hand between the two of you to push yourself over the edge. He swats your hand away though, still fucking into you all while intertwining his fingers with yours and using his other hand to do the work for you. 

“Fuck, I can’t get enough of you,” He says, rubbing his fingers in harsh circles around your sensitive clit. “Let me take care of you,” he adds in a huff, his hips becoming more frantic each time he feels your pussy tense around him. 

           Just like that, you’re releasing in waves with trembling legs. To the point that you throw your other leg around his waist and essentially push him into you with such force that he can’t even thrust anymore. You hold him there, riding out your high and struggling to comprehend the fact that this man isn’t always attached to you like this. 

           He lays there, his head forced into the crook of your neck as he feels you come around him, clenching him so tightly that he can’t really help it either. Your warm and wet pussy is absolutely soaking him and all he can do is let it. All he can do is feel it, to the point that he’s driven over the edge too. 

           Even when you release your death grip hug, he stays in place, nuzzling further against your neck with choked moans and tight presses of his hips. He’s trying to drive his cock deeper than it can go as he releases it, the feeling too good for him to think straight. You run your fingers through his hair as he does it, trailing your fingernails down to his neck and across his back. 

           You can feel the goosebumps on his skin under your fingers, and when his body finally goes limp on top of you, all you can do is continue that motion. Scratching, rubbing, soothing him through both of your post-orgasm brain fog. 

 ~

             Becoming Hongjoong’s girlfriend was something that should have been expected if you’re being honest. It should be a normal relationship, with normal arguments, and normal sex. Except it’s not. 

           The relationship is anything but normal but you’d like to say you prefer it this way. With the late night dates to empty parking lots just to be outside of your own spaces, the gas station runs where the two of you need to buy every snack known to man to satiate your munchies. The repeat tv shows playing on his television because you never quite catch what happened in episode six despite watching in four times. To be fair, episode six always comes on when you’re almost entirely wrapped up with your boyfriend. 

His hands are always stained with hair dye because he can’t be bothered to wear gloves, your hands are stained with hair dye too because you can’t not run your fingers through it when he’s between your legs. He’s always adding color to your life, be it literally or emotionally.

           There’s something strange about the way he balances you. In public with him, all attention is on his ripped clothes and shining piercings and a quirk of the brow always comes when they see you holding his hand. 

You kind of like the attention these days though. 

[luviemax]

karma! (begin again part 3)

a/n: last part maybe??? idk... anyway here's song inspo -> oscar piastri x female!reader, ex!carlos sainz x reader, reader doesn't have a faceclaim

warnings: for plot's sake let's just pretend the mclaren in the earlier part of the season wasn't garbage... major irl divergence ig, logan being soooo america luver, logan being a great wingman :), more plot than being a smau... be forwarned, lily erasure... i'm so sorry i love her, all pics frm pinterest

part one, part two

masterlist

"Are you sure you don't want to walk in with me?" Oscar asks you. Again. It's the weekend of the Miami Grand Prix, after the break following the Azerbaijan race. Oscar seems to be excited to get back on track, especially with you accompanying him to the race. "Oscar," you begin. "Yes?" he gives you a cheeky smile. "If you ask me one more time I think I might just smack you." "Noted." Oscar barely has time to respond before Logan is bursting through the doors of the hotel room.

"Home race baby!!!" Logan announces, plopping himself onto Oscar's unmade bed. "You seem to be..." You take a moment to find the words, "jubilant." "Hell yeah!" he smiles, "red white and blue baby!" Oscar simply gives him a brief glance with a quirked eyebrow over his shoulder. "Whatever. Let's get some lunch," Oscar grabs the keycard from the bedside table and opens the door for you, "ladies first." "What a gentleman," you tease as Logan follows closely behind you, "what're we eating?" "Burger," Logan states. There isn't any debate from you or Oscar, "but please don't tell my trainer..."

As the three of you approach the restaurant, Logan insists that you sit with Oscar, which is odd as he typically likes to sit next to you. Oscar told you that he had come clean to Logan about the whole fake-dating situation, and apparently, Logan had taken it quite well, and was completely on-board with the whole "get revenge against Carlos!!" campaign.

The three of you eat in a relative, comfortable silence. It's something that comes after so many years of friendship. "We better head to the paddock now." Oscar states, slapping his hands on his knees. "Roger that. See y'all on the paddock." Logan waves, making his way out. "Wait... how's he gonna get there? Didn't he come with us..?" You make a perplexed face at Oscar, eyebrows furrowing with concern. "Ah, it's fine," Oscar waves your concerns off, "don't worry yourself about him, love." For some reason, despite you swearing that you and Oscar's relationship was purely platonic, the pet name he'd used for you set ablaze a slow, yet surely burning flame in your stomach. Nevertheless, you just ignore your feelings, because the two of you are just friends, right?

logansargeant has posted!

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logansargeant: home grand prix LET'S GOOOOOO!!!!

yourusername: good luck king -> oscarpiastri: what about me ☹️ -> yourusername: good luck oscar :) -> oscarpiastri: oh thanks!! -> logansargeant: please take this out of my comment section

user1: LOGAN WHO ARE THE PEOPLE ON THE SECOND SLIDE?? -> user2: he knows something we don't... -> user3: he knows something that we'll never know.... -> logansargeant liked a comment!

"Seriously? Are you kidding me?" your outrage is apparent from the tone in your voice. "I'm sorry ma'am. If your pass doesn't work, I can't let you in." The security guard gave you a pitiful, close lipped smile. "Okay then, that's fine." Perhaps a little too passive aggressively. Yes, you were frustrated. But then again, at least he's doing his job properly? You pulled out your phone from your bag, and dialled Oscar's number. Almost immediately, after 2 rings, he picks up the call. "Hey, what's up?" "They aren't letting me in. I think there's something wrong with the pass." You informed him, and you can hear a little shuffling from his end. "I'm on my way."

You let out a silent sigh of relief when you see Oscar's familar figure approaching the security guard. "Hey mate, I think there's been a misunderstanding. She's with me." Before the guard can even respond to Oscar, he gently grabs your hand, interlocks your fingers with yours, and taps his pass on the reader to let you into the paddock. As soon as the two of you step into the paddock, you hear the unmistakable click of cameras flashing. Fuck.

f1wagsupdates has posted!

13,345 likes

f1wagsupdates: McLaren driver, Oscar Piastri, is seen with longtime friend Y/N Y/L/N months after her split with Ferrari driver, Carlos Sainz! This is the first time we've seen Y/N on the paddock with Oscar. I suppose that the 'mystery man' in her soft launches on her instagram page is no longer a mystery!

user1: huhhh

user2: #unexpected

user3: isn't this kinda an invasion of privacy... -> yourusername liked this comment!

Carlos is fuming. He swears that he's about to combust. He was having a... decent day. He was starting at P3, which was somewhat decent. Could've been better, could've been worse. Then, he's scrolling through Instagram in his driver room, and the post he sees makes his stomach drop. How could you move on so quickly? Not only that, but shove it in his face too by coming to the paddock? It'd been short of 2 months since the two of you split. Yeah, maybe he'd moved on himself, but it wasn't the same. He'd been seeing the girl for something like 5 months now. Nevertheless, how could you have moved on so quickly? His mind was racing. It feels like salt in the wound when he sees the TV stream pane to you in the McLaren garage. Y/N Y/L/N, Oscar Piastri's partner. He feels rage churn in his stomach, how could Oscar steal what was his? But he no longer has time to muse. It's time to race.

"It's lights out and away we go at the Miami Grand Prix!" Crofty's voice filled the garage, the raw enthusiasm and passion in his voice made apparent from the volume of his voice. "Carlos Sainz gets off to a poor start!" Martin Brundle exclaims, a hint of a wince in his voice for what could've been, "Oscar Piastri, on the other hand, is absolutely flying! The rookie gets off to an excellent start, overtaking everyone, climbing to the 6th position! Ahead of him is Carlos Sainz, with the gap between them being 5 seconds."

Everything is relatively peaceful, up until lap 15. Max has worked himself up to the first position, and really, is anyone shocked? However, the gap between Carlos and Oscar becomes smaller and smaller, and truthfully, you're kind of nervous for the inevitable.

"And-" Crofty begins, "Oof!" Crofty and Brundle both wince at the same time. Audibly, there's a loud screech from Mark Webber in the background. "Oscar Piastri attempts to take the inside line but Carlos Sainz doesn't relent! And Sainz pushes Piastri into the gravel, and Piastri spins off the track into the barrier! That looks like race over for Piastri. The race stewards are now investigating the incident." "Are you ******* kidding me?" Oscar scoffs, bewilderment apparent in his voice through the radio. "What is this idiot trying to do?" Carlos yells over the radio, accent thick and upset.

Crofty's voice is drowned out by the sheer panic that you feel. Is Oscar okay? You attempt to ask the McLaren pit crew, but all of them seem too preoccupied with the recent news of the collision, and they look to be equally as preturbed as you. However, in a moment of pure relief, you see Oscar climbing out of the car, seeming unharmed. He gets into the Medical Car, presumably on the way back to the garage. A Safety Car is called to the rest of the remaining drivers. "And that is a 5 second penalty to Sainz, presumably served in the pits if Ferarri makes a good call." Brundle states, with a hint of sass in his voice. Obviously, he was quite tired of Ferarri's shennanigans.

You hold your breath as the Medical Car approaches the McLaren garage. Oscar climbs out, looking relatively unharmed. Only angry. He storms into the garage, rapidly approaching your direction. He grabs your arm and drags you into his Driver's Room.

"Oscar-" your worry is drowned out when he slams the door of his Driver's Room and presses his lips onto yours. The kiss is sudden. Rough. Angry, even. But Oscar's always been cool. Calm, even. But there's nothing cool or calm about this kiss. It's filled with fire and passion. It makes you flush and blood flows to your cheeks. When the two of you part, you're both breathing heavily, and he pulls you into his chest. His arms are warm and he swears that he was made to hold you. He drags you onto the sofa, and instinctively, you crave the warmth of his body and curl into his side, peering up at him, quite shyly.

"Hit your head too hard?" You tease, stroking his face gently with your fingers. "If anything, it only brought me to my senses," He strokes your hair, making you croon with satisfaction. The tone of the room begins to shift, "You were made for me, you know that?" You say nothing in retaliation. You're speechless, but not in a bad way. "When I spun out, I thought of you. Who takes care of Y/N if I get hurt?" Oscar muses, peering down at you lovingly. "Hmm... I think Logan wouldn't mind filling your shoes...." You tease. "Hey, I'll kick you out." Oscar retaliates, but begins talking seriously again, "Every day, I wake up, and my first thought is you." "Did you crash into Carlos as revenge for me?" You chuckle. "Hey, if anything, he crashed into me. I swear, he has a vendetta against me. But just so you know, I'd go down defending your honour." "So cheesy," you hum, running your fingers through the short strands of his hair, "If anything, I'd be mad too. You pried his girl from his hands and made her heart yours."

yourusername has posted!

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant and 528,103 others

yourusername: karma is the guy of my dreams coming straight home to me!!!

oscarpiastri: do you know that girl? she's so gorgeous -> yourusername: idk but that guy is really hot -> logansargeant: guys ur so gross (this is adorable i've been manifesting this since i was like 12)

landonorris: congrats on the catch oscarpiastri 😔 -> oscarpiastri: ikr

user1: HARDLAUNCCHHHHHHH

oscarpiastri has posted!

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 715,391 others

oscarpiastri: a dissapointing end to today's race, but at least i've got my girl with me &lt;3

yourusername: oscar you're too sweet 😭 -> oscarpiastri: you're the best &lt;3

logansargeant: ewwww (you guys are the most adorable couple i've ever seen) -> oscarpiastri liked this comment!

fredrickvesti: omg

logansargeant has posted!

liked by oscarpiastri, yourusername and 412,294 others

logansargeant: guys. i was literally MADE for this day. like. anyway... here's the compilation of pictures i've collected from over the years 😇

oscarpiastri: i had no idea you took these... -> logansargeant: of course you didn't you were too busy paying attention to her

yourusername: omg these are sooo cute -> logansargeant: ikr

user1: omg couple goals 😭

user2: sleeping on the street tonight.

user3: oscar and y/n please adopt me

private chat: carlos sainz:

carlos sainz: y/n, are you fucking serious????

you: she can't come to the phone right now. she's busy.

this contact has been blocked!

[botanicalsword]

Slow-burn love • Astro observations (Synastry / Composite)

Slow-burn love takes time to grow but deeply roots itself in the hearts and minds of couple.

Intimacy is not a sudden burst of energy, but rather a gradual flame that is nurtured through the cultivation of shared values, vulnerability, respect, and authenticity over time.

✧✧✧✧

This is just my personal take from what I've seen and been through. The compatibility depends on how the two aspects play off each other.

✧✧✧✧

Photo credit : @le.sinex

11H synastry • Venus in 11H

Sun in 4H, 11H synastry

Mars in 10H synastry

Pluto in 7H in composite

Stellium in Composite : 6H , 9H, 11H

Earth elements stellium

Capricorn placement in composite

Taurus placement in personal planet

Juno / Neptune aspect

Mars / Venus aspect

Mars / Uranus aspect

❥ Pluto in 7H in composite

The combination can create a secretive and captivating story.

Pluto represents secrets and mystery, as it holds the deepest aspects, the secret spaces, and the hidden motivations. When Pluto falls in the 7th House of a composite or synastry chart, it indicates that the relationship between two people has a naturally deep tone to it.

This yearns for depth, intensity, and serious exploration into all the ways of being in a long-term close partnership. Such a relationship seeks to resolve any and all wounds in the relationship and develop a truly interdependent relationship filled with wholeness for each person as well as the relationship itself.

Pluto in the 7th House can signify that the relationship is shrouded in secrecy and filled with hidden desires and motivations. This can create a sense of forbidden love, as the intense emotions and deep connections between the couple may be perceived as taboo by others. The slow burn of the relationship may also add to the tension, as the couple navigates the complex layers of their feelings for one another.

Ultimately, the relationship has the potential to be transformative, as the couple delves deep into the inner workings of themselves and their relationship to create a strong and lasting bond.

❥❥❥❥

❥ Capricorn placement in composite

The key aspects emphasized in this context are cooperation, results-driven approach, behavior awareness, inner values, and hard work. The focus is on cultivating a work environment where individuals work together towards achieving common goals and objectives. This requires a high level of collaboration, communication, and mutual respect.

The relationship between colleagues is akin to that of work buddies, where they support each other in achieving their targets. If their aspects allowed, it will be a colleagues to lovers relationship.

They are expected to be aware of their behavior and its impact on others. They are encouraged to develop their inner values which are reflected in their actions and decisions. Hard work is highly valued and recognized as a key driver of success.

The foundation of a successful work buddy relationship is built on trust. This is established through promises made and commitments upheld. When they deliver on their promises and fulfill their commitments, they demonstrate their reliability and build trust with their colleagues. This, in turn, creates a positive relationship where they feel valued, respected, and motivated to perform at their best.

❥❥❥❥

❥ Taurus placement in personal planet

Taurus has a peaceful and harmonious influence from Venus, which reflects in their approach to love and relationships. Their love language is expressed through a serene and natural demeanor, where they quietly take care of their loved ones. They do not prefer extravagant displays of affection or grand romantic gestures, but instead, they show their love through practical actions and gestures.

Taurus is known for their refined taste and appreciation for quality over quantity. They prefer simple, yet sophisticated experiences that hold meaning and value, over superficial and lavish ones. They have an eye for beauty, whether it is in nature, music, or art. They are not drawn to luxury for the sake of it, but rather as a way to enhance their enjoyment of life.

Stability, security, and comfort are highly valued by Taurus in their relationships. They seek a partner who shares their values and is willing to forge a strong and long-lasting connection based on trust, respect, and authenticity.

•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•

Houses show areas of life impacted and aspects describe the effect and compatibility.

To determine if the connection will work, consider the full chart.

Masterlist @botanicalsword

[sweetsweetjellybean]

A crush that was better off a secret and a kiss that should never have happened.

Masterlist WC: 12399

TW: 2012 AU, Older!Eddie, Older!Steve, Femreader, Second Chance Romance (not a slow burn), Love Triangle, Smut, 18+ No minors beta'd by @superblysubpar

A sharp chill nips at your cheeks as gusts of autumn wind blow through the amber-leafed trees that surround  Hawkins High's parking lot. You pick at the splintered wood of the picnic table beneath you, etched with initials and scribbles. The anguished croon of Placebo plays through your headphones, drowning out the sounds of the start of another school day. Shifting the pile of books on your lap, you steal a glance at where Eddie stands with his back to you a few yards away. Lately, it’s like your best friend has purchased real estate in your brain. Daydreams resulting in hearts doodled in the margins of your notebooks a little too close to where you printed his name. His dark curls spill over the collar of his worn denim vest, shadowing the frayed edges of the Dio patch he had sown on last week. He's deep in conversation with Dan Shelter, a senior in the same class that Eddie would have been in if he hadn’t missed so much time after his mother passed. They both turn and look at you at the same time.

Eddie’s eyes narrow as his brows pull tighter into a frown. You push one of your headphones back, and the noise of everyday chatter and car engines bursts into your reality like a bubble popping. 

"You know your girlfriend is deeply weird, Munson," the spiky-haired jock says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his letterman jacket, not even trying to hide his distaste.

Girlfriend? You’ve both tried to stamp out that rumor—yet no matter who else you go out with, those sparks never last and pale in comparison to the steady flame you feel around Eddie. Would it really be so bad if it were true? But your answer scares you more than you expect. 

"She’s not my girl," Eddie retorts with a swift shake of his head, his voice edged with that familiar bite of annoyance. His foot scuffs against the asphalt, the white Reebok stark against the black of his jeans that cling to his narrow hips. With a sigh of impatience escaping him, the fabric of his Hellfire Club t-shirt pulls tighter across his chest, outlining his lean frame underneath. 

"You in or out?" He snaps his fingers near Dan's face, the sunlight catching on the silver rings that adorn his fingers, "I've got other places to be, and you're not my only customer."

"Sure, whatever," Dan grumbles, extending his hand with a few crumpled bills.

Eddie accepts the cash with an easy smirk and a casual flick of his fingers. He teases the dime bag between thumb and forefinger, letting it sway like a pendulum for a heartbeat. Dan’s hand hovers, eyes darting for prying eyes, but before he can grasp it, Eddie lets the bag drop to the ground. 

"Oops," Eddie says, his voice dripping with feigned innocence. He pivots on his heel, walking away without a backward glance.

Dan’s face ignites with anger as he stoops for the bag, muttering curses under his breath.

"Always a pleasure," Eddie calls over his shoulder as he turns to join you, flashing a dismissive two-fingered salute. A gaggle of giggling girls from the sophomore class crosses his path, eyes trailing over him like he's their favorite song come to life.  

"Ladies." He casually extends an arm, waving them past, his voice a smooth melody that never fails to draw attention. They flutter past with whispers and longing glances. Despite their whispers of 'freak' in the corridors, they all seem to vie for a chance to climb into the back of his van, to be the subject of rumors they'd later deny.

He never hides his interest when he likes a girl — everybody knows when Eddie Munson is into someone. But he’s never looked at you that way, never given you that smile meant for those he desires. And that’s something that has never bothered you. Now, it stirs something else — a green thorny vine wrapping around your insides. He’s just Eddie–your friend, the same old Eddie, even as your heart whispers lies of a different tune.

Without missing a beat, he saunters over, the rhythmic clink of his chain wallet punctuating each step. He leaps onto the picnic table, landing beside you with a thud that sends vibrations through the timeworn wood, eyes lingering on the girls retreating forms.

"You need to be careful, Eddie," you warn, your eyes following as Dan stalks off, his annoyance like a dark cloud.

"Careful is my middle name, doll." He smiles a big, sly grin, dimples deepening, that causes a flutter in your chest, an unexplained sensation that's become strangely frequent these days.

He nods at your leg."What’s this?" His eyes drop to your thigh, dark lashes making a half-moon shadow on his cheek. His thumb brushes over the square field of bright white crosses over the darker denim patch on your jeans, and a trail of tingles follows, unbidden and unwelcome. You disguise the shiver as a chill from the wind, even as you yearn to lean into his touch.

"It’s called sashiko," you explain, strangely aware of the warmth of his skin, the ghost of his touch lingering with an unfamiliar tingle. "The art of visible mending." 

"Looks cool," he says, his gaze meeting yours, a little too intense, a little too long. Your fingers clutch your notebooks tighter, a shield against whatever this feeling is.

"Are you coming over after school?" Your voice is steadier than you feel.

"I’ll drop you off, but I’ve got to go back to the trailer after," Eddie replies, his eyes still holding yours, a silent conversation you can't quite interpret. "I’ve got stuff to do," he adds, and something in his tone suggests layers you're not ready to peel back, "Not your kind of stuff."

The house where Eddie grew up doesn't even look the same anymore. Someone else has moved in, always keeping the lawn perfect, and all the broken things have been fixed up. Erasing any traces of tragedy. The neighborhood has moved on as well, absolving themselves. Like they hadn’t just turned their back and let it happen as if it wasn't their problem. Eddie's staying on the other side of town now with his Uncle Wayne in a tiny one-bedroom trailer. Wayne's heart is in the right place, even if he drinks too much, just like Eddie's dad did. But he's not bad, just... lost when it comes to dealing with an angry teen, and with him working nights, Eddie's on his own to figure out how to deal with it all. 

"I can keep you company," you offer, the words casual but your heart isn't in it. You can't help the way your gaze lingers on him, hopeful despite yourself.

He shakes his head, a shadow crossing his features. "Nah, I’ve got to stop at Rick's, then a run," he says, and there's a hardness in his eyes that wasn't there before.

You frown, frustration knitting your brows. "I don’t see what the big deal is," you argue, your voice lower, "We smoke together all the time."

"The big deal," he says, reaching out to lift your chin, forcing you to look at him, "Is that this is business, and I don’t want you involved. Alright?" His voice is firm, letting you know he won’t budge. "I’ll pick you up later," he promises, "Movie night, just us."

The shrill ring of the bell is your cue to retreat, to put distance between you and these feelings that are threatening to upend everything. You nod at him, shoving your books into your bag. His gaze holds onto you for a heavy beat before breaking away, stirring a current of unease within you. There's a shift in the air, a prelude to something you can't name, like the static before a storm leaving a trail of goosebumps on your arms and a warmth low in your belly as you part ways at the door. Eddie's last glance sears itself into your thoughts. 

As you make your way to class, the feeling clings, like an overplayed song on the radio — a sense that the simplicity of life is about to fracture. The ache is new and confusing. You hug your arms, trying to squeeze out the gnawing, persistent sting that seems to spread through your limbs. It's a tangible pain, this longing, like a hand squeezing around your heart, making it hard to breathe.

But you push it all down, resolving to guard your secret, to lock it away in the confines of your ribcage, where it can't taint the one thing you value most. The friendship you've built is too important, too rare to risk on a silly crush that might only live in your head–one that might fade with time. It’s a gamble you won’t take. You can't lose him. You won’t watch that light in his eyes dim for you, awkward silences replacing the laughter. Without him, you’d be alone.

It's safer this way–safer for your heart, for his, and for the delicate balance you've maintained for so long. The stakes are too high. You’ll keep your cards close to your chest. It’s a dangerous game you're playing, one you’re determined to win.

Cold grey days have been giving way to dark, inky nights. The stars and moon veiled behind thick cotton clouds, stealing the light earlier each day. Winds gust, sending wet leaves sticking to the glass of your office windows as the bare fingers of the boxwoods planted around the brownstone scratch against the house in protest.

Lowering the lid of your laptop, the light in the room dims as the brightness is trapped between the two halves. Your arms stretch over your head, loosening the tension trapped in your neck as you push away from your desk, drifting towards the sounds of life coming from the living room. Steve’s long legs are stretched out on the chaise end of the couch, a Bulls game on the TV, but his attention is stuck on the laptop resting on his thighs. 

“My eyes are going to fall out my head if I stare at that screen for any longer,” you declare, rounding the corner of the couch.

“Well, then, come stare at this screen instead.” His arm extends, making space for you to crawl onto the couch next to him and fit yourself into his side. 

“You’re so warm,” you comment, your cheeks nuzzling into his chest as his lips find the top of your head. “Don’t let me fall asleep.”

“I’ll wake you up when it’s time for bed. I still have a few hours of work left,” he sighs as his finger slides down the trackpad, scrolling through a document that seems to never end. 

“Is that for the launch?” Your eyes squint in protest at the brightness of his screen. 

He groans at the ping of another incoming email while he toggles between the many windows he has open. “Yeah, we're in the final stretch. The event team is trying to finalize the details. Maroon 5 and Fallout Boy are locked in to perform, but we’re still waiting to hear back from a few other acts and about a million other details that need ironing out.”

“It’s going to be a great night, baby. Everyone is going to be so impressed,” you assure, the arm you have draped across his stomach tightening, trying to impress your words into him. “Everything is going to go smoothly, you’ll see.”

He scoffs, doubt clouding his voice. “I wish I had your confidence. The server's capacity is still a question mark, and we're racing to fix streaming delays. Fuck!” The heels of his hands press into his eyes. “All I need is this thing to fail at the last minute, especially with Richard and my dad watching.” He imitates his father's stern tone, “Typical. He’s always been a fuck up. Chokes right before the buzzer.” Letting his hands drop, his vulnerable eyes turn to you. “I should have listened to you and not invited my parents. I actually never thought they would agree to come. Now I’m running around trying to get things ready for them too.”

“Hey,” you coax, tilting your head to lock eyes with him and taking one of his hands between yours, your heart aching with the tension you know he’s carrying. “That’s not going to happen, Steve. If the servers have issues or if there's a lag, it's just a hiccup. You've got a team to handle that. You've put in the work, and you're brilliant at what you do. Your parents will see that. Everyone will.” 

He manages a smile, but it’s just a placation.

“What can I do to help?” You ask, “I’ll make sure we have some Pellegrino stocked and that cheese your parents like.”

There's a pause as he weighs his next words.  “I’ve already called the housekeeper and let them know to put fresh sheets in the guest room in case they decide to stay here, but I still need to make a reservation at the Four Seasons as a backup.”

Your jaw tightens, but you curb your annoyance at how John Harrington has everyone trained to cater to his high-maintenance whims, but this is for Steve’s peace of mind. “I’ll call first thing tomorrow. Consider it done. Anything else?”

He hesitates, a little apologetic. "My suit... the dry cleaner closes early tomorrow. I hate to ask, but I might not make it in time–"

“No problem. I’ll make time.”

His lips lift at the corners, and this time, his smile reaches his eyes. “I love you.” He lends forward, slotting his lip softly in between yours. “I’ll put the ticket in your bag. Thank you for helping, Ace.”

“It's just Eddie's interview for me tomorrow afternoon. I should have plenty of time." Standing, you give his hand an encouraging tug. "Now, can we go to bed? Everything will look better after a good night's sleep.”

His mouth sets in a determined line as he shuts down his laptop, yielding to your pull as he rises. His hand finds a comforting place on the small of your back, grounding you both as you climb the stairs together. 

Hitching the strap of your messenger bag higher on your shoulder, you kick at a loose stone on the sidewalk in front of the brick building. Car horns blare in the distance as traffic rolls by in the busy neighborhood.  The sun casts a glint off the steel CursedSound sign, its metal already weathering with a faint tinge of color. The heavy door is yanked open, its clank and whine making you jump even though the sound is expected. 

"Hi," Eddie greets you from the other side of the threshold, the softness of his tone mirroring the gentleness in his eyes.

"Hi," you return, shyness adding a tremble to your voice that shouldn’t be there. His fingers grip the edge of the door, and light flashes off the Rolex peeking out from under the cuff of the plaid flannel he wears over a fitted v-neck and jeans, the fabric snug against his defined shoulders. It’s still a novelty to see how his slim build has filled in over the years, still expecting the boy you knew instead of this man in front of you. He looks you over the same way he did last time like he’s trying to decide if you’re really there. Maybe it’s the differences he sees in you, too, or does he look beyond the scars to the lonely girl he once knew? You shift your gaze away, down the street, your toes curling inside your Converse as a flush of warmth climbs up your neck. "Are you going to let me in?"

"I don't know." He pretends to ponder, a smile forming, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Where's your hard hat?"

Tilting your head to the side, you purse your lips until he breaks into a chuckle. He swings the door open wider to welcome you inside. You pass him with a shake of your head and continue down the dimly lit hall, now familiar with the layout. 

The lobby is in utter chaos.

"Sorry for the mess. The maid took the week off," he quips as he watches you take in the sight before you. 

The brown paper has been removed from the windows, allowing bright light to stream through the streaked and dirty glass. All the furniture has been pushed toward the center of the room, and ladders and paint cans litter the floor space. A large mural wrapping around the windows and front entrance has been outlined but not completed. In the same graffiti style as the one upstairs, this one displays more cityscapes with waves of the lake breaking at the forefront. Winged skulls and guitars blend with colorful swirls of clouds rising toward the ceiling. The colors brighten the deep tones of the space, capturing the essence of the city and the spirit of CursedSound.

"It’s perfect," you tell him as your eyes follow the sweeping, colorful lines around the room.

"Was that a compliment?" He asks, coming up behind you. "I thought it was a dump."

His breath, a warm whisper against your ear, spins you around. "Well, what can I say? It’s growing on me." Your fingers move to your lips, concealing your smile as his deepens. 

"You look really good." His low voice bounces off the empty walls, "I mean…your, uh, outfit is nice." He waves his hand toward you before wiping it on the front of his jeans. 

Your brows raise as you glance down at the jeans and plain tee with Lollapalooza written across the front. None of the trendy fashions you usually wore to interviews seemed to fit right today. Causing you to tug at necklines and fidget with the hems of three different outfits before settling on something casual. There’s nothing to hide behind – the armor is off. It’s time to hear him out. 

"Wow, that was smooth," he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I don’t know why I’m feeling nervous."

The fluttering in your stomach matches his energy. The shield of anger you’ve held between you is battered and worn thin, leaving uncertainty behind. 

"It’s because I’m going to get you to spill all your secrets and print them so the whole world can sit in judgment."

 A choked sound comes from his throat as his eyes widen into saucers.

Unable to keep a straight face, you giggle. "Relax, Eddie. I already told you I’m not writing some hit piece. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Besides," you shrug, "It’s only me." 

A sharp breath escapes as his shoulders lower. "Yeah, you’re right," he takes a step forward, his gaze locking with yours, "After all these years, it's you.

"Eddie." His name comes out with an almost breathless sigh as you look away. He takes another step forward, and you clear your throat before prompting. "Why don’t you show me what else you’ve done?"

He takes a step back, raking a hand through his curls, "Of course." His lips tighten into a flat line as he gestures toward the stairs. "After you." 

You lead the way to the second floor, where the smell of fresh paint permeates the air. A ladder leans against a half-painted wall, and orange extension cords crisscross the carpet in the hall, winding into the studios as if the work had been suddenly halted.

"Where is everyone?" You ask as you step inside Studio A. It's come a long way since your last visit. The deck to hold the mixing board has been completed, the glass installed, and the wiring is underway.

"I didn’t know how long you’d be here, so I told them to take the rest of the day off." His eyes follow the movements of your hand as it brushes over knobs and sliders of the soundboard, still sheathed in a protective layer of plastic. 

"You didn’t have to do that," you say, walking back out into the hall. 

"I didn’t think we needed the audience," he shrugs, walking along with you to the next room.

"I hope it doesn’t make you fall behind schedule." The walls of the small Studio B are covered with walnut slats to create an acoustic barrier while still keeping the room open, while the mixing room kept the original exposed brick.

"I’ve got time."

"Even so," you say, moving toward the window. The sun glints off the mirrored windows of the tall, sleek building across the street. "I’m sure you're eager to open. Put out that first album with the CursedSound logo in the liner notes."

"I am." He comes to stand beside you, his gaze taking in the bustle of the city at midday. "It’s gonna be good to have nothin’ between me and the music. Let the artists be as creative as they want. Their management can deal with the corporate A&R people and leave me out of it."

"You never did like playing by the rules," you smile, catching his eyes in the reflection of the glass.

He turns his head, studying your profile. "Why should I?" he continues, his tone more determined,"The rules sure as hell never helped me. I'm gonna take my chances as I find them. Even if I play a little dirty. I deserve happiness the same as the next guy."

"Of course you do." The world has done nothing but take from him. His mother. His childhood. The opportunities that came so easily to everyone else. 

"What about you?" He asks as you return to the hall, "The rules seemed to have treated you well."

You raise your shoulders while a warm smile graces your lips, one you have no intention of concealing. "I love my job. I like the city, and…I have Steve."

"You ending up with Steve Harrington," his voice curls around the name, a sneer you can almost see, "I gotta admit, I didn't see that one coming."

Stopping, you pivot to face him, crossing your arms over your chest. "He's a good guy, Eddie."

He expels a sigh in a short, almost defeated breath, shaking his head. "I know he is, doll."

The unmarked door at the end of the hall provides a convenient diversion. "Where does this go?" You wonder out loud as your hand closes over the knob. 

"My apartment."

"You're living here?" You release the doorknob as if it was hot.

"Sure. Can't beat the commute." He reaches around you, turning the doorknob to reveal another flight of stairs. "Do you want to go up?"

A tightness grips your chest as you attempt to step back, momentarily forgetting that he's right behind you. He supports you with a steadying hand on your hip as he moves to face you, seeking your reaction.

"No, that's okay. I think we're fine down here. We wouldn't want to disturb Skyler," you say, attempting to sound confident as you wipe your palms along the sides of your jeans.

Eddie reaches up and scratches the side of his head as his forehead wrinkles. "Who?" 

A hot breath passes your lips as you turn away, walking back down the hall toward Studio C. "You know," you call over your shoulder, too chicken to face him. "Skyler Simmons. Rock royalty. Media darling. Your long-time girlfriend. The one you own a house with. Ring any bells? Isn’t she here with you?"

"My what? Skyler Simmons?" The deep belly laugh that follows has you spinning on your heels to face him.

"Wait. You’re serious?" His dimples make an appearance as his smile deepens. "Me and Skyler?" He can barely get her name out without chuckling. 

"The one you’re photographed with constantly."

His brows shoot up. "Keeping tabs on me?"

"Oh, don’t flatter yourself," you huff, "It came up in my research. Do you have a relationship with her or not?"

"I know her," he offers, shaking his head, "She’s a friend. We go to the same group." 

"What group? The one for annoying assholes." 

He pauses, his arms crossing over his chest. "The one for people with family members who are addicts. That okay with you?" His voice escalates. The simmering anger in his eyes mirrors the intensity of his tone. "Skyler is gay. Her girlfriend's usually hanging around, too. Does that mean I’m fucking her too? Jesus."

A splash of frigid water clashes with your hot blood as the fight drains away. Flashes of that day are more vivid than they should be for memories two years old. The carpet of your closet is soft under your fingers as wet splashes of tears rain down on the glossy pages, Steve's voice getting closer as he calls out your name. Glancing down at your feet, your voice diminishes, barely more than a whisper. "Why hasn't she come out in the media?"

"Maybe because it’s none of anybody's fucking business." His piercing gaze bores into you as the sharp words land like heavy stones in the sour pit in your stomach. "Hold on," he waves a hand in front of you, "Why do you even care?"

"I don’t," your voice falters as the dishonest answer leaves you without hesitation, and your eyes trace the patterns on the floor, "It just makes for a better story, is all." 

His hands run through his hair, fingers tugging on the ends as his tone softens. "Doll," he pauses, taking a deliberate step closer. His warm fingers cup your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his. Those amber swirls, always seeing beyond your surface. "No one else is in my apartment, and no one else is gonna be."

His touch sends a searing heat spreading through your skin as the weight of your engagement ring pulls on your finger. "You’re a grown man, Eddie. Do whatever you want." Stepping back, his hand falls from your face as you turn and enter the studio.

"Fucking stubborn," the low murmur carries under his breath as he follows you inside.

Signs of careful refinement have touched every corner of this studio. Gray triangles of acoustic foam now completely adorn the walls of the live room in contrasting patterns, adding both practical functionality and visual interest. The mixing room's mural stands as a completed masterpiece, and a deep-seated leather sofa, designed to look comfortably aged, takes its place in front.

"It looks like this one’s almost finished." The strap of your bag slides down your shoulder as you sink down onto the couch, taking in the details that have been added since your last visit. 

His eyes move around the room, the pride evident on his face that his vision has become a reality. "Just some wiring and the vocal booth, and I’ll be ready to start setting the levels."

"This one’s your favorite, I can tell," you say, shifting to tuck a leg under you as he joins you on the couch. 

"Shhh," he hushes you, raising a finger to his lips, a playful glint in his eyes. "The others will get jealous."

With an eye roll, you reach into your bag, your smile never fading as you retrieve your phone and open the recording app with a deft touch, placing it between the two of you.

"How does this work?" Eddie inquires, his eyes fixed on your phone, one hand rubbing the back of his neck.

"Well, typically," your hand slips back into your bag to retrieve the neatly stapled pages of your notes, "I ask a question, and you provide the answer." As you set the pages on your lap, your gaze lifts to meet his, a small, reassuring smile on your lips. The faint strains of songs from the past echo behind the locked door in front of you – one that might be best left closed and forgotten. But he’s in front of you, handing you the key. You draw in a steadying breath, your chest rising and falling with it. "Eddie Munson interview, part one."

"Mr. Munson." You exchange warm smiles, like kids pretending to be grownups. "Thank you for granting us an interview during this busy time. All of us at Stax are very excited to welcome CursedSound to Chicago."

He leans forward, his voice dropping slightly in timber as a much smoother, older Eddie begins to answer, "Thank you. I always have time for my favorite magazine." He winks.

Your lips press into a line as you tilt your head to the side and take a quick glance at your packet. "In April 2003, Fever to Tell was released by a relatively new band and a completely unknown sound engineer. It went on to sell over a million copies, putting The Yeah Yeah Yeahs and the name Eddie Munson on industry minds. Fever to Tell is still, to date, one of my favorite albums. Were you aware of the significant impact this record would have when you were working on it?"

"At the time, we were really just hopeful, you know? We believed in the music we were creating. Karen and Nick, and Brian flew out from New York with their last dime, and we just got to work. Karen had this raw, untamed energy, and I wanted that to add the edge to the album. It was this post-punk dance-floor-friendly racket that injected a much-needed dose of authenticity into a musical landscape that was getting stagnant."

"It's not an exaggeration to say that record helped shape the direction of indie and alternative rock for years to come. But what I want to ask is you before all that. What was the road like moving from Hawkins to having your dreams come true in LA? Was this the path you first set out on, or were there curves in the road?"

"I think 'curves' is a generous term for the absolute shit choices I was making for myself back then," he chuckles. "As you know, I left Hawkins about a year after I graduated. That town had already decided I would never be anything more than a freak– a loser with no future. If I had stayed, that's exactly what would have happened. I was trying to outrun my past without a clue what I wanted for my future. I had my own band back then, and sometimes, we’d open for slightly bigger bands that rolled through town. One of them was about to tour and invited me to go as their one and only roadie, and it felt like a free ticket out."

"Bananafish," you interject, swallowing and glancing down at your notes.

"Yeah, Bananafish. God, they sucked. Did you know they started as a Spin Doctors tribute band?"

"No," you laugh, "And that wasn’t a red flag for you?"

"It should have been. I wasn’t with them for long anyway. I think I lasted for three weeks before they cut me loose for getting in a fight with the drummer." He pauses, shaking his head. "I never knew when to shut my mouth. At that point, they had hooked up with another band called Everly. Slightly better, but not by much. I managed to hold it together for a few months. I was high or drunk most of the time, the only reason they kept me around is because they liked the way I babied their instruments instead of hauling them like luggage."

"I remember you’d spend half an hour polishing that Warlock every day after school," you muse.

"Got to treat a lady right if you want her to sing for you," he says with a sly rise and fall of his brows. He casually drapes an arm over the back of the couch, shrinking the space between you.

"I was surprised that you left it behind." 

Eddie's expression turns more solemn, his eyes locking onto yours. "There were a lot of things I wished I could’ve taken with me. But back then, I couldn’t even take care of myself."

"I don’t believe that," you swallow, the words sticking in your throat, "You could have tried."

"If I had tried, they would’ve ended up broken, and I’d‘ve lost them anyway." His long fingers brush your shoulder, and you flinch. The leather creaks as you sit back against the arm of the couch, just out of reach. 

"Back to Everly. Why did you part ways?" 

"Oh, well, I fucked it up, of course. They had landed a spot at Bonnaroo, and I got so fucked up the night before I missed sound check. When I managed to pick myself up off the floor of the van, they handed me my duffel and a twenty and told me to pound sand." His eyes drift away, fixating on a point across the room as he gets lost, reliving the memory. "I had barely been outside of Indiana, and there I was stuck on some farm in Manchester, Tennessee with no transportation, no money, and no one to call. I was angry at the world and never felt more alone. People always talk about hitting rock bottom. I thought that was mine, but now that I look back, it was more of a crossroads. If I had followed that darker path, there would have been no coming back. I was wandering around backstage where they park buses, hungover, maybe still half in the bag, and that’s when I met Max."

"Max Navarro?" You question, shuffling through the pages of your notes.

"Yeah. You know him?" Eddie’s eyes brighten as his gaze drops to the pages in your lap.

Your head turns from side to side. "You referred to him as a mentor in the Stones interview, but I couldn’t find much on him besides his name being listed as an audio engineer for several tours."

"That’s Max." Eddie breaks into a smile. "He’d tell you he likes flying under the radar. He was hanging out in front of the bus playing guitar with a couple of guys when I walked over like a cocky shit, picked one up, and started playing. He gave me something to smoke and it wasn’t weed. All I know is that I woke up face-down in the dirt the next morning. I don’t know if he liked me or just felt bad for me, but he dragged me on the bus and had me start assisting him with the sound for Faith No More."

"Faith No More? Are you kidding me?" Your hands fall to your lap, slapping against your thighs, jostling the cushion enough for your phone to slide toward the back of the couch. "You had their poster in your room. If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you had a charmed life."

"Well, even the sun shines on a dog's ass some days," he laughs.

"So Max is who taught you about engineering?" 

"Max is who taught me about everything." His voice holds a reverence when he says his name.  "He kept a close eye on me. Showed me how to work the boards.  He said he could see the shadows following me around, so when we got to LA, he took me out to the desert, fed me some tea, and exercised my demons."

"Did it work?" Max wasn't the only one to see the looming shadows. Remnants of decisions made by others. Expectations of a community that turned its back. They clung to him like an impenetrable fog, obscuring the light in the world. 

"I’m not sure. I felt lighter after, but it could have been the gallon of sweat," he says, a chuckle escaping his lips.  "After that, he cashed in a favor and got me an internship with a small studio in Laurel Canyon. I parked cars at night and lived in a room the size of a closet at Max’s house. I worked my ass off. I went to therapy–" 

"How very L.A. of you," you chime in, a wry grin tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"Don’t knock it until you try it." He looks at you from under raised brows. "It’s, uh, good to be open, you know?" 

"No thanks. I tried that once." You look at him pointedly, the tightness in your chest returning, "It didn’t work out for me."

The thinly veiled jabs you’ve been sending his way were hitting the target. Something like pain or regret flashes in his eyes. "Doll–" 

"You decided to stay in L.A. and work at a studio instead of going back out on the road?"

"I like studio sessions. Makes me feel like I’m working towards something. I like completing an album and putting it out in the world. Some people thrive being out on tour, like Max. Not me," he scratches at the short hair covering his chin. "Too many ghosts on those old roads." 

Like the haunting echoes back in Hawkins, the ones that jolt you awake in the dead of night, murmuring of the past, the shame emphasizing the pitiable acts of a girl lovesick and foolish. Robin had seen it, and so did the entire town. Yet, you're no longer that vulnerable soul. She lies in solitude now, resting beneath the frigid earth, her memory an unmarked grave. You've moved forward, and you’ll never go back, the city's symphony drowning out the remains of her cries.

"So you stayed and built your life there," you conclude, your fingers flipping through the pages of your notes, making sure every point from your outline has been covered.

Eddie leans back, a contemplative look on his face. "I guess you could say that. I got my own place, made some great friends. Sundays are for Max's family and chile relleno. The weather is always beautiful," he shrugs, his voice carrying a hint of noncommitment, "But I really stayed for the music. Have you been? I could take you some time. Show you around. Max would love to meet you, the girl I’m always talking about. I think you’d like it there."

The girl he’s always talking about but hasn’t bothered to call in a decade. "To Los Angeles?" You ask, your gaze rising from your notes to meet his nodding response. "I've been a few times. With Steve, mostly for work."

"Oh yeah. Makes sense." Eddie's jaw tightens, and he averts his gaze, his reaction a puzzle. "Well, I guess the rest is history. Is that enough for your story?"

"Yeah." You reach for your phone, tapping the red square to stop the recording. "It will be a great opening piece for the series." You pick up your messenger, hauling its weight into your lap, tucking your notes inside. The afternoon is ending like a song without a crescendo. A stone of disappointment sits on your tongue, holding back questions that you lacked the courage to ask, but maybe it’s better this way.

Eddie sits up suddenly, snapping his fingers. "Speaking of history, I want to show you something." He stands up, looking towards the door and back at you, "Um.. wait here, okay? I’ll just be a minute." 

"Okay-"

He holds up flat palms. "Don’t go anywhere." His eyes close as he winces, " I mean, you can wander around if you want. Just don’t leave."

"Eddie-" 

"I’ll be back." He holds up one finger as he exits the room. 

Sighing, you push up from your thighs, rising to your feet. Your steps carry you through to the live room, where the area rug underfoot is a clever imitation of age — its colors muted, its pattern artfully faded, though there's no doubt it's brand new. Your nails lightly tap the high hat as you pass the drum kit, and you smile at the shimmering sound that reverberates through the room, giving you the same pleasure as the sound of glass breaking. 

With a heavy drape in hand, you pull it aside and peer down onto the busy street below. The dim clamor of the city filters into the room, a steady rhythm of life. A question escapes your lips, almost a whisper, as you survey the world beyond the studio's walls, "What am I doing?"

The thought lingers as you spin the band of gold on your finger as your eyes trace the movements of the people and vehicles outside. You're caught in a moment, anxiety a lump in your throat you can’t seem to swallow. The street's hustle and bustle continues, indifferent. 

The sound of the floor creaking with footsteps echoes through the hall. He enters the room with the large box he's carrying obscuring his upper half. You recognize Wayne's shaky handwriting peeking out from behind Eddie's fingers, his name written boldly with a black marker.

"What's all this?" You ask as he sets down the box with a heave in the center of the room and sinks to his knees, hovering over the taped flaps.

"I have no idea," he says with a mischievous smile. "Wayne gave it to me when I stopped by last week and told him I was going to see you. But you know him. He never throws stuff out. It could be anything." His hand smoothes over the top as he raises a brow. "Wanna find out?"

Your hands slide over the denim covering your thighs before your feet carry you forward. "Mrs. Click better not be in there." 

His head tips back with laughter. "I make no promises," he jokes while you shift from behind the glass wall, taking a seat on the floor. Your legs cross casually as you face him from the opposite side of the box. One side of his mouth lifts as he waits for you to settle in. In a graceful stretch, he leans to the side, retrieving a box cutter from atop the soundboard, where it sits next to a pile of plastic straps. His shirt rises, revealing a teasing glimpse of hair trailing down his belly and the sculpted muscle beside his hips. His tongue lightly grazes his upper lip as he expertly flicks the knife open, his jeans snug on the contours of his strong thighs. Exhaling slowly, you avert your eyes, scanning the room instead as you wait for him to slice the tape. 

"Score!" He yells, pulling out the ragged-edged sheet that was folded and tucked into the top of the box. "Corroded Coffin," he reads aloud from the crude writing, scrawled across it with something resembling shoe polish.

"Oh no," you laugh, your head turning side to side as you rock in your seat. 

"Hey. This is rare band memorabilia. It’s probably worth money," he defends, holding it up proudly. 

"Yeah, to the guy you have to pay to haul it away," you giggle.

"Alright, Alright," he concedes, folding it up, the smile never leaving his face as he reaches in the box. "These are yours." He pulls out a stack of comics, handing them to you.

"Still in good shape," you comment, thumbing through Tank Girl and Witchblade comics. Opening one of your favorites, the art greets you like an old friend.

"My campaigns!" Eddie exclaims, pulling out a pile of notebooks and setting them aside before reaching back in. "Some Cds." He comes out with a hand wrapped around a stack of jewel cases, the one on top catching your eye. 

"My Cranberries Cd!" You cry, your fingers digging into the plush carpet as you tip forward onto your knees, taking it from his hand. "I looked for this everywhere. I knew you took it, you thief."

"I don’t know how that got there," he chuckles, scratching his head, "You must have left in the van."

"Nice try, Munson." your eyes narrow, "I checked there." You lean over the box, poking a finger into his chest, "I knew you had a crush on Dolores."

"It was the accent," he admits with a grin, his dimples on full display as his hand closes around your finger, warding off your attack. 

"I’m keeping it," you declare, dropping back into your seat and picking up the case to examine the inside.

"Holy shit."

You raise your head to meet his wide chocolate eyes, a look of sheer delight written across his face. "Close your eyes," he instructs, as he pulls back the flaps of the box, hiding whatever he's found.

"Mrs. Click?" You set the CD on top of the comics.

"Better," he says excitedly, waving a hand toward your face. "Close your eyes."

"Fine." You close one eye, folding your hands in your lap.

"No peeking," he scolds. Your lips purse as you close your other lid, waiting for the big reveal — plastic clanks against something heavy, followed by the rustle of cardboard.

"Okay. Open."

"Daisy!" Yyou squeal, your hands flying to your mouth before you reach out with wiggling fingers.

He winces as he hands over the two-foot concrete garden gnome. "How can you call something so ugly a pretty name like that?"

Taking the heavy lawn ornament in both hands, you gaze down at the way her hat droops over ears too large for her head, which stick straight out beside her bulging eyes and porcine, turned-up nose. Her rubbery lips are pulled back in a smile, showing off her crooked buck teeth and the yellow and white flowered dress that barely conceals her lumpy body. 

"She's beautiful," you tut, cradling the statue in your arms. "Besides, you're the one who stole her."

"You’re the one who dared me to," he scoffs. 

"I didn’t think you were going to wake up the whole neighborhood crashing into the bushes in Mr. Lawson’s yard." Heat takes over your cheeks as you smile unrestrained.

"I was drunk," he defends, his face turning red.

"You tripped over your feet, and your pants pocket ripped off on that branch," you gasp for air, trying to get the words out with your laughter, "You had on those Garfield boxers with the hearts."

"Of course, you remember that." His laughter joins yours, easy and familiar, while his fingers find their way into his curls. "You're the one that woke up the neighbors, making the van backfire."

"It was the first time I drove, and I didn’t have a license." You clutch Daisy tightly to your chest as you try to catch your breath. "Mr. Larson said he was going to shoot you in the ass."

Eddie wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. "He almost caught us when you stalled out. All for that hideous thing."

"Shh," you say, covering her ears with your hands. "You can’t get rid of her."

"Never," he agrees, reaching out for her. "I’ll find her place of honor around here somewhere."

"Put her on your nightstand," you suggest, handing her over. 

"Ugh," he says, setting her aside, "Only if you want me to have nightmares."

You burst into laughter once more, a rhapsodic melody that dances and twirls through the room. His eyes ignite with a warm, genuine light, and he smiles like he’s savoring every note, as if your happiness is a hard-earned treasure he's been longing for. 

The shattered remnants of life you once shared press against the scar tissue encasing your heart. They're persistent specters, trying to dislodge themselves and reform into your present. You can feel their sharpness pulling trying to come together like a puzzle. 

Your hand instinctively finds its way to your chest, where your heart resides beneath the layers of history. Pressing gently on that tender spot at the center, you push away the complications of the past and the future and just are, in this moment with him. 

"What else? What else?" You clap your hands, bouncing in your spot. 

"Okay, okay," he gives in, happy to indulge you, "Um, a pack of crayons, a monopoly piece." He tosses them aside. "Could have done without that. Looks like some clothes." He pulls out some folded band tees. "Want any of these?"

"Maybe," you shrug, "I could have them recut."

"Oh, this is yours," he tosses a ball of red fabric at you, and you catch it with both hands before he continues to search through the box.

"Is this what I think it is?" He asks, his voice brimming with excitement as he pulls a rectangular tin from the box. He shakes it, creating a sharp sound as something shifts inside the metal container.

"Yes," he says, his tongue sticking out from the corner of his mouth as he attempts to pry off the lid. Your focus turns to what you're holding, and you clutch the vest's hems, watching as your Musicland uniform unfurls before you.

His voice fades into the background as the gold name tag pinned to the front catches the light. A heavy sensation settles in your stomach, tightening and cramping as a sick, painful feeling creeps in and spreads — nausea churns, threatening to bring bile to the surface as breath comes hard, each inhale a battle.

"Polaroids," Eddie declares in triumph as he pries off the lid.

"Stop it," you manage to utter, your voice quivering, your trembling hands twisting the vest as if folding it small enough could somehow make the pain disappear.

"They’re pretty faded, though," he remarks, unaware. 

"I said, that's enough!" The balled-up vest flies from your hands, landing back in the box. Adrenaline surges through your veins, and you push yourself up on unsteady legs, resolute despite the confusion on his face. "I need to leave."

"Wait a minute." He gets to his feet, following you. The small pile you made topples over, forgotten as you pick up your bag from the couch. "What just happened?" He moves in front of you, blocking your path. "I thought we were having fun."

"Fun?" The word is a shard of ice. You sling your bag onto your shoulder, stepping around him towards the door.

"Just hold on a minute." He steps in front of you again, raising his hands with open palms, lines forming on his forehead. His eyes search yours, trying to find answers. "Tell me what's going on." 

"What do you want?" The words slice the air, eyes locked, a bare blade of anger.

"I wanted to-" His eyes flick towards the abandoned box in the center of the room.

"No." Your head shakes, "Why are you here? Now?  After all this time? What do you want from me?"

"I just wanted to see you." His arms cross over his chest and he hesitates, speaking softly, "I missed my friend."

"Your friend," sarcasm drips from your words as you quirk a brow, "So you show up here with a box of crap and a ‘hey doll’," your voice lowers to mock him before you continue, "And I’m supposed to what? Forget about everything that happened, hand you a clean slate and drop everything to follow you around like a puppy again because you feel like paying me some attention?"

"That’s not…I’m not asking for that." His hand runs through his curls, frustration building in his tone. 

"I'm not going to sit here with you wandering down memory lane and watch you pretend like you cared." Your eyes sting, but tears won't fall. You've shed your last one for him long ago. "Like any of it mattered."

"No one's pretending here, doll." He takes a step closer, his hands falling to his side, fingers rubbing at the seam of his jeans. "Of course, it mattered. All of it."

Your bag falls from your shoulder with a resounding thud, its weight matching your resolve as you push your hand against his chest. "I don't believe that for a second. If it mattered, you never could have done what you did."

"Done what?"

"Left me!" Your hand lands flat across your heart. "Without a goodbye, just some shitty mixtape full of songs I can't even listen to without reliving it over and over."

"You're right." His voice rises to match your volume, his fingers closing around your biceps. "I was a coward, and I ran. I couldn't see that look on your face again, the one you had when I told you I was leaving. I should’ve said goodbye, but I knew you'd try to convince me to stay, and I was never going to. I'm sorry I hurt you, but I can't be sorry I left."

"Hurt me?" You push his hands away, taking a step back to control the cracking in your voice. "You didn't just hurt me, Eddie. You destroyed me."

He swallows, looking away. "You were better off."

Fresh anger surges, along with the strong desire to escape – to leave this dead and buried, maybe for another decade until the hurt isn’t so strong. 

"See, that right there is why I'll never believe you," you snap, pointing an accusatory finger his way as you step around him, your hand closing around the doorknob. But at the last moment, turning, wanting him to hear it. At least once.

"I didn't quit Musicland. I got fired. I cried for days after you left. Then I wouldn't leave my room, not even to eat. I was so afraid to miss your call."

There's regret in his eyes as he steps forward, getting closer until he can touch you again, one hand gently gliding up your arm.

"But that call never came, did it, Eddie? Not one. And every day that passed, I died a little. But then I wasn't sad anymore. All those tears, they turned to hate," you say coldly, locking your gaze with his. "I hated you. I hated you for every song that came on the radio reminding me. I hated Hawkins and everyone in it. But most of all, I hated myself for believing. That's what you did to me, Eddie. You made me hate myself."

"I’m so sorry, doll," his words barely crest the silence, as his gentle hand cradles your jaw.

His touch is hot, but inside you, a coldness lingers–inside you’re stone. "You kissed me, and then you left me. You knew how I felt." 

"I know. I know. I’m sorry." He steps closer, trying to pull your rigid form into his arms, lips brushing your temple. "You don’t even know how much. I’ll spend the rest of my life apologizing. But you’re wrong. It all mattered. I did care. That kiss..it’s the reason…" He pulls back and looks into your eyes, "You knew me, you always did, but there were things I couldn’t tell you. Things I couldn’t admit to myself, how scared and angry I was."

Your head shakes as you swallow hard. "You're not even real!" You shout in his face, your fingers clutching the doorknob behind you. Spinning, you tug hard, but his hand slams against the door above your head keeping it shut. 

"Stop, doll," he pleads, but the push-pull intensifies. You're no match for his strength. "Stop it!" He yells, his hand pushes on your shoulder, turning you to face him. Anger flashes in his eyes, and his cheeks flush.

"The boy I knew could never have done that." Your shoulder jerks, breaking his hold as you attempt to turn away again.

His fingers wrap around the side of your neck, keeping you in place. "That boy could never have given you what you wanted. He wouldn’t have had the first clue how to handle you."

"Is that why you’re back?" You ask, still defiant even as his thumb presses into your throat, tipping your head to meet his gaze. "Dragging this all up again, ruining my life? Because you do?" 

"Damn right, I do." His words are a gravelly assertion, barely escaping before his mouth descends toward yours. For a heartbeat, the world pauses, the space between charged with past promises, until your mouths finally meet — urgent and fierce. You part your lips eagerly, tongues finding their way together in a hungry and unapologetic dance. The firm pressure of his commanding lips moving in sync with yours is a spark, igniting a flame that seems to spread with each touch. His scruff is a rasp against your skin, a pleasant roughness that contrasts with the smoothness of his kiss. He tastes like cinnamon and a hint of coffee. The scent of clove and cedar envelopes your senses, leaving you lightheaded as fire licks through your body. This kiss is the culmination of years of longing, swelling and crashing like an orchestral finale. Instruments unite in a tumultuous crescendo, echoing the mighty crash of a wave against the shore.

Minutes slip away, yet your greedy mouths remain desperate. The room falls into a hushed stillness, save for the sharp intakes of breath and the sensuous wet slide of lips gliding against each other. Your fingers gently tangle in the soft waves at the nape of his neck, evoking a low, guttural groan that mingles with your shared breath when you tug. The kisses seem endless, broken only by fleeting gasps of air, compelling you to pull each other closer, savoring every taste. His hands trace the graceful curves of your body, touching every inch as they follow a path beyond your hips and ass, seizing the back of your thighs. With a firm grasp, he lifts you. Pressing you against the unyielding door, gasping as he positions you just how he wants — aligning himself hot and hard against your center. 

"Fuck," he growls against your lips as his hips roll, igniting fireworks through your body. Your eyes flutter shut, and colors burst against the darkness – a kaleidoscope exploding behind your lids.

As he nips at the plush of your bottom lip, teeth grazing in a tender claim, a muted buzz begins in your bag—a sharp, insistent sting—that yanks you from the haze back into the real world. His eyes remain closed when you pull away. He leans closer, chasing your mouth, but the moment is already shattered. 

Your stomach plummets in a tight coil of regret as the harsh reality of your actions sets in. His kiss, once sweet, now tastes like the ash of betrayal. A distressed whimper escaping your throat has him finally looking at you, shock written clearly across his features. Slowly, he releases you, your body sliding against his until the flat of your feet meets the floor. He takes a step back, hesitating, swallowing before he starts, "Doll —"

"No." You shake your head, your hands covering your mouth. The gold band on your fourth finger is a cool scorch against your swollen lips. "I have to go." You spring into motion, rushing to the couch to gather your bag.

"Stay, and we can talk about this," he implores, one hand moving to his hip as the other rakes through his hair. 

"Please don’t," you plead, "Don’t ask me for anything else." You swing the strap over your shoulder. "I just ch–" But the word stays stuck in your throat as your eyes swim with tears of regret.

His face falls, and he tries to argue, "It's not your fault, okay? I kissed you."

"Eddie—"

"You didn't do anything wrong. It was me," he insists, frustration in his voice as you scrub your face with your hands. "I don't want you driving when you're upset."

"I'm sorry," you say with an aching heart, pushing past him and closing the door behind you.

The sidewalk blurs under your feet as you race to your car. Fat raindrops splatter against the concrete like a spray of gunfire. Each one a cold, wet slap against your skin, snapping you back to reality. The sky chooses this moment to crack open, unleashing a torrent that feels personal. Your car comes into view, a bright orange ticket flapping under the wiper like a flag of defeat. Perfect. Just perfect.

With hands slick from the rain, you fumble with your keys before throwing yourself into the driver’s seat. Snatching the ticket from under the wiper as you go and crumpling it into your fist, stuffing it into the glovebox to be dealt with later. The downpour drums on the roof, enclosing you in a watery cocoon as you search through your bag for your phone. A missed call from Steve and a text reminding you about the dry cleaning. You spill the contents of your messenger onto the passenger seat, pens and lip gloss tumbling into the footwell. "Shit!" The word is a half-sob as you clutch the receipt marked with today's hours in unforgiving black ink.

Glancing at the clock on your dash, it hits you with the subtlety of a wrecking ball– six minutes until closing. It might as well be in another time zone, given the snarled rush hour traffic and the river that the streets have become.  The car roars to life as you pull out, tires hissing on wet asphalt, windshield wipers barely keeping up with the deluge. Your skin still sings with Eddie’s touch, but it's the burgeoning storm of words—cheater, adulterer, betrayer—mixed with the soft hazel of Steve’s disappointed eyes that tattoo themselves across your conscience. This is the unforgivable sin and you can't undo it, but you'll be damned if you don't at least try.

You're double-parked now, hazards blinking a frantic rhythm. The 'CLOSED' sign on the dry cleaner's door mocks you as you rattle the unrelenting metal handle. "Please, please, please," you whisper, pounding on the uncaring glass, your pleas unheard, bouncing off the empty shadows within. A car horn cuts through the rain — a harsh, impatient blare. "What the fuck, lady?" The other driver yells, uncaring of your predicament.

"I'm moving, I'm moving!" The words are a rain-soaked shout as you slosh back to your car, drenched and utterly defeated.

With a turn of the key, your car growls to life, another angry horn sounding off as you pull into traffic, carelessly cutting off a Yellow Cab in your haste. Rainwater drips from your hair, soaking your shirt. Even with the heater set to blast, it does little against the chill that has settled deep in your bones. Down the road, a bright blue sign glows like a beacon, and you jerk the steering wheel, the car fishtailing as you skid into the lot. 

The pharmacy's fluorescent lights are too bright and too sterile as you grab a small bottle of mouthwash off the shelf in the travel section and wait in line to pay, the store's generic electronic music grating against your already frayed nerves. Outside, you stand on the corner, swishing and spitting the minty liquid onto the sidewalk, repeating the process, trying to cleanse more than just your mouth. A passerby wrinkles their nose at you from under their umbrella. "This is Chicago! You've seen worse!" You snap, arms thrown up in exasperation while the rain and your regrets mingle on the cold pavement.

With trembling fingers, you pull the cardigan you had left at Stax off the back of your office chair. Shrugging it on, the material dampens from your wet t-shirt but offers a little warmth. Your phone buzzes as you settle at your desk — five missed calls from Eddie and four texts. The roar of the heavy rain and being buried deep in your bag had muffled its sound, not that you would have picked up. 

Eddie: Answer the phone, doll!

Eddie: Look, I need to know that you’re okay.

Eddie: I swear to Christ if you don’t pick up.

Eddie: Okay, have it your way. I’m driving to your place.

What? No! Your thumb presses the call button, and it rings twice before it connects. There’s no hello, just the slight hum of an engine and the rain pelting glass. 

“I’m okay,” you breathe into your phone, “I didn’t go home. I’m at my office.”

Your heart drums in your ears with each second of silence. Your eyes flutter shut, relief flooding you when he finally responds, an exhale loosening the tension in your chest.  His voice resonates in a dark rumble through the phone, "We need to talk."

“I….I know,” your voice wavers as you wipe your nose on the back of your hand. “I just need a minute here, Ed. Can you give me some time?” 

The rhythmic blink of the turn signal punctuates his heavy sigh. “Yeah. Alright. But doll,” he pauses as the sound of water splashing against his vehicle mingles with the whoosh of passing traffic, “You’re not running away from this. And trust me, the irony of that statement isn’t lost on me. Think about what I said, okay? I meant it all.”

With a tight throat, you whisper, "I have to go," and disconnect the call. 

Placing your phone on the desk, you dab the raindrops off your face with a tissue. The quiet of the office wraps around you, its half-dark corners and the soft glow from the kitchen creates a place for you to breathe and be still. The raging storm and the ticking wall clock echoing in the solitude do little to distract you from thoughts you’re not ready to face. With a deep breath, you lift the lid of your laptop, seeking refuge in the normalcy of work as you coax the screen back to life.

The song erupts from the speaker on the edge of your desk, a jolt of sound shattering the silence like an accusation. You grab it with fumbling fingers, scrambling to press the off button. The sudden calm is unsettling. Covering your face with your hands, you let out a sound that is equal parts sob and hysterical laughter, wondering how you ended up in this situation. With your elbows pressed against the wooden top, you bury your face in your hands, muffling the sobs that mix with laughter — the tragedy of your life bordering on absurd. 

“What are you doing here, kid?”

The gruff voice cuts through your introspection, startling you for a second time. "Jesus Christ, Hopper," you gasp, clutching at your chest, "You scared the hell out of me."

Hopper's dry remark floats from behind you, hands buried in his pockets. "Guess we're even since Mr. Brightside nearly sent me into cardiac arrest."

“You listen to The Killers?” You ask, a note of surprise in your voice as he drags a chair from the next desk, its wheels screeching faintly against the concrete floor.

“You kids really think Jim Croce is the only thing on my playlist?” A chuckle escapes him as he eases into the chair beside you, “Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

You muster a puzzled look, shaking your head in feigned denial.

“Don’t bullshit me, kid. I don’t have much time. I’m meeting Joyce for dinner at that Italian place on Taylor Street. I’ve been dreaming about the breadsticks. Enzo puts some spice on ‘em, I don’t know what it is, but it’s good. You dip it in olive oil,” he groans, “Forget about it. Those things knock your socks off, and I’m wavering on the main course between—”

“I need you to take me off the studio opening,” you interrupt, folding your arms across your chest like a barrier.

“We’ve been over this. Unless you have some good reason–”

“Eddie kissed me,” the confession slips out, eyes widening in shock at your admission, hands flying to cover your mouth.

His brows rocket upwards, then draw together, his gaze sharpening, voice dipping into a low, protective timbre, “What do you mean he kissed you?” 

“No,” you clarify, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing an elbow against the desk, massaging your temple to soothe the forming headache. “I kissed him. We kissed. It was mutual.”

Hopper reclines, the chair creaking under his weight, his gaze level and unreadable. “I’m disappointed in you, kid. I never thought I’d be having a conversation like this with you.”

“I know. I know. Steve…” you trail off, eyes drifting to the photo of Steve on your desk, the words catching in your throat.

Hopper leans in, his hand cutting through the air. “I don’t give a fuck about Harrington,” each word gains in volume, “This is about you and everything you’ve worked for. It’s 2012. That kind of nonsense ends careers. Do you know what can happen if he complains?”

Your eyes roll. “He’s not going to complain, Hop.”

“You don’t know that,” he counters, his head shaking off your naivety. “These things like this have a way of coming out. That was an amateur move. Where is your professionalism? What were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, lowering your eyes. “We have more of a history than I let on.”

“Well, stop the presses. I couldn’t have figured that one out.” His voice lowers in resignment, “Maybe this is my fault–”

“No–” 

Your protest is swift, but he plows right over you, “Everyone knows you’re my favorite, but right now, I’m going to treat you like all the rest of the idiots in this place.” His hand waves around the room before pointing right at you. “You’re going to keep your dick in your pants and get those interviews done. If you want to play kissy face, you do it on your own time. You got me?”

Your mouth drops open, disbelief palpable. “You're still going to make me finish?”

“Damm, right I am,” Hopper affirms, not missing a beat. "If I hand your work off, it raises questions. Big, messy questions. What do I tell downtown when they ask why the piece was reassigned? Unless you’re ready to come clean to Harrington?” 

Your lip goes between your teeth as your head shakes.

“I thought so.” Hopper leans back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "This could be both our necks," he mutters, concern filling his voice.

Your head shakes, but your determination is clear. "It won't."

“It better not. I don’t want to hear another word about it until that last story is on my desk. Are we clear?”

Your jaw clenches, the reality of the situation hitting hard. "Crystal."

Hopper's gaze remains fixed on you, ensuring his point has been made. "Good," he says, his voice softening, "Now go on, get out of here. Deal with whatever mess you've got going on. Just make sure it's sorted by Monday."

Your key slides into the lock and you turn it slowly, the tumblers falling into place with a series of soft clicks. You pause, leaning your forehead against the chill of the metal door, grappling with a rising queasiness that sours your stomach. 

A wave of home's warmth engulfs you, mingled with the earthy aroma of herbs and roasting potatoes. The vibrant strains of Queen accompany Steve's honeyed tones floating down the hall from the kitchen.

"Welcome home, Ace. I was beginning to wonder where you were," his voice, laced with a touch of concern, greets you, “Busy day? Did you write me a Pulitzer?”

Your messenger bag slides from your shoulder, giving into gravity with a loud smack against the hardwood.

His voice grows nearer, warmer as he moves down the hall, the floor lightly creaking with each footfall. “I swung by the Athenian Room, grabbed us Chicken Kalamata, and I have a bottle of chardonnay breathing.”

That dish — your absolute favorite. Your heart sinks further, receding behind your ribcage, unworthy of his care or devotion.

He stops short when he rounds the corner into the foyer, taking you in, your disheveled state reflected in his eyes. 

"I didn’t get the dry cleaning," you admit in a low murmur, struggling to keep your voice steady. "I was... too late."

For a heartbeat, he's silent, but his eyes remain tender, brimming with concern. “Hey, that's alright, Ace. I'll just skip the gym in the morning and swing by the cleaners before work. Are you okay?”

Traces of the day find a path down your cheeks as you sniffle, drawing the cardigan tighter around you like a shield. "I got caught in the storm." 

“Did you forget your coat?” He asks drawing closer as you give a small nod. His hands slide up your biceps, continuing on to wrap around you. “You're frozen.” He uses his thumb to lift your chin. “How about a hot shower, yeah? I'll keep dinner warm. You'll feel better after you eat.” His mouth begins to near yours, but you turn your face away. 

"I think I'm coming down with something," you manage to say, your lies teetering atop your mounting guilt. "My throat is sore."

Concern etches his features, his brows knitting together as he adjusts, pressing his lips to your forehead. “You don't feel hot.”

Pulling away, you press your face into his shoulder. "I think I'll just shower and go to bed," you whisper, your voice muffled.

“If that's what you want,” he replies, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, though his tone is threaded with disappointment. “Go on up and I'll bring you some water and a couple of Tylenol.”

“Thanks, Steve,” you say, stepping away with a weight in your chest. “I'm really sorry.” 

“Don't worry about it.” He waves off your apology, his smile faint but sincere. His arms fold over his chest as he turns back toward the kitchen. 

As you climb the stairs, the music snaps off, replaced with the distant roar of a sports game, the announcers' voices carrying up the stairwell. 

The embrace of the hot shower strips away the cold clinging to your skin, but it cannot wash away the sting of regret. Sliding down the slick tiles, you draw your knees to your chest, allowing your tears to meld with the streams of water spiraling towards the drain. 

Your life is a song made up of the choices you've made, each one a different note that sounded so sure at the time, but now the harmony seems slightly off-key. The steam rises around you like a specter. It's the quiet between the chords. And you're there, just listening, trying to figure out if there's a note you'd change or if every single one was necessary. As you nestle into bed, sleep tugging like an insistent tide amidst the drift into dreams, one truth resonates clear– the music plays on.

AN: Thanks for sticking with this series. I know it's a long one and I took a while to update. To be honest, I lost a little confidence in my writing but I still feel like this a story worth telling. This is my love letter to Eddie. My way of giving him an ending he never had a shot at. I'm going to see it through. Do me a solid and leave a comment & reblog. My asks are always open. Your song suggestions continue to bring this story to life. XOXO - Jelly

Song 5 - Coming soon! For notifications follow @tornupdates

Listen to Fake Plastic Trees here.

[joannasteez]

whispers in loud places

pairing: roman reigns x black reader

summary/warning: this is a continuation of sorts of whispers in the villa. its just smut with description! mentions of infidelity. minors do not interact please. explicit content for 18+

word count: 1.5k

there was nothing about his desires that lent itself to selfishness. unless of course, you factored in the most crucial detail. this being that you were married, your ring finger stoned with a beautiful grouping of diamonds given to you by another man. but were you happily married? absolutely-fucking-not. and that heat in your eyes, something like a smoldering more than a mountainous flame, eases his skin to a warmth till its nagging at his openly sociable disposition. because roman was doing fine. he'd smiled and shook hands, each time more genuine than the next, a slow but gracious fall into the nights festivities, because everybody who was anybody was here. stars of of the brands, smackdown and raw alike, yes, but the big suits from the holding company as well. 

it would do him some good maybe to mix in a bit. rub elbows and get comfortable. 

and he was trying, God was he trying, but you'd appeared seemingly from thin air. that scent of dior, sweet and lulling. your dress wrapped at your hips, hugging perfect, and the neckline draped just enough to leave any eye curious. 

as simple as he could put it, he wanted to touch you.  a small slip of your skin against his to tame the burn beneath his fingers. and it's not much to ask for, but with your husband by your side, gracefully floating with you around the room, the idea of it seemed nearly impossible. 

till it wasn't. 

and his tongue finds itself curling clever from that draped neckline to the sensitive patch of skin just behind your ear. a desperate moan knocking against the dense build of the mansion columns before it disperses to nothing. you'd found a spot, a rendezvous point away from the sea of people that could just never seem to end. all just to have him touch and kiss you. and touch and kiss he did, teeth taking a sharp teasing pull at your lip, before his tongue swipes in to taste you. 

champagne at your tongue and the sweet smell at your neck bleed an urgency into his fingers, and a stiffness at his dick. he groans into your mouth, feels the sloppy way your lips slip against him and attempts at quelling the fast to burst coil in his gut. but of course it proves useless, a feathery moan you give deepening the ache he has for you. 

romans palms glide easy beneath the silk of your dress, reverential in the way they move. thoughtful, as if to commit the curves and dips to memory. till he finds his way to something lacy. 

he rubs easy, faint. enough for you to feel him, enough to leave you wanting more. and when he speaks you melt in his arms, in the heavy tone of his words. you need him more than you like to admit, more than you should. 

his mouth runs close to yours. breaths crossing, merging till they're paced the same. "how many drinks have you had?" 

your hips rut. clit harsh with its throbbing. you feen for him, for release. 

"only two". your words breathy. desperate. 

"and you're tipsy already"

you smile, in that mindless way that only comes with a drink or two. its unburdened by repetitions of overthinking and cautionary actions. its sweet and inviting. something to kiss and savor till it has no choice but to falter and succumb to something more amorous. so that's what he does, slips his thick tongue back to where he thinks it belongs, your mouths twisting wet and needy till you break with heavy breath and darker eyes. his thumb playing soft against where he'd bitten only just a little earlier, before you take it to suck soft. licking kitten like. coffee brown eyes glazed over with a silent pleading. 

"not tipsy. just a little buzzed". 

he chuckles. "and a little desperate".

he handles you at your shoulders, presses you up against a cold column so that the peel up of your dress is easy. fingers long and thick as they dance firm past your panties and through the wet drip of your slit. you're a warm whimpering thing amongst the cool night air, and nothing other than satisfaction teems in him when you moan for him. a soft shaking in anticipation of being filled. 

and he goes for it, a groaning "fuck", bristling warm at your neck when he dips his hot fingers into your pussy. feels the frenzy of your nerves in the way you clench and unclench. a gentle squelch as he strokes firm. you hiss, reach down to meet the diligent work of his fingers, rubbing smooth at your clit. your body breaks into a small sweat despite the cool air, just enough to feel the dampness of it at your cheeks. eyes fighting not to roll, which would lead to the inevitable burst of your voice. a fast doing away with of whispers and whimpers to make way for something more loud and revealing. because that is what he does to you. slips his way under your skin and makes error of that perfectly crafted poised disposition. 

but how can you not itch with insanity? words mumbling and slurred in their delirium as he ruts in the thick set of his fingers. a pace that implies that time is on your side. when it is indeed not.

you steel your breathing to talk. calm the rub you give those aching bundled nerves to sit in the soaked push in and leave of him. even those short moments of emptiness feel good. a fluttering in your gut, and an ache at the slight arch your back takes. legs apart and pushing against him to fuck yourself slow. 

and from where he is, pressed so tightly to your back, body working as a veil to conceal you, your smile is drunk now. disrupted by the awe of ecstasy. 

"i think it's a nice change". and you don't mean to sound so breathy, but it's impossible to speak clear when he has you like this. "usually it's you begging for a taste".

little did you know, he'd been waiting for this most of the night. 

roman kisses at your nape, the breath that comes before some teasing word roughs a tremble into you. works its way down the spine till a throbbing sets in. and you're warm all over. the cobblestone of the mansion passageway beneath your feet tainted by the wet drip of your arousal. 

"begging is a strong word", voice deep and velvet against your skin. coaxes your hips to rut backward, heat slick and clinging harsher. forces his fingers to take purchase deeper. 

and your delirium is amusing. the senselessness that drives your body into him. he loves it. continues his taunting. "i say open", your legs shifting to spread slightly, some automatic reaction, "and you spread wide". you whine in protest, wanting to fight the truth, but he's pulling from your pussy to add a third finger before you can speak. a sob breaks from your chest instead. "what else am i supposed to say besides please and thank you when you're shoving this fat pussy on my fingers, in my face, and on my dick every chance you get, asking me to fuck you silly".

the messiness where his fingers slip into you makes it easy to sooth your fingers again at your clit. the tug at your core tighter as you move closer to release. and risk isn't something important right now, not when he's fucking you this good with just his fingers.

a whimper breaks from your throat. eyes glazing wet. "fuck me roman. please". 

"too many eyes, too many ears". his nose flaring annoyed at the trouble it could cause, at the trouble you cause him by just being here. "and you can never just shut up and take it". 

your chest pushes in against the wall enough to steady your body as a hand reaches behind to grab onto him. for comfort before the break in of that tumultuous rioting of nerves. the burdening shake in your bones all the tell he needs to know that you're about to come undone for him. but it doesn't stop the mindless mumbling you take to as you spasm hard. "fuck! i-, mhmm i need you coming in me roman. fucking, ahaa-- miss you. miss you in me". 

and how can he say no to that? when you ask so beautifully. the switch hard from begrudgingly staving off from fully indulging you, to that being the only thing he can do in the moment. his fingers wet and fast as they pull at his belt. cock hard and throbbing as he pushes it to rub through your slit. a hand of your own pulling to jerk him as he pushes at your clit. he kisses sweet at your ear, hands large against the wall on either side of you, allowing your own hands to guide him through the soft pull of your pussy. 

you moan again. the sound drowned out by drunken party goers. you don't know if you love him, but you love this. the way you cling to him and the heavy knock in of his hips, addictive and nearly ear splitting. you love this too much.

[shaarlslec]

me and the devil

words: 6717

introduction/part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 5

warnings/notes: charles leclerc x reader, friends to enemies to lovers type of a thing, blood, slow burn!!

inspired by: Soap&Skin - Me And The Devil, The Neighborhood - Afraid, The Academic - Why Can’t We Be Friends?, lovelytheband - i like the way, The Wombats - Turn , Wallows - Pleaser

masterlist

“I meant every touch, always.” Charles nodded, placing his forehead on yours for your breaths to meet, both hot and heavy, both lusting to be cut by a clash of mouths.

Three hurried knocks to your door made your spine shiver ten minutes after Charles left the room, “I told you I don’t want to ta-” You annoyingly roughly shouted, thinking about the hopeful likelihood that Charles turned on his way back to your door.

Hopeful, that was what your mind was when it came to him, and yet the mouth muttered quite the opposite. Get out, leave – your coping mechanism was showing, always avoiding talking to him about this matter of feelings, always wanting him to leave when all you really sought was for you both to beg the other to stay and figure things out.

And yet, the voice echoing at the other side of the door was not Charles’, “It’s me.” Your manager said in a worried tone, “Are you dressed?” They asked, wide opening the door after your affirmative loud response, “We need to go.” They uttered, making your eyebrows frown in confusion as their tone altered.

“What happened?”

“Disciplinary meeting.” They simply replied, and your blood started to boil.

You disobeyed the team; you know that obviously they were going to grouch you – but could have not they waited for another day or two? Winning the race, taking the first spot in the championship and almostkissing Leclerc was enough for you that day to burst into flames or at least to shut yourself from the world that day, and now you had to deal with this bullshit disciplinary meeting as well.

It went exactly how you would have expected it. You, your manager, and part of your team standing face to face with the team principal and the head strategists alongside with your race engineer and Xavi. Them, congratulating you for your win and thanking you for grabbing important points for the team, and right after that keeping you accountable for your disobedience.

“You cannot pull these moves on us, Y/N.” Fred said, and although you knew how good of a human he is – everyone feared Charles’ words over his. Your team principal had to do his job, Fred was not allowed to let his drivers kill each other on or outside the track. And yet, you were angry – you have been angry for quite some time, and they were all about to witness that type or range that comes from a woman sick of being told by men what to do.  

“But Leclerc can.” You simply clearly and coarsely spoke back to him, “It is okay when your first driver does it, but God forbid I do it too.” You almost spit in between your teeth, causing a grimace on Fred’s face.

You knew you were putting him in a very uncomfortable position, but that was a spot in which Ferrari placed you for two whole years. You needed some sort of revenge, you were only sorry that Fred and the others who were not Charles Leclerc had to go through it – to feel your range, to see your darkened face and to hear your untamed tone. And yet, they helped Charles, they cheered for their “predestined”, and they were the ones who collectively ruined him before Leclerc has decided to turn into the devil.

“Whatever is going on in between you and Char—” Fred begun, and yet his words failed by being cut short.

“Nothing is going on.” You sharply spoke, looking somewhere anywhere else in the conference room and not at him and the people you were disappointing now with your unforgiving insolence. You are turning into me, Charles said. Were you ready to embrace that idea? You pondered that thought, switching glares from one person to the other within your team that were apologizing without words but just enduring eyes. Were you ready to give them hell just as Charles has been doing for the past years? How much was their fault and how much was Leclerc’s? Was the devil made or born? Your chest ached, millions of thoughts rushing through your mind – all about him.

“I hate to bring this up, Y/N.” Fred kept on going, “Your contract ceases at the end of the season.” He almost warned, perfect – another person at Ferrari threatening you, “We would like to extend it for another two.” Your team principal breathed, “That is if you do not cause any more trouble.” Fred highlighted, and you could hear Charles’ words as if they were sitting on the tip of Fred’s tongue.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath in, “What if I told you that I was not able to hear the radio coming in?” You spoke, glare on your race engineer now, “What if I told you that from now on, I am choosing what to hear or not? What are you going to do? Kick me out and replace me with someone else?” You intoned, fingers jabbed on the desk’s edges all tensed up in anger, “Hire yet another driver to be Leclerc’s bitch?” You added, widening all eyes in the room including your manager’s, “I would like to see you try.” You then wrecked, and you loathed yourself at that moment for sounding just like him, for rolling your tongue in the same way as him as you spoke the words, for rousing the same type of fright as Charles Leclerc.

“You are not—”

“You are treating me like I am.” You replied, eyes back on Fred who dared to talk, “Let us race fairly – and you will see who deserves the title of being your first driver.” You exhaled, relaxing your muscles underneath their looks.

Charles was not called into the meeting, though your teammate was very much aware of it happening. He was the one who told Xavi that he needed solutions, and Xavi was more than edger to provide them to him even if they were not the ones to be executed on track. Xavi had its influence within the team, acting like a shadow of Charles whenever the Monegasque had to solve politics. Xavi called for the disciplinary meeting, and Fred was more than edger to not upset his preferent race engineer and driver – the whole team was.

Leclerc’s engineer stood quiet the whole time as you and Fred spoke, mentally noting all the details so they can be shared with Charles. You were aware of that happening, that is why during the meeting your looks would fix Xavi’s the most, as if Charles was watching through the engineer’s eyes. Fierce, unbothered, and ready for whatever Charles was scheming next. You already beat him at his own game on the track, how long will it take until you crack him open outside of it too?

You left the conference room angrier than you had entered it, announcing in a hurried rush towards the accommodation’s exit that you needed to be alone. No celebrations for tonight regards your win, no other interviewers, and no media presence around you. You wanted to clear your head and you knew exactly the way to do it – you were just hopping for no one to remember Charles’ answer to the first question about you during the quiz.

Your teammate watching you leave from afar after Xavi rushed to him and spilled the beans in a mouthful, seeing your poor worried manager trying to keep up with you but giving up once you reached the exit.

Leclerc watched you from one of the windows as you went in your car and heavily pressed the acceleration, zooming out of the parking lot in meters of seconds. That was enough time for Charles to dial one of your very well-known common friends, and family.

“I need you to do something for me.” Charles spoke, and he could basically already envision Arthur’s eyes rolling through the highs of Heaven and then back into the pits of Hell, “It is about Y/N.”

Arthur softly breathed at the end of the call, “What did you do now?” His brother asked, moving further from the group of friends who were celebrating his P6 in today’s race at one of the bars downtown, “Forget that – you are not going to tell me anyways. What do you want me to do, then?” Arthur intoned, knowing very well that no matter how bad Charles fucked up towards you, he was not going to be the one to whom his older brother admits.

Charles’ ego was too gigantic for that, and Arthur was not planning on touching that. You were what was important, little Leclerc was more than edger to help especially after you were not returning any of his congratulatory texts that afternoon after the race.

“I will send you a short list of restaurants that I think Y/N is heading too now.” Charles spoke as he watched your car completely disappear form his sight now, “Meet with her, she needs a friend.” Charles bittersweetly spoke, knowing damn well that he would have preferred for that friend to be him, “No matter how much she will say that she is fine and that she does not need someone to talk to – she does.” Charles pinpointed, remembering all the times when you called for him after something has happened to you, good or bad.

And yet, the circumstances were not allowing Leclerc’s wish to become true. He was the reason Fred threatened you with the termination of your contract, how stupid of him with it be to want to comfort you?

Arthur took a glance over his group of friends, “I am with someone now – why can’t you be there for her if you think she needs a fri-” Arthur stopped at the end of the sentence, friends was not exactly the word to describe your relationship now. Not never, Arthur speedily thought, “Ok then, what do you want me to tell her?” He added, fingers pressing on the ends of his forehead.

“Tell her that –” Charles paused, not finding himself honest to speak the truth to even his brother. She is brave, and fearless, and nothing like me – and I am half of a man for wanting to deprive her of what she truly deserves due to the greediness that lays so still inside my being. That her happiness subjugates mine, and that I have yet to learn how to come to terms with that to not get scorched at the end of it all. Neither she nor I.

“That what?” Arthur annoyingly asked, being feed up already by Charles’ pause that had to be taken for his brothers’ train of thought to derail from its route, “Come on Charles, I do not have all day to argue with you over the phone.”

“That she needs to keep her distance.” Leclerc lied, thinking about what just happened minutes ago and then back in the hotel room – about how much he would have wished to kiss you and touch you, and to convince yourself and him that it was not just for the fun of the game but to tame unspoken long-awaited longings, “On track, I mean.” Charles clarified, and he could feel Arthur’s smile over the huff at the end of the call.

“You are so insufferable.” He spoke, “But then again, like I said – I don’t have all day to argue with you. Send me the restaurants, I must go and get your girl since you are such a scaredy-cat.” Arthur argued, pressing the end of the call on the screen before Charles even got the chance to mutter something back to his brother.

“Y/N is not my gi—” Charles has begun, the phone’s screen returning to normal before he got to finish his sentence. My girl, Charles had to recognize that had a great sound to it – only if you were not the girl he was fighting on track.

Arthur was surprised to find you exactly where Leclerc has indicated. The first two restaurants that the little brother went to were unsuccessful, and yet the third one was just the right one: a hidden Parisian sort of a boutique right across the corner of an unnamed street in the heart of the city. Charles knew your post-race rituals, but you were not expecting him to remember the names of the ones you frequently visited. And yet, Charles did – he has been always paying the best of attention to your rambles when you were getting along and hang out together after your races in cities you happened to be at the same time.

“Why do you like these tiny God-forgotten places so much?” Charles would ask when you first took him to one of the hidden-gem restaurants you found back in Azerbaijan after one of your F2 races during your what was your winning championship.

“First of all,” You excitedly begun as you went through the menu’s pages, “These places have the best food you could taste in the entire city. They usually have ten to twelve recipes that they perfect – and they are cheap as well.” You intoned, finger pointing to one of your favorite deserts, “Second, the staff is really nice, and you don’t have to be worried about people recognizing you and asking for autographs.” You pinpointed, glaring over the space to see only two table occupied beside the one at which you and Leclerc stood at.

“Oh, I see, you are right – you would not want for people to recognize you all the time when you are going to be the most well-loved driver on the grid.” Charles argued, scooping through the menu with big curious eyes.

You chuckled, “I was not speaking about me, Charles.” You paused, relaxing into your seat as you were watching him, “I am talking about you – il Predestinado.” You teased, loving how everyone was catching more and more that nickname for him after his Monza win, “In a few years or so when we come back to this city and you will be the one to restore Ferrari’s legacy back into its place, everyone will want a photo or an autograph from you – I am thinking ahead.”

Charles stopped his search through the menu’s words, “Do you really think so?” He buoyantly asked, and that was one of the times in which you saw the hope that faded from the irises of the boy’s eyes being replaced with anger and greed.

You gently cupped Charles’ wrist into your hand, “I know so.” You affirmatively answered as you rubbed your thumb across the back of the boy’s hand, “Don’t worry, you will do just fine.” You added, retracting your hand from his right when Charles turned his to cup yours within the hold of his fingers that were now just brushing against each other. You placed yours back into your lap, and he reminded still for a while with his fingers longing for yours.

Charles nodded, “I was not joking tough,” The man begun, eyes on yours that were awkwardly paying attention to your lap rather than him as you were rubbing your hands together now in nervousness, “You are going to be the most well-loved driver on the gird once you get your rightful seat.” Charles intoned, “You have this loving heart and pure intentions, and everyone can see that.”

You chuckled, turning your glare on him now, “What’s best?” You wondered with your hands now back on the table catching Charles’ glare on them, wondering exactly what Charles was thinking in the back of his mind – that was to catch your hand into his, “To be the most well-loved driver or the most feared one?”

Charles contemplated your words for a bit, both of you knowing well where he stood at that time. His name representing the hope that all fans had for Ferrari’s return, everyone loving his humbleness and softness.  

“The most loved one, for sure.” Charles finally spoke as he released a heavy breath of air from between his ruddy lips, “Why would you want people to fear you?” He simply asked as his fingers turned the pages of the menu not seeing you smile at the other side of the table before you whispered a short Yes, you are right – you are always right.

Turns out, Charles is not always right. You said now in the back of your mind, years later and alone at what was a very similar table in an alike restaurant. You wanted to understand him, you really did so. Where did the sweet and caring Charles that you knew went? Where did his compliments and wise words vanish? And – was all of it worth it? You shook your head as the waitress places your drink in front of you, snatching away from a conversation that now seemed to be one from a faraway time and from another world.

“Hello gorgeous.” A voice similar of the one ponding in your mind resounded, and yet quite not the same.

You lifted your glare from the table, “Arthur, what are you do—” You paused with a dry throat, “Don’t tell me Charle—” You stopped again, but not because you could not find your words but because Arthur was the one to interrupt them.

“No, no, no.” The little Leclerc announced you as he slid at the table on the seat across yours, “I was with a couple of friends downtown and I saw you through that little window,” Arthur spoke, pointed out what was indeed a little framed window at the end of the restaurant through which it would have been very improbable that you could have been spotted inside. Yet, you were not in the mood to argue with yet another Leclerc, “Do you mind if I sit?” He questioned with care.

Yes. “No,” You spoke, I want to be alone, “I could use a drinking buddy.” You playfully placed your words, ordering another of the same drink you were having for Arthur, watching him enthusiastically clapping both of his hands together after congratulation you on your win today and scolding you for not answering his texts.

Ten minutes after chit-chatting with Arthur and you realized that you, in fact, never wanted to be alone. You needed someone to talk to about what happened today at Ferrari, and someone who understood how fucked up of a situation that was. Also, someone who knew Charles Leclerc as you did – in some matters, even better. You ranted; Arthur was more than keen to listen.

“Where that leaves me now, I ask you.” You gasped throwing your hands in the air, “I shall behave and act like a good lieutenant for your brother just because he demands that so from the team?”

“No, most definitely not.” Arthur replied, what was with you and taking advice from the Leclerc brothers, anyway?

“That is exactly what I thought.” You added, ordering few more drinks with the idea of getting wasted that evening and yet knowing that Arthur was not quite the man to hold his liquor – neither were you.  

“He is troubled now, Y/N.” Arthur gently spoke, thinking about all the times where he saw his brother deep in thoughts regarding the season, racing but mostly especially the ones about you, “Having his hand forced by you might be exactly what he needs as a wake-up call regarding his goals.” Arthur added with softness in his eyes, “I love my brother, but Charles cannot keep this persona for too long – he is too good of a human for that, even if now it might seem like he forgot that.”

You nodded, “I know.” I love him too, you would have wanted to say. Instead, you took a deep breath in, “Enough about me, what is going on with you?” You smiled, wanting to keep your head away from Charles even for a bit now that Arthur was the one standing in front of you, “P6 today in a McLaren! That’s huge.” You winked, patting the man’s shoulder across the table, “You are really planning on getting them back on track.”

Arthur’s eyes rolled, “That is if they were not so stubborn in praising Norris so fucking much.”

You laughed, the on-track banter in between Arthur Leclerc and Lando Norris was the next best thing that excited people during this season besides you and Charles. For the next couple of hours, you talked shit with Arthur – you loved to talk shit with him, you two had always been gossiping besties. Besides that, you drank way too much for both of your own good during all the talk.

Hours passed, evening was now gone, and the city was covered in full-blown darkness split by the streets’ illuminating system. You decided to walk back to the hotel you and Arthur were both staying in by foot to dozen off the alcohol, and that happened to be one long excruciating trip back.

And yet, you loved every single piece of it. Charles was right, although you were not to know what they two talked. You needed a friend, you needed someone to talk to, and Arthur was just right for the job.

You laughed until your stomached pained by the time you made it to the hotel, telling stories about your junior years and making impressions of anyone you could not stand on the grid (current or not).

“Change your fucking car.” Arthur intoned, and you could not help yourself but not to laugh as he was imitating Horner’s voice.

“What a troubled man.” You said in between your chuckles, “Remember that one time when he was riding a horse and his wife said something about the horse being Bottas?”

“Bottas would eat Horner alive.” Arthur almost shouted, and you mimicked a short “shh” to him as you found yourselves at the entrance of the hotel, “We need to behave, little one.” You mumbled, your words as well as your feet stumbling as you were trying to look normal for the people at the reception desk to not figure out that you were simply wasted.  

“Ok here, here,” Arthur spoke, taking your shoulder within one of his arms to stabilize both of your bodies, “You walk right, and I walk left.” He drunkenly explained, “In this way, our bodies will lean on each other, and we will look like we are walking in a straight line.” Arthur further clarified, erupting in laughter as the plan was not making any sense.

People at the reception desk were already staring at you from inside, knowing damn well that you two were not sober. They rubbed shoulders, and one of them even took their phone out to take a picture of you.

“Imagine that” They whispered, “Y/N arm in arm with Charles’ brother – they must be complotting against him, or are they having an affair behind his back?” They proudly spoke, almost shooting the shot before his phone was snatched from his hands by the one, they were so proudly talking about.

“I can assure you that both of your theories are utterly wrong.” Charles spoke with a grim on his face, “Not a word about this.” He threatened, placing the phone back on the counter with dreadful eyes, “Now will you be a dear and pretend you have something else to do in the back with your colleague?” Charles harshly intoned while switching glares in between the two employees who were perplexedly looking at him staring back at them as if he was going to do heavily damage right then and there, stepping away from the reception desk to go outside through the sliding doors and meet you two: his dear brother and his girl.

Charles had heard your laughs from the first floor where he occupied whole for himself and his crew. Frankly, the man has not gotten that much sleep due to the events during the day and once he had heard that you were not in want of a celebration for that evening, he knew you will spend most of the evening with Arthur. That made him worry in ways he was unable to elucidate. Charles’ fear was for the evening not to turn into the night, and for you not to search comfort in the arms he pushed you in without any of your knowledge. Therefore, Charles stood awake, and he waited by the widow for you to come back. Kinda stalk-ish, maybe Arthur was right. Oh, how Charles disliked being lectured by his little brother.

Arthur was the one to first glance at his brother at the entrance while you were clinging to the man’s chest with your eyes pressed together in tears due the laughter evoked. But then, when you heard Arthur’s little “oh” and felt his chest lifting in a sigh, you followed his glare and meet Charles coming towards you.

“Oh,” You muttered too, laughter ceasing to exist as you frowned at your teammate, “You again.” You spoke as soon as Charles was able to hear your words.

“Looks like you are having fun,” Charles said looking down at Arthur’s hand now cupping yours for better stability, “Acting like teenagers in front of people who can and will recognize you.” Charles scolded, and you could visibly see Arthur’s vein popping up at the edges of his forehead.

“Oh look Y/N, dad is here.” Arthur spoke in a harsh tone, and that was for the first time you and Charles exchanged a short, worried glare. Arthur was wasted, even more wasted that you were. And perhaps, that was the only time when he would ever joke about that. Charles let out a sigh, and you slightly shook your head with the idea of sobering up a little bit – you only done yourself worse.

You patted the Arthur’s chest, unclasping your hand from his, “Come on, let’s get you into your room.” You mouthed, acting as if Charles was not even standing two feet away from you.

“Let me take care of that.” Charles interviewed, grabbing Arthur from one of his shoulders so he could depart him from you. Yet, Arthur was reluctant of the idea as he snatched away his shoulder from Leclerc’s grip and tightening even harder the arm that was around you, fingers gripping into your skin with such force that it almost hurt you.

“No, I want Y/N to do it.” Arthur replied, stepping away from Leclerc and grabbing you with him too without any warning causing a harsh balance of your feet.

Charles was quick to react to that too. His hand went immediately on your back, as Arthur’s arm was still locking your shoulders but was unable to react stumbling on his feet as well. Your teammate annoyingly breathed, so close that you were able to feel him on your face and to engage in the man’s scent.

“Your room, now.” Charles spoke, one step away from you now as you regained your balance, “We have a plane to catch in four hours straight to Monaco, you need to sober up.” He added, eyes still on his brother’s grip on you.

Arthur laughed, “You were the one to send me to her – now you don’t want to see us together?” He added in a mockery tone, “Fuck, make up your mind brother.” He added, loosening the strength of his arm around you, letting you out of the grab underneath Charles’ attentive glare.

You shifted away – from both. Crossing your arms at your chest, switching glares from Charles to Arthur and then back on Charles, and with your mind intoxicated with alcohol, you were unable to control your anger anymore.

“So, you lied to me.” You calmly first spoke, pointing your finger to Arthur, “I knew you did lie from the moment you sat at the table, but covering for your brother after knowing what he had the team do today and pretending like you really wanted to be there for me?” You huffed, squinting your eyes at him, “Do any of you even care about me at all?” You asked, eyes fixing Charles now, “Or is this just some sort of a twisted game of throwing ball that you two like to play with people?”

Arthur was the one to speak while Charles remined silent, “Of course, of course, of course we do care – I mean, I do.” The younger Leclerc spoke, taking both of your hands in his, “You were not answering my texts, so all Charles was doing was to help me get a hold of you.”

Rolling his eyes, Charles’ mouth opened to speak, “Do not listen to him, Y/N – it was not like that.”

Your hands were left empty in the air now as Arthur turned to his brother, “Are you really going to tell her the truth or what?” Arthur provocatively spoke, “Do you want me to do that as well instead of you?” Arthur added, and you were more than edger to hear Charles’ response to that inquiry but sadly, as you were expecting for him to act, Charles became avoidant of the question and now only – your teammate eluded your looks as much as he could do so in the presence of a very pissed off little brother.

“Like I said,” Charles paused, placing one of his hands on Arthur’s shoulder to snatch him even further from you and closer to the hotel’s entrance, “Let’s get you to your room, Arthur – we are leaving tom –” Charles repeated, but his sentence was unable to be finished as Arthur took a bold move of punching his brother right in the face.

A loud thump as Arthur’s fist slammed Charles’ jaw, and one heavy breath coming from Arthur after realizing what he has done, “Don’t act like you can control anything and everything at once.” Arthur advised, fires coming from the youngest Arthur’s eyes towards his brother, “Grow the fuck up, brother.” He spoke, untensing his fist.

You gasped before covering your mouth with both of your palms; Charles seemed to be unfazed by Arthur’s swift move, “You are drunk, brother.” He added in a soft tone, “We will get you to your room, alright?” Charles breathed, looking now at you who remined speechless inches away from them.

Arthur felt sorry immediately after punching Leclerc, and you could see that on the boy’s face right away. You nodded towards their direction and the three of you entered the hotel, you quickly glanced over the receptionist desk wondering if anyone saw what happened outside as you worriedly walked behind the two of them who were now exchanging short whispers, you could gather the words, I am sorry and I know.  

“I took care of that.” Charles announced, looking over his shoulder to catch your stare on the boys’ backs – and Charles’ split slightly bloody and bruised bottom lip in the well-lighted hotel’s hall.

You felt guilty all the way to Arthur’s floor because you caused that, you caused the punch although you were not the one to throw it. You were the one to be silent now, although you would have wished to scream from the top of your lungs. And yet, causing yet another fight might not be the best solution. You shortly hugged Arthur goodnight before Charles slammed the door shut, but not before hearing Arthur whispering into your ear, “My part in Charles’ wake-up call.” He giggled, embracing your body tightly despite Charles’ unpleasant look.

Charles followed you to the elevator so he could take you to your room too, your teammate had to make sure that you were getting the right one. You stood in silence, in a deep-oppressive silence as the elevators’ doors closed. Taking a short glance at Leclerc’s lips, Charles caught you lurking.

“Brothers fight.” Charles simply spoke, trying to wipe the blood at the corner of his lip with two of his fingers, “No worries,” Leclerc paused as the wound was twitching and you could clearly see the discomfort on the man’s face, “It happened before too, none of us like to be told what to do – especially when we are drunk.” Charles clarified, remembering all the times in which either him or Arthur threw punches at each other.

You sighed, “That does not seem very healthy.” You spoke, and hearing your voice was everything Charles was in need to ease the pain.

Charles smiled, turning his face to you to take a better look at what he would like very much to call “his girl” out loud and not just somewhere hidden in the back of his mind, “It was not your fault, just so you know.” He added, and the door clicked – you have reached your floor and had to go. And yet, you stayed and oh, how that made Charles’ heart flutter.

“Can I,” You paused with a shortened breath, “Can you at least let me take care of that so I can feel less guilty?” You answered, pointing out to Charles’ bottom lip.

Charles nodded without hesitating, which was very unlike him, you thought. And yet, seeing you with Arthur pleading so you could take his little brother to his room, made Charles realize that his jealousy unmeasurable at the thought of you being with someone else in a hotel room.

And now, you were inviting him into yours. You went straight to the bathroom to get the medical kit, and Charles watched you searching for that as he took a seat on the sides of the bathtub. The split of his lip was not even that bad, Arthur was unable to punch his brother using full force and of course. Charles could have taken care of the wound on his own and yet, now, how could he say no to the opportunity of you making room in between his legs so you could tap his bottom lip to disinfect it?

Charles looked up at you while you were trying to keep your calm. One of your hands went to his shoulder for better stability. You were still quite drunk, and using that excuse was working. You smelled like negroni, and fresh cooked bread. Judging by that, Charles already was guessing what your order was for that dinner. That made him slightly smile, making your job even more difficult. The warmness of Charles’ body so close with yours engulfed you, and it took you to a whole different reality again – one in which you were not racing with the other, one in which you would have pressed your lips against his right then and there, not thinking about any form of a consequence.

“Up.” You breathed, your fingers going from Charles’ shoulder to part of his neck to sustain him.

Charles obeyed, “I have to apo-”

“Shut up.” You quickly spoke, and not because talking would harden whatever you were doing to heal the wound, but because hearing his voice so close to your ears drove you insanely crazy.

Charles obeyed again, this time with a chuckle.

“I told you to shut up.” You insisted, eyes now on him as you were placing small transparent patch over his cleaned grievance, “You really send Arthur to find me?” You questioned, hand retracting from his neck for a split of a second before Charles’ covered yours with his, grabbing you by the wrist. Don’t, don’t depart yet. Charles would have wished to say, but let the eyes do the talking.

“I did, I just –” Charles paused, and amongst all of the pauses he took while speaking to you all day, this one was the longest and it drove you the craziest because he was now looking at you as Charles used to do back in the days – no greed, no jealousy, no fear into his eyes, just sparks of hope, “I know it will sound thoughtless, but I wanted to make sure that you were alright after what happened during the day.”

You sighed, “You could have asked me on your own.”

“You told me to get out of your room.” Leclerc replied, hand still on yours, chest still aching.

“And now I invited you in.” You nervously laughed as you patted Charles’ skin with two of your fingers, leaving your mark, tracing him, making him want more and more as you shifted even closer to his body in between his legs, “It seems like none of us can make our minds about the other – even after all this time.” You slowly spoke, “Were you jealous of him?” You teased even further, your other hand leaning on the man’s tight that was rubbing yours.

Charles nodded; you were having him wrapped around your little finger now – just as he had you this afternoon too, “My brother or not, men calling you “darling” or not.” Charles intoned, as his other hand went on your waist to hold you dearly to him, “I am always jealous.”

A thrumming smile showed on your face as you felt Charles’ fingers uncovering your back and touching your skin without the fabric of your t-shirt standing in-between the two, “I was always jealous on your girlfriends, too.” You finally confessed, feeling like a rock has been lifted from your chest, “Long-term or not, just a fling or not.” You continued, breathing heavily as Charles’ hand went up your spine, “Fuck, Charles.” You breathed right into his ear, feeling him heavy and hard underneath your touch on his crouch, “We can’t.” You paused, getting your hands out of him.

“We shouldn’t.” Charles agreed, lips close to your chest that he kissed, lips going up to your neck and lingering for a bit on the side of your jawline before not even inches stood in between your mouths, “You have been drinking,” Charles stopped right before your lips brushed against each other, “And I, punched in the face.” He then laughed, with his fingers travelling your spine in such fashion that made your entire body crumble, “We need to think this through.” He pondered, and yet it was too late to think – all you ever did was thinking.

“You are right.” You breathed, glaring up at him as he straightened his back to stood up now, “I am drunk, you are in pain.” You added with an unconvincing nod watching him dissipating the distance that still existed in between your bodies with a step and a cup of face within his palms, “Do you mean this?” You asked with big eyes, touching both of his wrists with your hands as you were looking dearly at him.

“I meant every touch, always.” Charles nodded, placing his forehead on yours for your breaths to meet, both hot and heavy, both lusting to be cut by a clash of mouths, “I have a plane to catch early, Y/N.” Charles added, gulping each of his words.

“Excuses.” You nudged, lips searching for Charles’.

“If I don’t make excuses, I will want to kiss you.” Charles softly spoke, breathing as if he was into your lungs now, “And if I kiss you, I will want more.” He added, eyes closed, hands going from your face on your shoulders where he rested his head for a while too, avoiding your lips as much as his cravings allowed, “And If I get more,” Charles whispered, lips caressing your shoulder as he spoke, “I will not be satisfied if I don’t have it all.” He muttered, and you could feel your knees shake and already envision your body falling to the ground, “I want it all, Y/N.”

By all, Charles meant to fully be able to call you, his girl. No games, no flings, no sweet nothings whispered just to swipe you out of your feet. That was – for now, at least – unmanageable to attain. You knew what he meant, and yet the reply you had to give him shattered your insides.

“And you can’t have it all.” You breathed in the same fashion as him, “That will cause more friction on the track, more chances to lose your beloved championship.” You spoke, hating every single word you were spitting, “Go get some sleep for your early flight, Charles.” You hardly spoke, feeling him departing.

One more glance at him and Charles was gone for good. No kisses goodbye, no kisses at all. Just hard feelings shared in silence in between two people in one random hotel bathroom close to midnight. You and Charles, always caught up in between feelings, hotel rooms, and midnights.

[tightjeansjavi]

Slow Hands | Chapter 3 “trust me to trust you”

A/N: I sat on this story for awhile as I’m already figuring out how I want to develop the plot. I can tell this is going to turn into another passion project for me as I love the idea of post!outbreak domestic Joel and finding love in his late age. This chapter you get a little glimpse into what outbreak day was like for Beanie. Please remember that the nature of this fic will have dark themes. I will mark the warnings appropriately, but please read with caution. 🖤

~word count: 5.2k~

Pairing | Joel Miller x f! Reader

Summary: early winter mornings, fear of the past, a felt fawn, and Maria’s egg casserole.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence from outbreak day, mentions of loss, carnage, brink of death, depictions of a knife wound, PTSD, panic attacks, trigger responses, mentions of a firearm, I am no expert on the subject but I have done some research as I know it’s a delicate topic, angst, Joel is struggling to adjust to living a domestic life, anxiety, feeling like an outcast, grumpy old man! Joel, shy! Joel, kinda mean! Joel, sunshine reader, flirting, fluff, awkward situations, reminiscing on the past, reader has no physical descriptions and is from Texas, reader has a nickname (beanie bc y’know coffee beans) no age gap, vulgar language, slow burn, this is a fic that takes place post-outbreak so please keep in mind that there will be dark/triggering themes, but to also remember that it is not the main plot line for the story. Please read with caution. (+18) minors dni!

main masterlist series masterlist playlist

It had been over 20 years since outbreak day, when your world and life as you once knew it, turned to flames and ash before the frightened whites of your eyes. Your coffee shop, Cuppa Smiles, was your little slice of heaven. You had put so much love, dedication, and passion into your establishment. Your coworkers were friends from college that were just looking for a change of pace from their 9-5’s just like the next person.

They all tried to kill you, whatever they were now. It had happened all so fast, and even now on the quietest of nights, you could still hear their snarls and animalistic growls. You could still remember the frightened screams, the chaos and destruction as a Boeing 747 collided into the earth and burst into flames, debris falling from the explosion, hitting those who were fleeing, and those who were no longer living. You remember tumbling along the concrete, rolling like a sack of potatoes as you struggled to breathe. To your direct left was a truck flipped over on its side.

Through the harsh ringing in your ears, you could make out two male voices on the other side of the truck. The one man was holding a young girl to his chest who couldn’t be more than 12-13 years old.

“I’m sorry, baby, I know, I know.” The man’s tone was urgent, rushed and laced with fear as he held his daughter close.

“We gotta get off the street!” The other man shouted desperately.

“Tommy!”

“Head to the river! I’ll find a way. Get her outta here, Joel! Go!”

Joel.

Joel.

Joel..Miller?

The last time you saw Joel Miller, all you could remember was the fear in his eyes, before everything around you went black.

When Tommy and Maria Miller discovered you on the outskirts of Jackson, looking like you were all skin and bones as you slipped off your horse's saddle and into the cool dirt. Your body was exhausted, your resources were spent and now you just hoped that you would die peacefully. That was until a strong pair of arms were gently lifting you from the dirt as your body laid like a limp fish.

“D’ya think she’s still breathin?’” Tommy asked his wife as she was quickly checking your pulse.

“Barely. She must have been riding for days out in this heat.”

“She showin’ any signs of bein’ infected?” Tommy knew the protocol of bringing in stragglers from outside Jackson, and if you were found to be infected..

Maria made quick work to check your body for any signs of a bite mark. She took sudden interest in a large bloodstain through the tattered fabric of your shirt. She gently lifted the fabric from the hem to discover a gruesome sight. What appeared to be done by the work of a sharp blade was a long semi deep, gnarly gash carving from your abdomen, up your torso, curving under your left breast and wrapped around your ribcage to your left shoulder blade.

“Fuckin’ hell. Someone tried to carve her up?” Tommy asked in disbelief as his wife gently pulled the hem of your shirt back down.

“Raiders, no doubt. She’s not infected. I can’t find any bite marks, but one thing’s for certain though, this woman has been through some hell.”

It was well over an hour till sunrise when Joel Miller lumbered out of his home, shovel in hand and bundled up fiercely in multiple thick layers to protect his skin from the harsh biting cold. His plan was simple, head over to your house down the street, shovel your walkway, and ask you to accompany him to breakfast. It really was quite simple, but despite that he was running a script over in his mind on exactly what he wanted to say to you.

Hey Beanie, was wonderin’ if you’d like to accompany me to breakfast?

Wait..what if she declines? Then what are you gonna say?

Uhh..

Oh, well that’s alright! Maybe another time? No pressure or nothin.’

What if..she thinks it’s strange that you’re shoveling her walkway at the crack ass of dawn?

Jus’ doin’ my neighborly duty. Besides, it’s jus’ a friendly favor, y’know cause we’re friends?

I sound like an idiot.

Maybe I should just..start off with saying good morning?

I’m hopeless.

Joel grumbled to himself as he trudged through the snow. The whipping wind bit at his exposed skin but he welcomed the chill without a complaint. The harsh elements were just another reminder that he was still alive and breathing.

The outside of your home was just as he expected it to be, quaint, yet quirky. He imagined that in the summer months your front porch would be scattered with flowers and plants. The mailbox just outside your gate was crooked and could definitely use a fresh coat of paint, and the wooden gate was a little creaky, but nothing he couldn’t easily fix. He was already making a little mental note of everything he wanted to fix on, and around your home.

The snow was a few inches deep, it stopped just below the top of his boots. His back already screamed a dull pain up his spine as he bent down with the shovel and got to work. The pain he felt in his muscles was just another reminder that he was still alive.

He gritted his teeth together, jaw clenched as he worked through the first section of your covered walkway.

You never considered yourself to be a heavy sleeper even before the apocalypse. A door slamming, or pots clinking in the kitchen sink at your long since abandoned apartment was all it took to stir you from your slumber. Now, even in the safety of Jackson, your brain was always ticking. What could be lurking behind that dark shadow across the street? Realistically, nothing. It’s just your brain playing a dirty trick on you. A branch outside your window snaps, it’s just the wind. It’s just the wind because it’s storming out, and a strong wind can break even the sturdiest of branches. That noise you heard in the dead of the night? It was just an animal. Maybe a raccoon or a screech from a barn owl. It wasn’t a clicker. You were safe, so why couldn’t your brain just..turn off? Why was it still stuck in this survival mode when nothing inside Jackson’s strong walls could hurt you.

This sound in particular was different. It was unfamiliar, and unfamiliar meant danger. Scraping, grunts, more scraping; man. The hairs on the back of your neck were standing up as you shot out of bed like a bat out of hell. You kept your shotgun next to your bed because well..you could never be too careful. You never had a reason to use it, but it brought you some form of comfort that you didn’t realize you so desperately needed until Tommy experienced your triggers firsthand when he had accidentally snuck up on you while your back was turned to him behind the counter of your shop. The last time he had seen fear struck that deep inside one person, was the night Sarah died in Joel’s arms. So, Tommy lended you a shotgun as an apology.

He’s out there. He’s trying to get me. I have to run. I have to hide. He’s found me and he—he’s going to take me away.

Your brain was screaming at you as you crept down the steps. Every step you took you feared would be your last. It had been sometime since you experienced an episode as severe as this one. Other times you were able to talk yourself back down to logic. Sometimes you’d resort to unbridled violence, usually on a sack of sugar. This time, you felt as if you had no control over your body's current state. It was as if you were reliving—

Joel had his bad ear facing towards your front door. Between the pain in his back, and the scraping of the metal shovel along the concrete, he wasn’t able to detect the front door creaking open.

His back was facing you as you shakily pointed the barrel of your gun at what you thought was an intruder. Due to the low light from the sun barely peeking over the mountains, all you saw was a darkened figure bent over in the middle of your walkway. Had it been brighter out, perhaps you would have recognized the lone figure to be Joel.

Your ears were ringing loudly as the inner voice inside of your brain was demanding you to shoot. Shoot him and then run, and never look back. Your breath grew shallow as the figure slowly turned around to start on the next snow patch..and then immediately froze.

Joel dropped the shovel with a heavy clank as he slowly raised his hands above his head to show you that he was no immediate threat to your safety. “Beanie? Hey, it’s alright darlin’ it’s just me.”

He’s lying

Your entire body was trembling at the top of the steps as Joel hesitantly took a few steps forward. “Darlin?’” I’m gonna need you to lower the gun now, okay? You’re safe. It’s just me. Nothin’ out here is goin’ to hurt you.” He spoke softly, yet firmly. He kept his hands where you could see them in direct view. He was close enough now that even in the low light, he could see the frightened whites of your eyes as you stood there, unblinking.

“I’m goin’ to take another step towards you, okay? Please don’t shoot me.”

Don’t trust him. He’s one of them. He’s here to hurt you. He’s playing a trick on you.

“Joel?” You stuttered shakily as you finally found your voice.

His heart sunk deep into the pit of his stomach when he picked up on just how terrified you were. He knew it wasn’t directly because of him. Something had happened to you, he knew the look on your face all too well, and it was a good thing he knew how to act calm in a dire situation such as this one.

“Yes, it’s Joel. It’s just me darlin.’” He responded as he took another step towards the foot of the steps leading up to your front porch.

“D—don’t come any closer, please.” You uttered just barely above a whisper as you kept the barrel of your gun trained on him.

“Okay. I won’t come any closer, but I need you to trust me to trust you. Do you understand what I’m saying to you Beanie?” He was careful with his choice of words. Anything too sudden might end up with him potentially getting a bullet to the arm or thigh. Not the chest, please. He silently thought to himself.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I trust you to not shoot me, so I need you to trust me to approach you. Okay? We can do this in baby steps. I just really need you to lower the gun, okay?” His eyes locked on yours as he gave you a reassuring nod.

You blinked a few times as your hands shakily lowered the barrel of the shotgun to the floorboards. Something in you suddenly clicked as the realization of what you had just done, more-so almost done, hit you like a freight train and suddenly you were crumbling right before his eyes.

He let out a visible sigh of relief when your gun was no longer aimed at him, but as soon as your body crumbled to the ground, he jumped into action. His gloved hands were gently wrapped around your shoulders as he spoke softly, yet urgently to you. “Beanie? Hey, you’re alright. You’re alright. I’m right here. You’re safe. You’re safe.” He felt like in those crucial moments it was necessary that he repeat himself just in case you didn’t hear him the first time.

Your eyes were frantically searching his own, pupils dilating under the low light that the early winter morning sky had to offer. He was holding your shoulders so delicately, as if you were fine bone china that would shatter just upon glancing at it. He could feel your muscles trembling under his loose grip. He could feel a hint of anger bubbling in the deep pit of his stomach. The same anger he experienced when he found Ellie— “d’ya..wanna take some deep breaths with me maybe? Or we could count? Sometimes I try’n pick a spot on the wall or somethin’ or count the steps it takes me to get from point A to point B. S’not the best method, but it helps bring me back down to earth.” His tone was so soft, sincere and genuine. If you weren’t such an emotional fucked up wreck, your heart would be melting into a puddle by now.

“Joel..I’m so sorry I-I—didn’t know it was you. I thought you—I thought..” You struggled to articulate a cohesive sentence as his espresso brown eyes bore into yours. He gave you a reassuring nod, and a gentle squeeze along your shoulders.

“Hey, it’s alright. I know you weren’t g’nna shoot me. You were just frightened. Your mind was probably playin’ some trick on you.” He murmured as his thumb was gently stroking back and forth across the fabric of your pajamas on your shoulders. “Y’sure you don’t wanna count?”

“Does..it actually help?” You whispered timidly.

“Sometimes..all depends on what it is that’s triggerin’ me.” He softly responded

“Can you start..please?”

“Course I can darlin.’ We’ll start at Ten.”

“Nine.”

“Eight.”

“Seven..”

“Six.”

“Five..”

“Four.”

“Three..”

“Two.”

“One.” You murmured in unison.

“Y’feel alright with me helpin’ you up? We can stay down here. S’alright with me.” His arms were fully enclosed around you now. He smelled better than you expected. Of course it helped that Jackson had an abundance of hygiene products available; soap being at the top of the list. He smelled earthy, rugged with a hint of minty freshness..toothpaste maybe.

“I really wasn’t going to shoot you..something just came over me and..I couldn’t stop myself.” You admitted softly.

“Would have been real hard for you to shoot me with the safety on darlin.’” He stifled a chuckle as he could see from the angle he was crouched down at, the safety on your rifle was in fact on. “Who gave you that rifle anyway? Someone outta teach ya to use it..never can be too careful.”

“Tommy gave it to me a few years back.”

“Ah. That does sound like somethin’ my brother would do.” He slowly stood to his feet as he offered you his gloved hand to help you up. “These floorboards are pretty damn wobbly. I can take a look at them when it ain’t so cold out? They probably started warpin’ from the changes in the weather. Might have a few boards that are rotted out.”

“Anything else you wanna fix on my house?” You teasingly asked as you grasped his hand, allowing him to help you up from the current sitting position you were in.

“Honey, I’ve got a whole mental list goin’ on in my head right now. The flood boards could end up bein’ a safety hazard if I don’t check ‘em sooner, rather than later. Your mailbox could use some sprucin’ up. Nothing a bit of paint can’t fix, and your gate is a little crooked. I’d uh—I’d be happy to do it though.” He was rubbing the back of his neck nervously with a sheepish look on his face.

“A whole list, huh? Is that why you were over here at the crack ass of dawn?” There was a ghost of a smile on your lips as you wrapped your arms around your chest to block out the bitter chill.

“Well, I gotta put my carpenter skills to good use somehow, right? Actually..I just woke up this mornin’ and wanted to do somethin’ nice for ya. Y’know after you came over and returned the mug..plus, I couldn’t really sleep all that much. I rarely do these days. Anyway, I’m ramblin’ yet again. The main reason I shoveled your walkway is cus’ I was goin’ to ask you if you’d like to accompany me to breakfast?” His face was flushed, and his cheeks were rosy, but he was certain it wasn’t because of the biting chill.

“You came all this way to shovel my walkway, and find an excuse to ask me out to breakfast?” You couldn’t help the smile that was slowly forming over your lips. It was crazy to think that just five minutes ago you were a complete cluster fuck of an emotional wreck, and now you were smiling like a fool because Joel Miller was proving to you that even in an apocalypse, chivalry was alive and well.

He ignored your question, at first. It wasn’t on purpose, he just was more tuned into your active shivering, and the way you tightened your arms across your chest in a weak attempt to block out the early morning chill.

“Are ya cold?” He asked with a soft rasp. He didn’t allow you the chance to answer as he was already slipping his warm suede jacket off and placing it over your shoulders.

“Thank you..” you whispered in a soft response.

“Of course. I’d feel pretty fuckin’ shitty if I caused ya to catch a cold out here.”

“And I’ll feel the same exact way if you catch one as well. Do you..want to come inside? I can put a fresh pot on?” You were already gesturing to your front door with a soft tilt of your chin in that direction.

“Let me just finish up with your walkway, and then I’d love to join you for a cup of coffee.” He was already heading down the steps to grab his discarded shovel.

“Wait! Joel, your jacket? Don’t you want it back?”

He glanced over his shoulder at you with a tiny grin playing on his lips. “Nah, s’alright darlin.’ The cold ain’t real botherin’ me anyway. Now please, go inside before you actually catch a cold.”

You weren’t one to argue at this early in the morning, and especially when you had yet to indulge in your cup of coffee. You slowly bent down and picked up your rifle and slung the strap over your shoulder before heading back inside. As soon as Joel heard the click of your front door closing, he continued on with shoveling the rest of your walkway.

The coffee grounds were just beginning to steep when he had quietly entered your home. He politely left his boots along the doormat next to yours. He didn’t want to be a rude houseguest and track in any snow. The first thing he noticed about your interior style was that you were anything but a minimalist. You had all sorts of picture frames hanging on the wall. Some were photographs but the others were paintings. Realism, portraits, landscapes, anything your heart desires, you painted it.

He especially took interest in all your knick knacks that were scattered in a clay bowl on the table in the entryway. Old keys, coins, lighters and paper matchboxes. Figurines, tiny porcelain coffee cups. The pads of his fingers brushed over a tiny felt fawn that was sitting atop of all the ‘clutter.’

“Ah. I see you found my bowl of treasures? Well, some people would probably call them junk, but I’ve always been a collector of oddities. Although, I wouldn’t really call them oddities. I think the proper term would be keepsakes?” You had two mugs of steaming coffee in your hands as you approached him. His jacket was still loosely hanging off of your shoulders as he looked over at you.

“Where did you find all of these treasures? Have you been collectin’ them through the years? Ellie’s obsessed with this kinda stuff.” He set the little felt fawn down gently as he reached for the coffee mug. Your fingers gently brushed against one another as he gingerly removed the mug from your hand. “Thank you, by the way. For uh, the coffee.”

“For the most part I have found all of these pieces on my own. Tommy actually found that felt fawn a few months ago. He knew it would bring a smile to my face. Do you want to take it home? I’m sure Ellie would love it. That’s kinda the whole concept of the bowl y’know? When I have guests over, I want them to pick something from it that really speaks to them. As you can see the bowl is quite full, considering I don’t get much company around here.” You brought the rim of your mug to your lips, softly blowing on the rising steam before you took a cautious slow sip.

“Oh, I couldn’t do that Beanie. I don’t wanna take somethin’ from ya that makes ya smile. That was awfully nice of my brother. Y’guys pretty close then?” He was gently leaning his weight back against the edge of the table, ankles crossed as he took a small sip from his own mug. For a split second you couldn’t help but feel the soothing domesticity from the moment you were sharing. Joel’s thick woolen socks, his flushed cheeks from the cold paired with his coat resting along your shoulders. There was something so tender to it all.

“Joel, I insist. Please, take the fawn and give it to your kid. I even have a little box for it so it looks like it’s a present. I’m sure she’ll love it. Anyway, Tommy and I are close. I suppose you could lay it out that way? I owe my life to him and Maria..they were the ones who took me in. I haven’t been outside Jackson since.”

“‘Course you got a little box for it and everythin.’ Alright, I’ll give it to El. You haven’t been outside Jackson in that long?..” He asked with genuine curiosity. He didn’t want to come across like he was prying either. He wanted you to open up to him not because he forced you to, but because you felt comfortable enough around him to show your vulnerabilities.

“I’ve only been outside the town one another time and that was when we found the coffee bean plants in the Colorado nursery. Tommy and Maria were with me of course and—” You paused, remembering how freaked out they were when you started to panic out of the blue. Neither of them could calm you down, and you passed out in Tommy’s arms.

“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to tell me anythin’ you don’t wanna tell me, alright?” He reached his freehand out and gently placed it along the side of your wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Let me..go get that box for Ellie’s fawn. Did you still want to do breakfast?” You set your mug along the table, you had barely touched it.

“If you’d like to. I’d thoroughly enjoy your company, and you ain’t lived till you’ve tried Maria’s egg casserole, darlin.’” He was grinning boyishly over the rim of his mug.

Man, was he handsome.

“Sounds like her egg casserole is to die for then. I’ll just grab that box, and then get dressed. You alright with hanging out here by yourself for a few minutes?”

“I think I can find a way to keep myself entertained till then.” He assured you.

“Perfect.”

Joel waited until you had disappeared upstairs before he let out a deep sigh as he looked down at the little felt fawn. His brow furrowed as he was deep in thought over what had possibly happened to you when you went outside Jackson with Tommy and Maria. He could connect the dots and piece the puzzle together, and the blaring answer was something bad had happened. What exactly? Now, that was going to take a little bit of time.

You came back downstairs a few minutes later. Dressed in some worn out jeans and a sweater made of pure sheep’s wool. Joel’s jacket was resting along the crook of your arm as you handed him a little felt box that went along with the fawn.

“Keep my jacket. I’ve got plenty at home.” Was the first thing that he uttered as he took the felt box from you and gently placed the fawn figurine inside before tucking it safely away in his pocket.

“Joel, I can’t do that. I’ve got plenty of jackets here as well.”

He wanted to tell you to keep it because he liked the way it looked on you. He kept those thoughts to himself for the time being.

“Alright, I won’t fight ya on it.” He shrugged.

“Good, cause you’ll lose every single time you try.” There was a playful edge to your tone as you placed the jacket back around his shoulders.

“Is that a challenge?” He mused, with his eyebrow quirked upwards.

“Nope. It’s facts.” You grinned.

Yeah, we’ll see about that.

More of Jackson’s residents began to emerge from their homesteads at the shrill sound of the breakfast bell chiming from the mess hall. Joel had respectfully offered you his arm as you descended down the porch steps, and past your crooked gate. You obliged to his offer, wrapping your gloved hand around the crook of his elbow.

You had never felt so many pairs of eyes on you since living in Jackson. Curious, envious, surprised, disgusted? Those were the types of looks you encountered from a handful of Jackson’s residents. The looks you received were mostly from women, and even though the world had ended, jealousy was still brewing.

It wasn’t everyday that Joel Miller came strolling into the mess hall with a pretty thing on his arm. You stood out like two sore thumbs, but it seemed like neither of you were paying much mind to it. Joel was used to the stares. People around here didn’t know much about him, other than the fact that he was Tommy’s older brother and Ellie was..like a daughter to him. They’d see the scars on his hands and arms and split like a sundae. He’d hear the whisperings of who he was, where he came from, and he’d shrug it all off. He much preferred keeping his family close, and everyone else at an arm's reach. He secretly relished in remaining a mystery to most.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Tommy spoke in a surprised tone as you and Joel approached the table that he and Maria were currently seated at. “Ya finally get Beanie outta her coffee shell?”

“It appears that I did. Told her about Maria’s egg casserole and she was sold instantly.” Joel reached over and gave his brother a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Ellie stroll through here yet?”

“She came in a few minutes ago with Dina. There sittin’ with their friends ov’there.” Tommy gestured with the end of his fork.

“Thanks. Got somethin’ I wanna give t’her.” He turned towards you then and gave you a reassuring smile. “Why don’t ya go and grab yourself a plate. I’ll come sit with ya in a minute.”

“Do you want me to grab you a plate as well?..”

“You’re a real doll. Thank you, that would be great.” He gave his brother a slight nod before he was sauntering away to where Ellie was sitting. Her and Dina were sitting side by side, shoulders touching.

“Hey, kiddo.” Joel murmured softly.

“Hey, Joel.” Ellie responded, not looking up from her plate. Things between them were..rocky to put it nicely. She loved her dad of course, and after what happened yesterday she thought she’d be okay, but the truth was she wasn’t.

“I uh—don’t mean to bother you and Dina or nothin.’ Jus’ wanted to give this to you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the little velvet box and placed it down in front of her. “Beanies got this collection of treasures and I saw this..little fawn, and immediately thought of you kiddo.”

Why can’t I just be good with my words for once in my fuckin’ life?

Ellie could feel tears pricking the corner of her eyes as she gently lifted the lid off the box to reveal the little felt deer encased inside. This small gesture meant more than Joel would ever realize..but Ellie kept her poker face strong.

“Thanks, Joel.”

His heart dipped and sunk like dry sand becoming wet and weighed down from tumultuous waves crashing upon the shore. It was a small step in what he hoped was the direction of forgiveness.

“You’re welcome, kiddo.” He cleared his throat before he ambled away back to the table where the rest of his family were sitting. He had only known you for less than twenty four hours, and he already thought of you as family. He didn’t count all the times before outbreak day only because that part of himself had died along with Sarah. Or, so he thought.

“El..he’s trying at least.” Dina was resting her chin along Ellie’s shoulder as they were both gazing down at the little felt fawn.

“He is.” Ellie murmured softly.

Joel took a seat across from you as you were sitting next to Maria, gushing over her egg casserole, and how Joel was absolutely right about you not living until you tried it.

He thought you looked so pretty with a soft smile on your face as you looked at Maria with genuine adoration.

At nightfall, Joel, Tommy and a few other men were out patrolling. With the winter being so harsh, there were more chances of man wandering through these parts. Stragglers were one thing, raiders? That was a whole other story. Joel and Tommy took to the east on horseback. The longer winter night was dead silent. There was no howling wind to whip against the bone dry branches. No low hoot from an owl. It was quiet, too quiet. Even the horse’s hooves were nearly undetectable from how soft and careful they were stepping into the snow.

The only light source they had was the brightly lit moon shining in the jet-black sky. The stars scattered about weren’t nearly as brilliant as the moon.

Joel broke through the silence as he adjusted the strap of his rifle over his shoulder. “Tommy?..” he started, “do you know what happened to Beanie?..”

Tommy let out a huff of air as the bitter cold burned his lungs. He averted making eye contact with his brother before he was met with no other choice but to finally make eye contact with him. “It ain’t my place to tell you that, brother. I’m sorry.” He sounded defeated with his words because he didn’t want to keep anything hidden from Joel. Not after all those years they had spent apart from one another.

“You better give me a real fuckin’ reason why you can’t tell me. Tommy, she nearly fuckin’ shot me this mornin’ because she thought I was a threat. That I was a danger to her life. You can’t tell me anythin?’” Joel whispered back, harsher than he had wanted but he didn’t like being left out of the loop.

“Joel,” Tommy hissed under his breath, “Even if I knew the exact details of what that woman went through, I wouldn’t be able to disclose them to you.”

“Why the hell not?” Joel quipped back.

“Because, because..she ain’t got’a fuckin’ clue about what happened to herself either, Joel.”

What?

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Chapter 4:

[thedailyplatypics]

TW//pretty violent descriptions of Doof’s traps and wondering how they might actually kill Perry/Death/Falling/Suffocation/Burning

Perry Could Have Died A Lot:

Doofenshmirtz’s Traps Becoming Tamer, The Evolution Of Perry And Doof’s Relationship, And The Expendability Of OWCA Agents.

In Season 1 and 2 many of the traps created by Doofenshmirtz aimed to KILL Perry, either unintentionally or intentionally, and sometimes in the worst, most horrifying ways imaginable.

It’s genuinely concerning how bad some early traps were and what exactly Doofenshmirtz was expecting when these traps succeeded? I usually like to imagine Perry as an invincible fighting machine, but what if he wasn’t invincible? What if some of these traps actually succeeded? And What happens to the other poor OWCA agents that aren’t as skilled when their nemesis has something cruel in store?

Showing the de-escalation of these traps also shows just how much their relationship evolved over the course of the show.

But before we get into that though, let’s quickly go over some of these traps and just how badly they would have turned out for poor Perry.

I’ll be rating them from 0-10 on how awful each death would have been (10 being the worst) based on how slow the death would be, how helpless he would be, how horrifying it would be, how painful it would be, what the treatment of the remains would be like, and how bad it still is for Perry even though he escaped to give a FULL look at just how messed up Doof’s traps were.

A very slow, lonely death by suffocation and a helpless situation. What would Doof even have done to clean this up? Would he just keep Perry in there forever??

8/10 worst way to die

A long and horrifying death from falling as he would have been completely helpless to do anything, but wait for the inevitable thud and darkness at the end. If he fell on a hard surface the only thing recognizable from him would be his hat. More like Perry the Splat-ypus (I’m sorry)

7/10 worst way to die

A lot to breakdown here: Dismemberment, decapitation, blown to shreds by a canon ball, and literally a murder s**c*de bombing by nuclear detonation wtf☠️??? And imagine the cleanup for half these things..

7/10 worst way to die

Death by being mauled, torn to shreds, and eaten by crocodiles all while Doofenshmirtz watched with a smile on his face is pretty sick. (This is the second time Doof’s tried to feed him to crocs/gators)

7/10 worst way to die

This was mostly unintentional, but death by either hypothermia or suffocation.

6/10 worst way to die

This trap placed under a rocket booster would have instantly incinerated them if it had succeeded. While not very painful compared the rest, it’s equally as scary. Imagine being there for one second and then poof. The only thing that is left of you is ashes.

If they took too long to escape the health affects from the toxic gasses released by rocket fuel such as, NO2, HNO3, hydrazines, and other substances would have been destructive towards their health.

5/10 worst way to die

One of Doof’s worst traps if it wasn’t so easy to escape. Try to imagine a laser cutting into you like this, cutting into one organ after the other, slow, searing hot, and also yes, extremely painful. If the pain didn’t kill Perry first through something like cardiac arrest, then multi-organ failure would have.

AND Literally what else was Doof expecting to come home to after the LOVE MUFFIN event??? NOT a dead platypus cut in half??!! What would he even have done with his body after that!??

10/10 worst way to die

This one is just the worst one. Based on the color of this lava, it’s around 1,600 F°!

If the rope didn’t burn through first he would have basically suffocated, seared his lungs to a crisp from the hot air, roasted alive slowly, and burst into flames (Anakin Skylwalkered) but if the rope broke he would probably feel (and not feel) the worst pain imaginable on earth for a good few seconds as all the water in his body would boil, nerves would desintegrate, every single organic molecule in his body would denature, and the lava would wrap around him like grease when you put bacon on a frying pan (that last part might just only apply to rocks though). The bones would burn for the longest, but soon there would be no trace of him left.

It should be noted that lava is a dense liquid and would feel pretty solid unlike water.

Even though he did escape this one, imagine the burns he got and seared lungs. Getting this close to molten lava typically sets people on fire and gives them serious burns. There’s also the toxic gases, heavy metals, and carcinogenic matter he inhaled. Additionally, this lava was bubbling and spraying everywhere. Once a drop of this molten rock like that hits your skin it burns your skin, burns your nerves, cools, and sticks on you. You wouldn’t feel it yet, but how did he hide that stuff when he came home to Phineas And Ferb? Burns can also lead to infections which could be serious and lead to removal of infected areas and amputation or even death,

While the long term health affects he suffered from this experience might not directly lead to his death in the future unless he does get a deadly infection, it could contribute significantly to things like future lung diseases and cancer. There’s also no doubt this experience (mostly from the hot air likely searing his lungs a bit) at least gives him breathing trouble now which would be incredibly depressing.

10/10 worst way to die

Perry didn’t deserve this.

Now, did Doofenshmirtz really have the intention to seriously injure or kill Perry or did he know he’d always escape and wreck his plans? I can’t say for sure, but he survived all of these and he’s also OWCA’s best agent. So, what happens to the lesser skilled agents….?

Perry’s Not The Only One (Tangent):

What percentage of OWCA agents have died in the field of battle with their nemesis and vice versa? We are shown that the one Canadian evil scientist almost died in MML: Agent Lentee Diogee and we know that Agent T (Turkey) was unfortunately killed on Thanksgiving (PNF: The Remains of A Platypus), whether he was mixed up in the turkey harvest process, it was actually because of a scheme unrelated to Thanksgiving, or because his Nemesis did in fact eat him is still unclear.

Also, does the government use animals in OWCA for secret missions because they have advantages humans don’t have or is it really because they’re actually more expendable compared to people. If you think about it, if a human dies because of U.S. government missions, everyone asks questions and there’s a lot of liability, but if a random pigeon or someone’s pet mysteriously goes missing, it’s not national news and no one’s asking the federal government what happened to it. An animal agent is not just a silly cartoon thing, it’s the perfect way to spy, and the US Government has literally tried and used animals as agents before (obviously those ones didn’t have human consciousness like in Phineas And Ferb though since it is a cartoon). They are very expendable and inexpensive.

Back To Doof And Perry:

When did Doof’s traps become more tame? Around the end of season 2 Doofenshmirtz sort of stopped the deadly traps that were designed to kill Perry and mostly focused on traps designed to restrain Perry instead. Sure they still have their laser fights and very dangerous situations and what not (like the Where’s Perry incident), but Doof and Perry are much closer friends now, and we know neither really want the other dead. As Dan Povenmire said, “they really are the most important person in each other’s lives.”

So, when did Doof stop/reduce the death traps? (I use reduce because I checked, but I’m not 100% certain the pnf wiki got every trap)

The last time I remember Doofenshmirtz actually fine with Perry dying was in the Across the 2nd Dimension Movie when he was perfectly okay with Perry being sent to his doom. However, at the end of the film seconds before the 2nd Dimension Doof is about to crush Perry, Phineas, and Ferb, Doofenshmirtz basically saves Perry’s life by stopping 2nd Dimension Doof at the last second and giving him his toy train. (Maybe a little because the horrifying thing 2D Doof did to his Perry too)

Of course he doesn’t remember this because of the Amnesia-inator applied to him and everyone else at the end of the movie, but as we know from the Giant Tire Swing episode when the kids start singing the Summer song from AT2D spontaneously, but cannot recall where it’s from, that memories are still somewhere in the subconscious of these characters.

So, I’d like to think that Doofenshmirtz’s desire to kill Perry sort of faded after actually seeing him come the closest to death he’d ever been in the entire series and while he doesn’t remember it, it’s still there subconsciously.

There’s More:

By the end of the series Doof really isn’t that evil anymore. He’s just a guy pretending to be evil. Perry and Doof are a lot more casual with each other and friendlier, but Doofenshmirtz in The Last Day Of Summer kinda sucks. It’s really the big, real, last push from his evil phase and it shows. He really sucked to both Vanessa and Perry.

In this episode a time looping machine gives Doofenshmirtz multiple tries to finally complete his scheme. In the looping he tries to perfect a trap that can restrain Perry and returns to the type of deadly traps from S1-2, but the mega-trap never overdoes itself and somehow only fails catch Perry, not kill him. Despite every deadly piece and Perry almost getting chopped in half by a bear trap, the mega-trap strangely doesn’t ever kill Perry. It only fails to catch Perry A LOT. This could just be luck and shows that Perry is truly invincible, but since this is later seasons we already know Doof doesn’t want to kill Perry anymore so is it that far off to say that he also didn’t just perfect this trap to not only restrain Perry, but also to not kill him and keep him alive? Does this mean sometimes he could have overdone the trap and there were failed tries to not kill him??

He probably considered that the day repeated so even if he overdid it and killed Perry, the day would restart anyways and he could tone down the part of the trap that killed him, but without the looping he knows the only way to stop Perry is to kill him.

This would be another reason for why he did what he did next.

In one of the final loops when he succeeds with his trap after an unknown amount of tries and finally becomes mayor. The time loop machine also disappears, so he thinks he can no longer loop time now which means no trap will ever be as affective as his time-loop trap and the only affective way to keep Perry from ruining his schemes as he now knows from the time loop, is to kill him. So he uses his new power to legally make it so that Perry can no longer fight him to avoid that entire problem and keep his power, and continue to be evil without hurting him.

It’s somewhat thoughtful that he still doesn’t want Perry dead which is consistent with his character development, but ultimately he chooses evil over his best and only friend and loses him.

Of course we know it works out when he turns good, and he mostly gives up evil after the finale.

This is just another angle to look from when it comes to their relationship.

I don’t know how to end this because that’s about all I’ve got and I have been completely sidetracked from my day to write this and I should probably get back to it. Hopefully this blog makes sense. Feel free to suggest corrections or mistakes or add on any details you’d like to point out.

[violetsiren90]

Blame Me (Teaser) | Jungkook/Reader

Pairing: Jungkook/Noona Reader (fem reader)

Genre: Best friend's younger brother; slow burn; friends to lovers; eventual romance; eventual smut; neighbors/childhood friends au; forbidden(ish) love; summer love

Summary: Upon returning to your hometown after breaking off your engagement to your boyfriend of three years, you reconnect with your childhood bestfriend as you attempt to put the pieces of your life back together. It seems like nothing has changed in the sleepy little town until your bestie's younger brother returns home from college - very, very grown. As the summer stretches on, the stakes get higher - can you play with fire without getting burned, or have you ignited a flame that won't be extinguished?

Warnings: 18+ (minors, dni); age-gap relationship (between consenting adults); lots of fluff; explicit smut (chapters will have their own warnings); secret relationships; angsty moments; messy situations/relationships; JK on a motorcycle; working through insecurities

Release date: Mid-late May

Author's note: Hello! This will be my first time posting a full-fledged chapter-installment fic here, but I'm excited because I've had this concept brewing in the back of my mind for a while now and BTS Chapter 2 Jungkook, with his curly hair and all his flirty little lives has me soft AF 😂🥰. After launching chapter one, I'm aiming to update twice a month. The teaser below is just a snippet of an interaction to give you a feel for their dynamic.

If you want to be added to the tag list, comment or send me an ask to let me know!

________________________________________

He slug his leg over the bike and settled in, hands on the bars, and flashed a smile over at you that made you suspect he knew just how good he looked sitting there in all that denim.

"C'mon, noona!" He urged, rolling his wrist to rev the engine as his booted foot kicked up the stand. You had never been on a motorcycle before, and if you were being honest with yourself, you were a little terrified of the idea of flying down the road so exposed and precariously perched.

"I don't know, Jungkook..." you wavered, crossing your arms over your chest but advancing a step or two to examine the machine humming under his weight. As you roved your eyes uncertainly over the bike, he reached out and grabbed your arm, pulling you gently but firmly to him. 

"Don't you trust me?" He cooed, batting his long lashes over the most obnoxiously irresistible pair of puppy eyes.

"Don't look at me like that!" you chided. He continued to look at you exactly like that. You sighed in defeat.

"Fine," you mumbled, and he let out a laugh, turning to grab the helmet perched behind him and press it over your head before you could protest. You narrowed your eyes at him, your hair pinned sloppily between the two pads of foam squishing together your cheeks. He stared at you for a moment then burst into a fit of laughter.

"Hey!" you whined, but it was hard to be mad at him with his eyes pressed into little crescent moons and his smile so wide and so gloriously blinding as he held his sides and rocked to and fro like a cartoon character. You smiled a small smile in spite of yourself.

"Okay, okay," you sighed, "I know I look dumb, but that was a bit much, don't you think?" Still smiling brightly and chuckling he reached over and buckled the strap under your chin, then patted the top of the helmet.

"Jolla gwiyeobda!" He giggled, tapping your nose. You felt a flush creep over your face and neck which he seemed blessedly oblivious to as he guided you up behind him onto the bike. As soon as your body made contact with the seat, gravity, that crafty bitch, pulled your hips down snugly against his ass, your thighs sliding firmly against the outsides of his own. You kept your hands gingerly on his shoulders as you activated every muscle in your core in an attempt to sit upright. He pulled a helmet over his mop of curls before plucking your hands from his shoulders to guide them around his waist, pulling your chest flush against his torso.

"Tighter, noona!" You could hear the smirk in his voice. This kid. He damn well better not be able to feel your heart beating at a million miles an hour into his back, you thought to yourself in mild distress.

"Like this?" you asked squeezing harder around his waist, and trying your absolute level best to ignore the definition and firmness of his muscles beneath your touch. He hummed in assent. You could still hear that damn smirk.

One rev.

Two revs.

You pressed your eyes shut and curled your head into his back.

He let out a bright peel of laughter.

And then suddenly, you were gliding forward. Faster and faster. You peeked an eye open to discover that in a few short seconds, you had already almost cleared the neighborhood. You cut through the warm evening air like bullet as trees and quaint suburban homes gave way to rolling fields of fertile green. As your broke into the open farmland, your breath caught in your throat. These were the same planes and hills that had met you for years, and yet it was as if you had never really seen them, not until now - with nothing but the wind between you and all of it, the swells of the earth and the sunset. Is this what it felt like to fly? Every ounce of trepidation in your body had been replaced with a euphoric thrill. Did he feel it too? Suddenly he let out a whooping howl that you could barely hear above the roar of the air whipping around you.

Yeah, he must feel it. You smiled. He had before said that sometimes freedom was just hitting the ground running. He said that sometimes you had to take risks to remind yourself that you were alive. As you pressed your cheek into the strong warmth of his back, you began to think you might have a thing or two to learn. And he might be the one to teach you.

-End teaser-

[ghost-with-a-teacup]

𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 | 𝐫𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥!𝐚𝐮

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!Reader 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: War rages on within the Empire, and you might just be the fool to traipse into enemy territory with an oath of fealty on your lips. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.5k 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: War, fires, mentions of death, enemies to lovers, slow burn :)) 𝐚/𝐧: i've been craving to write a slow burn fic ever since i started reading 'bleeding blue' by @nsharks because it destroys me inside in the best way. and also because i haven't written a long fic in ages, so here you go! enjoy~

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈

“What does it mean to be human, my prince?”

The young prince looks up at his tutor confusedly. They had just been speaking about arithmetics, had they not? Of course, he wouldn’t know, his head was perpetually lost in thought about anything other than his lessons.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean, professor,” the boy says in turn.

“Just...think about it for a moment, there is no correct or incorrect answer, young princeling,” the old tutor says, his eyes inquisitive as to what the boy would say.

How do the ones who have life handed to them on a silver platter perceive the vast world around them?

The boy ponders for a moment, his head swirling around potential answers. It was surely not as simple as eating his favourite cake or riding horses with his brother along the shoreline. Nor was it the bad things, like his mother tugging his ear when he misbehaved, or his father’s angry eyes. But anything more than superficial was inconceivable.

Perhaps it was the collection of all those things, the good and the bad that made up the answer to that tricky question. It was a start, he thought. But despite his tutor’s push to answer he was still unsure.

“I…I don’t know, professor,” he admits after a few minutes of silence as he thought. But the tutor didn’t seem to be upset, a kind smile gracing his lips.

“No one does. It is the question of the universe, and no one quite has the answer. Or perhaps they all do, since human life is vast and no life is quite the same as the next. Do not be discouraged, but question it as you go to sleep tonight. That is your only task for today, understood?”

The young boy's face lights up at his tutor’s words, this meant he could play.

“Yes, professor!” he says with a giddy smile, leaping out of his chair before bounding towards the door. As he turned the doorknob he suddenly remembered his manners, nodding his head politely once before running out the door.

He would not be getting any sleep tonight.

“MOTHER, FATHER,” the young prince cries out, the fires blazing in a deadly inferno. Like hands, the wisps of flames reached out, ready to drag him to the depths of hell themselves.

With each inch he crawled back, two more were devoured by the blaze.

“BROTHER, PLEASE,” he begged as feet scuffled by his door, shouts to put out the flames throughout the rest of the castle, all deaf to his cries.

The prince was young, but he was smart. He quickly realized there wouldn’t be anyone coming for him, not when the Emperor, Empress and Crown Prince were still in danger. So he searched for options.

The flames had already engulfed their way toward his door, where more would be waiting outside, so that wasn’t an option.

There was nowhere else to hide. Where could you possibly hide from the fury of fire?

His only option was the balcony, but to open the doors meant to provide oxygen to feed the flames. But it was an escape and he had no choice.

Through the flames, he ran. The distance that once felt so short to him now felt like an eternity. The heat of the rocky floor burned his feet, the wisps of the blaze scorched his face, the acrid smoke stinging his lungs.

But he pressed forward.

Closer.

Closer.

Closer to the only salvation in his sight. The only freedom he could grasp.

He bursts through the balcony doors and the flames behind him explode with a newfound fervour only oxygen could bring. But he was free, if only for a little while.

Looking around frantically, he spots the safety net. A thick entanglement of vines that climbed from the base of the castle to his balcony door.

The young prince was unafraid of heights, but despite that his fingers shook as he grasped onto the thick gnarled wall, the implication of a fall from this height not escaping him.

But there was no choice, the fire still chasing behind him. So with a steadying breath, he leaped over the balcony fence, praying to any gods above that the vines would hold.

To his luck they did, and step by step he climbed down, each more sure than the last as he got closer to the ground.

But even still, the climb felt like an eternity. The thorns dug into his hands and feet, dead vines were interlaced with living ones. One wrong step and he would die.

But at long last, there were only perhaps 10 metres of climbing left.

He was going to make it! He was going to survive.

But then all of a sudden a hiss sounds from behind him, a rush of air flying by his ear before a flaming arrow embeds itself into the vines.

His feet slip first in the shock.

His arms follow, unable to support his weight.

Then all of a sudden he was falling.

Falling.

The last thing he could see was the viridian fletching of the arrow as he fell, and with it a darkness creeping around his heart that was never there before.

And then,

darkness.

Heavy boots echo through the throne room, a cloak of obsidian and scarlet flowing as the man walks.

The weight of the world sat heavy upon his shoulders, the crown of an empire heavy on his head. And yet his posture stood tall, never faltering. On his face sat a mask, piercing white and carved of bone into the shape of a skull. Perhaps even a skull itself.

Flanking his sides were the Lord Commander and the Advisor of the empire, while servants bowed to pay their respects on the sides of the room.

With a heavy sigh, the man sat down on the throne. The same one he saw his father sit on in the past.

‘What does it mean to be human’, someone had once asked him long ago. When he was just a boy, where the world around him was still warm and full of splendour, and the light of the sun still shone on the golden prince of the empire.

He had that answer now.

To be human was to survive. To claw your way through the dirt, past the cold grasp of death, past the infernal chains that wished to drag him through the hells. And to survive was to kill, for the world was cruel and treacherous, and there was no other way.

This is why people were whispering today as they looked at the crumpled form of a young woman in a scarlet robe lying at the base of the dais the Emperor’s throne sat upon.

Outsiders were unwelcome here, the borders closed long ago at the start of the war. Yet the young woman was seen crossing the border by the Emperor himself no less as he accompanied a patrol. In any other circumstance, she would be dead before a foot was within Empire lines.

But here she lay, face unfamiliar and thoroughly unwelcome. The air was thick in anticipation as the twitches of consciousness began to take hold.

She would have the answers the Emperor seeks. If they were inadequate, her blood would stain the carpet as so many others have done before.

You groan softly as you begin to wake up, the ground beneath you harder than any forest floor you had slept on in the trek to your destination.

Your head throbs as you sit up, the impact from the hilt of a sword still lingering.

Your eyes are blurry, likely from the injury but you try your best to blink it away blearily.

Before long your eyes clear, and they dart around in the unfamiliar setting. Stone walls that were charred black, denser near the floor that crawled up toward the sealing.

Tapestries that you had once read to be gold were now the scarlet red of blood, perhaps stained by your people's fallen.

No.

They were no longer your people, that you were sure of.

Finally, your eyes fall upon the imposing figure at the head of the room, his expression unreadable under that striking mask.

“Ah, she wakes at last,” the Emperor’s thunderous voice echoed. “Welcome to the Sol Aurelian Empire, give me one reason to not kill you where you lie.”