#and anyone who has been stuck with me for more than five minutes will take this result with a big old 'quelle surprise'

[seeingivy]

you're losing me

satoru x f!reader

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

an: based on a request I received! i've been trying to get back into the writing groove since finals ended - and this very detailed request was exactly what I needed - so ty my sweetie pie <3

--

“Would you guys like to order?” 

You swallow hard, looking up at your waiter, who has stopped by for the third time now. You’ve been sitting here with the first years for almost forty-five minutes now, waiting for Satoru to arrive for the dinner that you two kept promising them. Yuuji and Nobara have all but exhausted the free bread supply while you waited, much to Megumi’s dismay, who keeps claiming that they’re going to be too full to eat their dinner and complain about it for days. 

“Um-” 

You pause, checking his location one more time, before you sigh and give a polite smile. Satoru’s location still isn’t reading - meaning, he’s still stuck on his mission - and not coming to dinner. 

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.” you respond, gesturing for the three of them as Megumi starts narrating everyone’s order to the waiter.

The three of them turn to you - with matching stiff smiles - when he walks away as you swallow hard and prepare yourself for the awkward barrage of comments you know are coming. 

“He’s not coming?” Megumi asks. 

“Yeah. He’s still at his mission and I have to take you guys back early anyways, so we’ll just eat without him.” 

“Maybe you can take something for him to go?” Yuuji asks. 

“No, that’s alright. Um, his dinner from yesterday should still be there. He’s good.” you respond. 

You don’t miss the look that the three of them give each other and swallow down the defense of him that you always have prepared. Not that you don’t still vehemently believe in it, because you do, it’s just that it tends to make those prolonged, pitying looks last longer when you do. 

But Satoru really is busy. There’s no one like him - he quite literally changed the balance of life as anyone knew it when he was born - so of course there are certain missions that only he can do. And there’s a certain…safety that comes with picking Satoru each time. Because they know that he’ll come out on the other side of it, with exactly what they need. 

Which means that he comes home late sometimes. Despite your best efforts to stay up - which always end with you upright on the couch, with your neck curved in a weird way - only to find that you’re safely tucked into your bed the next morning. 

Satoru always comes home at some point, making sure to tuck you into bed, but has to run off so fast that you don’t catch him in the morning. 

“Gojo-sensei’s really neglecting you, huh?” Nobara utters, earning a jab from Megumi in his side. 

You smile. 

“No. He’s just busy.” you respond, awkwardly breaking the bread in your plate. 

“You’re right. He has missions and has been really hands on with the second-years.” Megumi responds. 

You shoot him a grateful smile. 

“Exactly! Especially since they’re all about to be nominated for first grade sorcerers so…now is more important than ever.” you add. 

“It’s okay. You should just make Gojo-sensei feel really bad. Isn’t he rich? Then he’ll buy you a nice ring to make up for it.” Nobara adds, giving you a wink. 

You snort. 

“Okay, Nobara. I’ll try it.” you scoff. 

“No, seriously! He should feel bad - you’re probably drinking wine alone at night, blasting some sad songs before you get so tired from crying that you fall asleep. You deserve a gift!” Nobara adds, earning her another jab from Megumi in her side. 

You roll your eyes. 

“I do not blast sad songs before I go to bed. That’s actually pathetic.” you respond. 

“Or therapeutic. I’ll send you a playlist. Trust me, you’ll get so mad that you’ll actually get a gift from him out of it.” Nobara responds, your phone beeping in your pocket from her message. 

You look over at Megumi, giving him a knowing look, before you return to your dinner and let Nobara target her incessant rambling for someone else. At the end of the dinner, Nobara flashes you a big smile when you set Satoru’s credit card down on the table, which was an accident because you had just left yours at home. You settle down her rambling by buying them all dessert on it before you send them home. 

--

Satoru, though he would never admit it out loud, had been dreading coming home for the past week. And he’d wring his own neck out a few months ago, for even thinking it, let alone the fact that he’s been entertaining the fact for the past few months. 

But what he has waiting for him when he’s coming home, leaves him with that deep seated, guilty pit in his stomach. Because he always trods into your apartment hours late, to find you curled up on the couch, having dozed off. 

Satoru knows you - too well almost - and that despite his protests, you tried your best to wait up for him every single day. His heart warms at the fact that you want to spend time with him, but it’s quickly overshadowed with guilt when he sees the dark circles under your eyes. And it makes it ten times worse when he slips out in the morning for his mission, only to see you squirming into his side of the bed, now left cold. 

And the worst part? That you can’t even bring yourself to be mad about it. Because Satoru would feel with anger, that it would be fully deserved, but your full understanding and love for him just makes his guilt a thousand times worse. Because without fail, you always leave ehim a dinner plate out, reminding him to eat his vitamins and rink water before leaving. 

But today was different - quite possibly, the first time he’s rushed home in a while. Because his mission finished early and his meeting got cancelled, meaning that he would be home when you would be awake. He’d made arrangements, quickly running past and picking up a bouquet and ice cream on the way home, nearly sprinting all the way up the stairs. 

Satoru pads into the apartment, feet leading him straight to the bedroom, where the light is pouring from the bottom of the closed door. He hesitates, caught off by the fact that you’re singing, before knocking on the door together. He’d missed the sound of it, of your quiet singing that he’d often wake up to while you were showering. 

Satoru can recognize that you’re listening to Taylor Swift almost immediately - with how much you and Nobara play it around him - and he’s almost positive that you must have the cat cuddled into your nap, explaining all the lore to him like he’s found you doing hundreds of time. 

"Do something, babe, say something" (say something) "Lose something, babe, risk something" (you're losin' me) "Choose something, babe, I got nothing (got nothing) To believe Unless you're choosin' me" You're losin' me Stop (stop, stop), you're losin' me Stop (stop, stop), you're losin' me I can't find a pulse My heart won't start anymore

Satoru swallows hard. He knows that it’s just a song. That the sentiment could easily not be reflecting what you’re feeling. 

But he’s also acutely aware that it could be what you’re feeling. And it’s something that you aren’t telling him, because he knows that you odn’t want to be another thing that he has to deal with at the end of the day. 

Satoru groans, leaning his head against the door, as he panders with his options. Because that’s the last thing that he wants you think. It’s the farthest place he wants to be in his relationship with you, because he wants you to always come to him. The fact that you could have been holding onto these feelings, for god knows how long, makes his stomach churn as his feet quickly lead him into the kitchen and has him scribbling a note to place in the bouquet of flowers. 

--

You shoot Nobara a text as you pad out into the kitchen, your cat following you on your heels. 

you: i like the playlist! 

nobara: how much have you had to drink? 

you: i did not drink. and i am not sad. 

nobara: now who said that? projecting much…

You roll your eyes as you half debate opening up the dinner you had left out for Satoru last night or ordering takeout and leaving him leftovers to eat tomorrow morning 

“I already ordered us something.” 

You turn around, to find Satoru closing the space between you, the flowery smell filling your nose as his lips meet your forehead in a warm kiss. 

“Satoru. You’re home, I didn’t even…” 

He presses his lips firmly against yours, his right hand flesh as your cheek, sending a wave of warmth down your spine. You smile into the kiss, resting your forehead against his, as he returns a soft smile back. 

“I missed you.” he murmurs. 

You deflate, warm tears filling your eyes at his presence - bright blue eyes, the smell of his shampoo, and his warm arms around yours - as you loop your arms under his and dig your face into his neck. You can feel him leaving a few pecks in your hair, his voice soothing as you try your best to will away your tears. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to cry, I just really missed you.” 

He pulls back, giving you a warm smile, as he reaches for the flowers on the counter and places them in your hands. You give him a bright smile, twisting them in your hands, as you fully inhald the flowery smell. 

“For you.” Satoru responds, in a sing song voice as he reaches forward to pinch your cheek. 

“You didn’t have to, love.” you respond, swiping the tiny little envelope from the bouquet. 

“Yes. I did.” he deadpans, placing his hands on your shoulder before swinging you around and placing you flesh against his chest. 

You open up the little envelope to find a little note inscribed with his messy handwriting, as his lips find their way to your cheek. 

My sweet girl, 

Your endless empathy and patience don’t go unnoticed. You’re far more than I deserve and I want to make it up to you, though I’m sure I’ll probably spend the rest of my life doing that, if you’ll let me. 

We’re going to go away, just the two of us, for a little while. I don’t care where we go, you can choose where we go and what we do tomorrow. Just know, that in earnest, I’m choosing you, even if I don’t make it clear all the time. 

I’ll choose you, always. 

Love, 

Satoru

You smile hard, twisting around, so you can look up at him. The tears are flowing from your eyes tenfold how, as Satoru lifts his hands to your cheeks, trying to push you into smiling. 

“Why are you frowning, princess?” 

“You’re so sweet, Satoru.” 

Satoru shakes his head dismissively, as he pushes you into his embrace fully, increasing the pressure of his hold around you. The two of you stand there in the kitchen for a while, softly murmuring to each other, in the pale light of the kitchen. 

When you and Satoru pad into bed later that night, you send Nobara another message before going to sleep. 

you: nvm. remind me to take ur advice more often.

--

an, again: no one crucify me I haven't written anything for like a month

the satoru as taylor swift series masterlist

taglist: @invisible-mori @porridgesblog  @k0z3me  @kayleegomez  @yihona-san06  @bsenpai  @sweetenertea  @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg

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[adventuringblind]

Don't leave me

Max Verstappen x reader, platonic Oscar piastri/Lando norris/ Charles Leclerc x reader

Genre: angst

Request: Yes, and I'm litterally in love with this piece

Summary: they are basically her brothers. They would do anything for each other. Max, even more so after realizing he loves her. He'd take a bullet for her if it meant keeping her safe. Too bad she beats him to it.

Warnings: graphic description of injuries and gunshot wounds. Blood, panic, live shooter.

Notes: written in third person

Masterlist

It's funny in this sport how friendships work. Your closest bonds are with your rivals. You grow up together racing if your trying to get noticed.

That's how the five of you were able to get close. Charles and Max met early on. They're pratically the same age, only a month separating them. She met them at several races, and things with them just stuck. Lando and her are the closest in age, meaning they were often in the same division for Karting. He, however, was able to get his spot in formula 1 faster than her. Leaving her in formula two for a year longer until she could join the three boys at the top. Oscar was a mystery. It helped that she and him were teammates for a season in formula 2. They got close during that time.

Now they are all together in Formula 1. Racing side by side. Making bets about who will win each race. Though nobody bets now because it's always Max. His domination insane so far this season.

They had created their own little dysfunctional family. She kept the boys in line, and they were definitely willing to fight anyone who touches her.

Max was a wildcard. She crushed on him growing up and never expected he would like her back. He had tired just confessing to her with words. His attempt went sideways quickly. Then he'd kissed her. After their last race of her rookie season.

He wasn't expecting her to kiss back and was pleasantly surprised when she did.

Both Charles and Lando were not surprised. However, they still sat him down like overprotective fathers and lectured him about how they wanted him to treat her properly.

And he has. It's been wonderful.

Oscar joining your small family this year added to the fun. Him and Lando get on well and the other three are just glad his calm aura can get the Brit to tone down if need be.

Max is now a two-time world champion and well on his way to a third. She couldn't be prouder of him, and the rest of her boys for that matter.

This race specifically, she's charing the podium with them. Max first, Lando with a shocking second, and her ending in third.

Charles owes her dinner now. He didn't think the McLaren upgrades would be so drastic.

The trophies are now being handed out. hers first. She lifts it up and smiles at the crowd.

She notices something odd, though. Some of the crowd is ducking and running away from the podium. Specifically from someone clad in black with a firearm aimed at Max.

Her body reacts quicker than she can think her actions through. Her legs are scaling the podium, throwing her body in front of Max to get him out of the way.

The shot rings out as they tumble to the ground together. A mess of limbs on the top step. She spots Lando dropping to the floor at the noise, and for a minute, she thinks it was him who was hit.

Her ears are ringing, and her breath is heavy. The faint sounds of yelling can be heard in the background. Max is saying something to her that she can't make out. Her only concern being that he's okay.

Questions about his safety and eyes scanning over his body to assess the damage. A brief moment of relief settles over her as she sees nothing wrong with him.

Max looks concerned, though. He's saying things to her she can't hear. Lando is next to him in seconds.

Then, the burning registers. Max's hands pull away from the side of her chest, and they are covered in glossy crimson. Coughs wrack through her. Uncontrollable and painful. The taste of copper filling in over her tongue.

Max is trying to keep her awake. He's begging her to keep her eyes open. Lando is shoving his hands over the wound. She can see tears running down his cheeks.

"I'm glad you're okay." Are the last words she manages before the pain gets too much. Black spots dance across her vision. She tries her best to focus on Max. Her lovers eyes refusing to leave hers.

She slips away into the blissful, pain-free feeling of unconsciousness.

~

Max is screaming in Dutch now. The crowd running away or being escorted out beneath him. Lando is next to putting pressure over the gaping hole in her chest.

The shot was meant for him.

He tries not to think about it as he attempts to keep himself grounded and his lover coherent.

Charles and Oscar are working to fight their way up to them. Their team and security held them back and haul them away to somewhere safe. Max can perfectly make out their shouts of protest.

Lando is next to try and get him off the bleeding female. Paramedics are now here to do their job, but he can't let go. Lando is forcing him his hands away, his hands keeping Max firmly placed on the ground as they haul her away.

He's screaming now. Both boys are covered in blood that isn't their own.

Oscar and Charles are finally freed and they are sprinting to the podium. The two arrivals attempting to console their friends.

~

The wait in the hospital is long and anxiety ridden. Max can feel the guilt eating him alive.

Him and Lando have long since cleaned their hands. The nurses let them wash themselves when they got to the hospital.

Charles has been attempting to console max. Reminding him that it isn't his fault and that she'll pull through. Their girl is a fighter.

Oscar has been attempting the same for his teammate. The Brit having gotten sick from the image replaying in his head.

It's hours until they are allowed to see her.

Even then it’s not much help. She’s breathing, but she’s not awake.

Max stays with her for days before Charles finally convinces him to go shower and eat a proper meal. Promising to watch her for him and let him know if anything changes.

He's grateful for Charles and is greatfull for the McLaren boys who have been dealing with the press.

He feels refreshed when he comes back, but the guilt is still there. It should be him lying in her place. It should have been him moving her out of the way.

It's the way Charles is trying to get his attention as he sits there crying. The Monegasque tapping his shoulder repeatedly. Yet Max can't bring himself to look at him.

It's been weeks now. The FIA had just announced they'd be racing again next weekend. The security is apparently being much better now. He resents them for not having sorted it out earlier and allowing someone with a gun into the race.

Charles is tapping more furiously now. His hand is now gripping Max's shoulder. Frustration boils up inside of him. He snaps his head towards the Ferrari driver but is met with your open eyes when he does so.

"I'm going to get a doctor." Whispers Charles.

The girl in the bed is disoriented but still trying to say his name. He can see the pain in her eyes. She is trying to hide it and put on a brave face, but it's obvious to him.

Max doesn't hold his tears back any longer. He sobs as he places gentle kisses to her knuckles. "I thought I lost you." He chokes.

The face that she can smile right now is a testament to her strength. She's being strong for him, and he knows it.

She moves closer to him despite the pain and wipes his tears away. "No need to cry, you're not losing me so easily."

#x reader #fanficion #f1 fic #formula one #formula 1 #racing #angst #max verstappen #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #super max #max #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x you #max verstappen is a protector #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen f1 #redbull f1 #redbull #redbull racing #redbull formula 1 #mv1 #mv33 #charles leclerc x you #charles lechair #charles leclerc fic #lando norris f1 #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (11/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: The dinner is in full swing. And friends sharing a dessert is pretty normal - right?

Warnings: FLIRTING, PINING (you've been warned!), Charles is sweet, a bit of angst (at the end, beware)

Word Count: 3.5k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: if my story is tooooo slow burn, feel free to tell me! feedback is appreciated! love ya.

According to Google, cold water on the wrists helps against heat, because the blood circulating in the body is cooled there quickly and thus the body temperature should drop. 

So why the hell are you getting hotter?

About five minutes ago, you fled the table after Charles sat down next to you and your brain stopped working and before you could sweat through your clothes. Charles had looked at you with a concerned look after he made room for you to get up from the bench, but you had just smiled at him kindly and once the table was out of sight you were able to take a decent breath. 

About four minutes ago you were frantically googling for a way to get rid of the heat Charles was causing inside you, and since you don't have lukewarm showers here at the restaurant, nor do you have any essential oils with you, the only solution was cold water on your wrists. 

And for about three minutes you've been standing here, letting water run over your skin, and as long as you don't have to think about Charles and his touch, your body seems to cool down as well. But how could you not think about him when he is all your thoughts revolve around?

How silky his hair must be? Or how soft his skin? Or how gentle his touch? 

You lean your forehead against the cold tiles on the wall, though you would have preferred to bang your head against them. 

You can't think that way about Charles. About your roommate. Your friend. And especially not after two days together. You two don't even really know each other. So why can't your thoughts stop spinning around him?

Before you can actually bang your skull against the wall, the door to the ladies' room opens. 

"Are you okay?" asks Kika, leaning against the wall opposite you. She glances at your hands, which you're still holding under running water, and then looks at you with raised brows. 

You clear your throat before turning off the water and reaching for a paper towel to dry yourself off. "I'm fine."

Your new friend reaches out her hand, and you hand her the paper so she can toss it into the trash can beside her. "You can talk to me, Y/N. You know that, right? There is nothing you confide in me that I would ever tell anyone." When you raise an eyebrow, she nods slightly. "Not even Pierre."

You lick your tongue over your teeth once. "I appreciate that. Thank you."

Kika smiles. "I mean it. You can call any time of the day or night. I promise I'll always be there for you. Even if we've only known each other for a short time."

"I'll keep that in mind." You move toward the door. "But then don't complain if I really do call in the middle of the night and wake you up."

She pushes off the wall and puts an arm around your shoulder. "As long as you don't make me get up at six in the morning, this is going to be a super friendship." She gives you a quick squeeze before dropping her arm. "You ready?"

Together, you walk back to the table, where the guys have their noses stuck in the menus. Charles is still sitting in the seat next to yours, a fresh beer in front of him, and as you girls approach the table, he looks up. His look is more unsettled than concerned as he gets up so you two can sit down again. This time, however, he leaves some space between you, for which you are very grateful. 

"Is everything okay?" he asks quietly, so that only you can understand him. 

You nod. "Everything's fine." Seeing that he doesn't believe you, you come clean. Well, part of the truth. "I was just a little warm. It's okay, I promise."

He seems to buy that a little bit more, because he slides the menu on the table so you can both look at it. "We were going to order dessert before we leave. Would you like some?"

You take a look at the map and have to concentrate on every single letter so that you can ignore Charles' gaze on you. But that's easier said than done, because out of the corner of your eye you can see how his gaze drifts from your eyes, over your nose and further down, before he licks his lips and also turns back to the card. 

You think you read something about tiramisu somewhere on the menu, which is why you suggest just that. When you find it, you put your finger on the card. "This." Your finger follows the letters and finally gets stuck on the price, which is pretty high for a dessert. You draw air through your teeth. "Or maybe not."

Charles leans back and runs a hand through his hair once. "The tiramisu is actually meant for two people." He points to the heading above some of the dessert offerings. "Look. Dessert pour deux."

And indeed. The dessert menu is divided into individual servings of ice cream, panna cotta and chocolate souflée, and desserts for two like a moist slice of chocolate cake and dumplings filled with pureed fruit. And tiramisu. 

"Then I'll have something else," you answer him, but before you can say anything, Charles leans forward. 

"If you want, we can share the tiramisu." His voice is low, but deep. 

You don't even dare look at his face, because then you'd have to disappear right back to the bathroom to cool off. How can the suggestion of sharing a dessert sound so seductive? And why doesn't your heart realize that it doesn't have to beat so fast because of it? After all, friends can share dessert without ulterior motives. Or longing. Or anything else. 

You smile at him. "I'd love to.""

When the waitress comes back to the table to take orders, Charles orders the tiramisu with two spoons. As she disappears, he turns back to you. 

"So, what do you think of my friends?" he asks, taking a sip of his beer, which you only now see is non-alcoholic. 

"They're all pretty awful. Hardly bearable," you answer him. He almost chokes on his drink as he lets out a snort. "How can you be friends with them?"

He puts the bottle back on the table. "Good question. They were just there at some point and I guess I missed the time when I could have gotten rid of them. I guess it's just too late now."

"If you want to get rid of us," Kika straddles the conversation, "all you have to do is say so." She scoots closer to you and reaches for your hand to intertwine your fingers. "But you do realize that we're definitely keeping Y/N."

"Ouch." Charles spins on the bench and puts his knee on the cushion, mere inches from your thigh. "So you already like her better than me?" His gaze shifts to you. "Nothing against you, of course. You know how much I like you."

You don't have a second to think about his words before Kika pulls you against her so that your back is against her front. "But of course! We're both going to be best friends eventually! Besides, you can't tell me she didn't immediately captivate you too with her beautiful smile and charm."

You lightly slap Kika's forearm and try to squirm out of her embrace, but she won't let go. Which is why you can only look straight ahead, directly at Charles, whose gaze is gentle and loving. Dimples bore into his cheeks as he smiles. "She did."

Kika lets go of you and you turn to her briefly, giving her an evil look that's meant to express "What was that all about?" as several waiters come to the table and place various plates and bowls with all variations of desserts in front of you. Charles puts a spoon down for you and places the plate with the huge piece of tiramisu between you so that you can both eat from it comfortably.

He smiles at you and points his own spoon at the dessert. "Ladies first."

Gratefully, you smile at him before using the spoon to cut off a piece and shove it into your mouth. On your tongue, the tiramisu seems to explode and your eyes roll back and you can muster just enough strength to keep from moaning out in pleasure. In all your life, you've never eaten dessert so delicious. 

"That good?" asks Charles, who also slips a piece between his lips. A bit of cream sticks to the corner of his mouth and as he licks it away with his tongue, you have to swallow. 

"It's perfect," you reply, taking another bite so you don't have to look at Charles. 

"Don't be in such a hurry," Charles says, pressing his spoon down on yours as you go to take a third piece so you can't move it. "I thought we were sharing the tiramisu."

You jiggle your spoon a little to pull it out from under his, then point it at him. "You're already using my brush. I think I should get a bigger piece of this." You're about to dig the spoon back into the dessert when Charles pulls the plate away. "Hey!"

"So that's how we play, huh?" You can't even react as quickly as he's shoveling in the tiramisu. One bite after another, he pops it into his mouth before you can lean over and grab the plate to pull it away. As he goes to take another piece, you swat his spoon away with yours. 

"You've already eaten half!" you scold him affectionately. "Leave some for me, too, you glutton!"

"First come, first served," he responds, already holding out his spoon, but you grab the plate and turn your back to Charles so he'd have to reach around you to get to dessert. That way you would still be able to take a few bites in peace without having to fight for it, because for sure Charles wouldn't come that close to you for dessert. 

You feel the heat even before you can follow through with your plan. 

Charles moves close to you so he can snake his arm around you. His chest presses against your back as he leans in to look over your shoulder, so he can just find the tiramisu he's so desperate for. His hot breath is on your ear, on your neck, and you're glad there's a sweater and blouse between you, because if you were touching - really touching - you'd have a heart attack, you're sure of it. 

"Come on, just a little bit more," he breathes. 

Your body freezes and you tear your eyes open as if you've seen a ghost. Your grip on the plate tightens, your fingers almost clench around the china, and Charles's scent in your nose fogs your brain. 

Why does Charles have such an effect on you?

"Stop it," Kika intervenes, taking the plate from your hand. "You're arguing like an old married couple." 

"We're not," counters Charles, who now also snakes his second arm around you to get at the plate Kika has placed in front of him. But it's a little too short, so he slides a little closer to you. "If we were fighting properly, this would definitely end differently." His fingers get a grip on the edge of the plate, and you're too frozen to do anything about it. He moves away from you, moving back to his seat and shoving two more bites between his jaws before pushing the rest in your direction. "I'm willing to share with you."

Kika nudges you, bringing you out of your stupor. You turn to face him. "And what do you want in return?"

Charles smiles at you. "Just your friendship."

You return his smile, not even noticing the slight twinge in your chest. "Deal."

"This is where deals are made?" asks Lando as he sits down in the empty seat in front of you - Charles' old seat. "How much money are we talking about?"

"It's not about money," Charles replies, his tone sounding somehow cold, very different from just a few moments ago. 

You nod in agreement. "It's about something much more important." You point to the last bite of tiramisu in front of you, "It's about tiramisu."

Lando's gaze moves from your face to the dessert, then back to you. "That's actually very important. I know a pâtisserie in Nice that serves the best tiramisu in the whole world. Maybe we can go there together sometime?"

Before you can answer, the waitress comes to the table with the bill. As you are about to pay, Charles gives you a scowl. "I invited you, so I'm paying for you."

You roll your eyes. "You don't have to pay for me."

"I'd like to, though. I owe you that, as badly as I treated you today."

Since you can't argue with him on that, you let it happen and when all the bills are paid, the small group stands outside the restaurant. The wind has gotten even colder and inside you are scolding yourself for not taking a thick jacket. You blame it on Charles and his mood swings. 

As you wrap your arms around yourself to get a little warmer, Charles hands you his jacket. "My sweater is thick. And I don't get cold easily."

Hesitantly, you slip the jacket on and are immediately enveloped by his scent. The fabric is heavy but feels comfortable on you and you have to suppress the urge to smell it. You feel warm and would like to snuggle into the jacket. You stifle a yawn and smile at him. "Thanks."

"So," Pierre props an arm on Kika's shoulder. "What club do we want to go to now?"

"The Jimmy'z is about to open," Lando suggests, looking at his wristwatch. "Or La Rascasse. There's supposed to be a cool DJ there today."

The clubs tell you something, but from stories you know how expensive the drinks are there. And since you don't want Charles to pay for you all night and you can't afford Monaco's nightlife, your evening is declared over, for better or worse. 

Kika raises her hands. "I'm afraid I have to get up early tomorrow, which is why it's time for me to go to bed."

You're glad she's the first to get out. "I'm pretty tired. So I'm not in either," you fib, curling your lips into a thin, apologetic smile. 

Charles head jerks in your direction. "Shall we go home then?" he offers. 

"It's fine, you go party," you reply, moving a little closer to him. "Your day has been pretty lousy. So go get drunk with your friends. But call if you want to be picked up. Then I'll come get you."

"Are you sure?" he asks, unsure. "I don't have to go with the others either."

You wave it off. "I'm sure." 

"Do you still want me to walk you to the car?" He hands you the car keys. "It's around the corner."

"I'll be fine, Charles," you smile, "I'm a big girl."

"I didn't doubt that," he assures you, but still seems undecided about whether to drive home with you or go with his friends. "Would you really be okay with me going?"

"If you ask me again, I'll punch you."

Charles smiles. "Will you let me know when you get home?"

"I will."

Charles seems satisfied with your answers, so he gives the boys a thumbs up. "Can I get a ride with you, Pierre?" When the latter nods, he turns to you. His smile is affectionate and gentle. "I'll see you at home."

The sentence sends warmth coursing through your body. "I'll see you at home."

Lando stands next to you, "My car is also around the corner. We can just walk the bit together," he offers and you nod gratefully before Kika wraps her arms around you. 

"Well, you have my number. You can get in touch if you like," she says, giving you a hug. "And if you don't, I'll be very mad at you." Her grin is wide and she pokes you in the side before returning to the other boys. "Don't be a stranger!"

"Don't worry, I won't," you reply, nodding goodbye to Pierre and Max before your gaze drifts to Charles. You raise your hand and wave at him, which he returns. Then you turn and start walking. Lando walks alongside you. 

"So, how about that tiramisu in Nice?" he asks, his hands buried in his pockets. 

You laugh out loud. "You're not letting up, are you?"

He shakes his head and grins. "No way. Unless you want me to, in which case I'd let it go, of course. I'm not a stalker, after all." He looks down at you. 

"Well, it wasn't on my shopping list," you retort, collecting a slight nudge in return. "What? It was meant to be nice!"

"You better believe it." 

You both turn the corner and your Renault enters your field of vision. "I've never been to Nice before. So for all I care, we can go there." 

"Great." He takes a deep breath. "Then wouldn't it be better if I had your phone number? Then we could set up a day to go there."

You raise an eyebrow. "You already have my Instagram, isn't that enough? Not that you'll actually turn into a stalker," you joke.

"Okay, wow." He grins. "If you don't want to, of course I can understand. After all, we've only known each other since today."

"It's all good, Lando. Don't worry about it," you reassure him, telling him your number so he can type it into his cell phone. Then he calls you so you have his number as well. 

"Thanks."

"No problem."

You come to a stop in front of your car, Lando looking at you confused. "Is this your car?" When you nod, he looks like a light's gone on. "I thought you guys came in the Ferrari. Had me wondering why he'd let someone else drive his Pista."

You try not to let the confusion show. "Um, no. We took mine." You unlock the car and open the door. "Thank you for a lovely evening and for walking me to my car."

He glances sideways for a moment. His jawline is so sharp it could certainly cut paper. "You're welcome." He wraps his arms around you and squeezes. "And about Nice, I'll text you." He breaks away from you and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. "Get home safe, okay?"

"I'll do my best," you smile and get in the car. As you drive off, you see Lando waving in your rearview mirror. 

You can't help but think of his statement. Charles has a Ferrari? Those cars must cost hundreds of thousands of euros. How can he afford such a thing? Do people in the car business really earn so much that they can just buy a Ferrari?

And why does he insist on driving your rickety old Renault when he apparently has a super car at his disposal? Is he hiding something from you? And if so, then what is it?

Suddenly you realize how little you actually know about him. But surely he will have reasons for not telling you - right? You decide not to push him to tell you about his car or his job, but to wait for him to tell you on his own. Friends don't push each other to do that. And you are patient enough to wait for him. 

Before you can think about it further, you turn onto the street where your apartment is and immediately slam on the brakes. 

Across the street, directly across from your apartment, is a green Nissan with a license plate you are very familiar with. Your hands start to sweat. What does he want here? How long has he been waiting for you? There doesn't seem to be anyone in the car. So where is he? 

You turn a little on the seat to get a better view of the street, but it is deserted. Not a soul is on the road, you are all alone. And for sure you're not stupid enough to go home now, where he's surely waiting for you. 

You grab your phone and dial a number. It beeps a few times before the person on the other end picks up. "Y/N? Are you okay?"

You bite your bottom lip and feel your heart pounding in your chest. "No," you answer, and your eyes dart around, trying to spot anything out there. To spot him. But you can't see anything. Which makes you feel even more anxious than you already are. 

"Nothing's okay."

next part

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc prompt #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x female reader #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #lando norris #max verstappen #f1 imagine

[satosugusandwich]

𝔏𝔢𝔱 𝔐𝔢 𝔖𝔢𝔢 𝔜𝔬𝔲’𝔯𝔢 𝔐𝔢𝔞𝔫…

True Form!Sukuna x Fem!Afab!Reader (This is an AU!!! Sukuna is not a homicidal maniac cannibalistic murderer! I think he’s sexy and my morals say no dick from crazy murderer BUT dick from crazy 😍)

CW: violence in this chapter, threats, bloodiness, implied sexual violence and objectification

Description: You've been friends with Yuji Itadori for some time now and have seen the best, the worst, and the strange in all your years of knowing him. You've never thought he was one to have any crazy secrets and well... you were wrong. And now the demon bound to Yuji is bound to you too! How fun! Good thing that you aren't stupid and won't fall for a being that by no means should you have ever interacted with! Right? Right...?

*despite this being an aged up version of yuji, there will be no sexual stuff involving him, also the violence is only in the first chapter with a few mentions after that!!! Cross posted on Ao3 under Spicycrunchroll! THERE WILL BE LOTS OF SMUT LATER ON!*

Chapter 1: Never Again.

Poor you, stuck with a gay best friend and his gay boyfriend and exclusively terrible, gross men. The struggle of getting a good man was hard enough, let alone getting some good dick. Even gay men will tell you how bad some dudes are. Its one thing to finish in 2 minutes and cry after, at least there's sympathy, but a whole other thing to just be kicked out of the guy's house immediately and left wearing d r y panties with cum on your shorts. Yeah, never hooking up again, you tell yourself each time. Now, you found yourself wiping the oil off your face with a clammy hand while dialing Yuji's number, having just been booted out this guys house in the middle of the night. It rang only about twice before he picked up.

"Please don't tell me something bad happened." He said on the other line.

You sighed, walking to the end of your date's driveway and sitting on the ground. "Worse than usual. Can you pick me up? I'll send you the address." Your head hung low and your eyes felt heavy, wanting to cry but not having the energy to do so. At this point, you're never fucking anyone again. Let alone agreeing to suck them off before you get off. "I should've known that all his talk were lies."

You could hear him breathe in. "Yeah, I'm coming. Wanna stay over?" He asked jubilantly, as if to raise your spirits.

You smiled softly. "Could you stay at my place instead?"

"Hell yeah!"

You said your goodbyes and opened your phone, aimlessly scrolling on social media while looking for something to distract you from the disappointment of being used up and left to the corner, dehumanized again by a shitty man with a big ego. God, it made you sick. It wouldn't take long for Yuji to get to you, but it wasn't fun waiting either. Each minute ticked on by as if an hour had passed and all you wanted to do was throw away your shorts and shower off the stench of vape juice and alcohol. You didn't want to get in his car and start sobbing about how you wished you never did what you did, not because Yuji wouldn't listen, but because of your own embarrassment. Itadori has always been kind and much more level-headed (at least with this, he's usually just as stupid as you) so its extra embarrassing to have to tell him you sucked off a guy who didn't even get you wet. At least he was clean, you tell yourself, deleting Tinder from your phone for the last time. Never again will you take subpar dick from grown men who act like children! No, from now on, your body only allows worthy men, men that would worship you like you'd worship them!

After sulking for another five minutes, the engine of a car in the distance rumbled in your ear. Straightening your back, your head turned in the direction of where it’s approaching. It’s approaching way too fast for a regular suburban neighborhood. Rising to your feet to take a step back, it already turned down the street you happened to be on and you could hear sirens go off in your head, especially as you noticed that none of their lights were on and they definitely didn’t have tags. The van sped past you but they started to slow down before they reached the end of the street. You felt your heart rate surge when you realized they came to a complete stop. At that moment you realized that they were turning around.

Quickly, your legs brought you to the house you had just left and you banged on the door for a few seconds and screamed.

“Hey! Let me back in!!! It’s not safe!” The roar of the car started again and your intuition told you to run so that’s what you did.

Fuck, who knows who these mother fuckers are! Your mind is racing thinking about what they could potentially do if they caught you. Did they know you were here? Did they just happen to see you? Or… did the motherfucker inside of that house tell them you were here? Oh fuck… that’s why he kicked you out.

Tears started falling from your eyes as you ran through these people’s yards, you could see lights coming on in some houses, but it was no use because the car behind you stopped and three men came out the side door. You prayed that your human survival instincts would kick in and catapult you to go faster than you were, but they were bigger than you and right on your tail. Your legs ached and burned, practically sprinting and trying not to trip in the road. You didn’t dare look behind you, scared to slow yourself down, and scared of them. You kept on running and running until you reached the end of the road and saw headlights.

“Yuji!” You screamed, recognizing the shape and color of his car. With you out in the road, he stopped abruptly and you could see his body jerk with the impact. The men behind you cursed themselves but you felt hands on you faster than Yuji could process what was going on.

“Get her now! He’s coming behind us we’ll throw her in!” The man lifted you and you screamed again, but a hand swiftly covered your mouth. Yuji was out of the car and lunged at the guy holding you captive but was quickly stopped and apprehended by the other two.

“The kid has some fucking balls!” The biggest of the guys holding Yuji shouted, earning a strong blow to the chin. You thrashed against the man’s body as the large van from earlier came up right behind you.

Yuji looked at you as blood dripped from his nose. “Y/n! I got it, I promise!”

You held out hope and believed him even as you were thrown inside the van and the driver pulled away from the scene, leaving the two men with Yuji and you with a man wearing all black pressing you into the floor of the van. Tears spilled from your eyes, angered and terrified at the same time.

“Looks like we got a real good catch!” The driver harrumphed. “Bet she’ll go for a pretty penny.”

Your mind practically stopped when you heard those words. You were going to be sold, like an object, like a slave. The horror of it all made your body go numb and eyes go wide and then you closed them.

“Please.” You begged. “Please let me go.” Your voice was hoarse and you could taste your own tears as your mouth opened.

“No can do. We were told that you’d fetch a high price with your skills. Don’t worry, some girls get a good owner.” His voice was menacing and cold, but he spoke as though he actually fucking believed it. He didn’t even laugh at your pain like a monster would, he was just indifferent, emotionless.

“Please.” You begged again. “I can’t do it, please let me out!” This time your voice raised. “Help!” Your mouth was stuffed with cloth and your face was buried more into the floor as he bound your wrists.

The driver started to chastise the other man. “Why didn’t you gag her right away, the dumb bitch is louder than a dying cat!”

The other man cussed back. “Shut the fuck up, there isn’t nobody coming after us!”

The van stopped so fast you and the man were flung to the front of the car, colliding with the back of the front seats.

“What the fuck!” The man that was holding you down swore. His arms were now off you and the bindings he attempted were loose enough that you released your wrists and went for your gag. “No you don’t!” He reached for your clothes, yanking you back. Before you were held against your will again, the entire van split down the middle, from door to door. The back half of the van was flung off to the side before it became a cut up mess in the middle of the road.

Then you saw him. His hair was the same color as Yuji’s but was much less controlled. You could see what looked like four arms and a giant smiling mouth in the middle of his stomach. Every single person in the van went still and silent, staring at him. The creature looked inside and dead at you, bright red eyes gleaming in the moonlight. All four of them. Even the two on the side of his face that looked almost like a mask. He can’t be real. The tattoos all over his body were arranged in such a pattern that it was beautiful but something that scared you even more.

The creature spoke. “Now.” His gaze shifted from you to the man holding you. “I prefer it when I can get a good fight out of my opponents, but you lot are pathetic.” He looked disappointed. “Normal humans…”

No one spoke and he pouted. “Not a single retort? None of you pathetic excuses of flesh can say a word? You had a lot to say about selling the woman, can’t you entertain me? Or are your brains so simple you can’t think outside of making money off selling one of your own?”

Their own? Did he mean… humans?

The man behind you was shaking. And you could definitely feel his pants getting wet.

The creature before you sucked his teeth. “Boooring.” He narrowed his eyes. “And pathetic.” The vehicle was slashed once again, this time cutting into thirds, leaving you and the man holding you isolated in the middle while the other two thirds, including the driver collapsed around you. You heard squelches of flesh from the front and gasping. “You said she sounded like a dying cat, hm? Since you prefer the quiet so much, I thought I’d help you.” The creature chuckled.

The man holding you finally let you go, and he turned around to see the driver. You didn’t look. You knew what the creature did. Scurrying away, you realized headlights were approaching again and… it was Yuji!

“Ahhh, the brats already here. Well, I can’t kill you lot so how about I leave the piss-soaked one with a lesson.”

You didn’t know if you should thank the monster or run from him. You decided to run toward Yuji’s car.

Another crack resounded in your ears and then a gut-chortling scream resounded from behind you. “There we are. Something nice and fast. I hope they don’t find you until the morning.” You didn’t want to know what he did, you didn’t want to dare to turn around, all you cared about was the car door opening for you and Yuji’s comforting presence.

He looked so relieved to see you. “Y/n. I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner. Don’t worry about those guys. I got you now. Sukuna won’t kill them, he can’t, but they’ll never ever do anything like that again to anyone.” Those were the first words to meet your ears. You didn’t say anything, all you did was sob in the seat next to him as he drove off and away from the scene. You didn’t ask anything. You didn’t want to. All that mattered was getting the fuck away from this and home and into a clean bed.

You could care about this later.

“I would’ve killed them if it wasn’t for this contract.” Your heart jumped out of your chest as the monster’s voice resounded in the backseat. “Sorry you don’t get the pleasure of knowing they’re dead.”

#jjk #jjk x reader #Sukuna x reader #Sukuna smut #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryoumen smut #Sukuna x reader smut #jjk smut #yuji itadori

[vampyrsm]

warnings; mentions of death (not bakugou or reader), injuries mention, blood mention, teeny tiny bit of angst that turns into fluffy comfort, baby used as a pet name.

There's a buzz of your phone on the kitchen table at 8:32pm, you don't make a quick dash to get it - already cooking dinner for when your husband gets home later that night.

Another 15 minutes pass, and there's no more buzz which can only mean it's one thing. Katsuki tried to call you. He's never one for calling twice, he likes to be quick and precise. If you're busy, he gets it. He doesn't pester. You love that about him, he respects your space because you respect the time he takes for his job.

Finally meandering over to your phone, you're not surprised to see the (1) New Voice Message! on your screen. You press it, going through the motions of pressing 2, then 3, and finally it starts to play.

There's some sort of background noise, maybe just the busy street he's currently patrolling. It's awkwardly quiet at first, always is with Katsuki on the phone. A man who prefers a face-to-face conversation.

"Hi, I was just callin' to uh—" He clears his throat, and there's a scuff of his boots on the concrete. "Just callin' to tell you how much I love ya, you mean the fuckin' world to me and—...yeah, I love you."

It's uncharacteristically sweet, so to say, for Katsuki. He only reserves that kind of adoration when he's in the safety and comfort of your arms in bed, or when you both share a late-night glass of wine on his weekends off.

It makes your stomach drop. There's something in his tone, he sounds sad. Something Bakugou Katsuki is not known for. He's known to be brimstone and fire, with sharp edges and mean scowls to anyone who doesn't know him.

Something just isn't right.

It's around 11:12pm when Bakugou finally gets back to the agency, his shoulders ache and his neck burns something fierce from holding up the weight of his gauntlets all evening. He rubs a gloved hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face when graced with the beautiful blast of the A/C when he crosses through the threshold.

The agency is quiet at this time of the night, something he's thankful for. The receptionist is usually gone by now, and only the night shift sidekicks should be on the 14th floor where they get ready for a long night of chasing villains.

He's a bit late returning from the end of his patrol; some fucking idiot trying to mug an elderly man on his patrol route. It should've only taken him five minutes tops but the guy had some sort of slime quirk, aka ridiculously difficult to get a hold of.

But he did it, and now he's back in the safe confines of his agency. He can shower when he gets home he reasons, he doesn't want to be apart from you any longer than necessary.

Today was... rough. To say the least, one of the first cases he has to take point on was difficult. Not in the sense that it was a skill issue on his end, he's a well-seasoned pro. Instead, this was because of the parties involved. There was a woman, a fiancée. Bakugou had arrived at the scene midway through, a call from another hero requesting backup. It wasn't on his usual route but it wasn't too far.

Anyway, once he got there he was confronted with something that had his heart genuinely aching. The woman mentioned before, was covered in soot and ash, the colour of her hair a muted dusty grey from what must've been from the concrete walls next to her that had been blown open.

But the most damning thing was the blood coating her face, and her hands and she was crying. God was she crying, it took everything in Bakugou to focus on the part of his training he had to take over and over as an up-and-coming pro. He had to be supportive, he managed to wrangle the woman down from near hysteria until she was crumpling in on herself as he held her whilst waiting for the ambulance.

The words she spoke stuck with him the most, she had mentioned the blood wasn't hers. Nor was it the suspects. It was her fiancé's. She said that she was just meeting up with him, that he had been away for a few days at work and they were going to go for a nice lunch together.

But it never happened, the wall of the shop next to them crushed him on impact leaving her standing in the aftermath.

"I never got to tell him I loved him today, I was—I was so busy with work. I, I thought I'd wait until I saw him. To kiss him, tell him I love him but I—I never got to."

It fucking made Bakugou sick. The thought of you being wiped away just like that made him uneasy, you both knew it was possible but he did his hardest to ensure it never fucking happened.

Because Bakugou doesn't know what he'd do without you.

So he left that voicemail, he wanted to actually speak to you but he was just starting his shift and he knew you'd be busy. He didn't think much about what he said, nor did he think that it'd get him into so much trouble the second he stepped into his office.

Immediately, he freezes at what he sees.

Eijirou is comforting you. Now, Bakugou isn't a jealous man and he doesn't make assumptions. But he is confused as to just why Eijirou is comforting you, and why are you crying?

He doesn't get the chance to speak though. You practically leap out of Kirishima's arms, the redhead startled enough to actually let you go and he wishes he doesn't when he sees you lunge for Bakugou.

But he relaxes, a bit, when you glue yourself to Bakugou's front with your arms tight around his neck to pull him a little more down to your level.

"Baby, wha—"

"You! You motherfucker!" You all but hoarsely yell, your eyes are all puffy and red from crying and he can't fucking think what the fuck he's done wrong to be called a motherfucker whilst also being hugged by you. Just what the fuck is going on?

"I thought you were dead!" Now he's even more confused! His eyebrows furrow, lips parting as if to silently ask what you mean but you continue anyway. "Never, ever, send me a voicemail like that again. I thought it was your dying declaration or something!"

Ah. He gets it now. He did send that voicemail right after he was free to leave the scene, he didn't realise his emotions were so visible when he sent that voicemail.

His face softens, tired arms wrapping around you until you're crushed against him. Bakugou presses his forehead to yours, taking a deep breath in to be washed over by the soft scent of your body wash.

"'M so sorry baby, just... Just had a rough day, really needed you to know how much you mean to me."

"You're so stupid, you know that? Of course I know you lov—" He cuts you off with a shake of his head, quietly asking you to not fight him on this. So you don't. You just let him hold you, let him kiss your cheek - your nose, and finally your lips.

Kirishima awkwardly clears his throat causing Bakugou to uncurl himself from you. Kirishima only offers him a wobbly smile, something Bakugou knows as Ei trying his hardest to not cry about how 'manly' it is to say how much you love your partner.

"You should check your phone more man. I was two seconds away from sending out a search party to find Dynamight." Kirishima is always one to continue a conversation, easing it away from the sad atmosphere that developed.

Bakugou scoffs, cocking an eyebrow. "Two seconds? Why hesitate, Ei? You want my spot that bad?"

Now it's Kirishima's turn to splutter, scoffing in disbelief but Bakugou can't focus on whatever Kirishima might be saying in response when he hears your soft laughter.

A reminder that you're right here with him, in his arms, and that you know just how deep his love runs for you.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader

[whiskygoldwings]

Within Operating Parameters

One shot

Cody/Obi-Wan. Boil/Waxer. Clone/clone relationship mentioned.

Alternative Universe: Soulmates

Warnings: Dehumanization of clones

This kinda hit me out of nowhere, and kept me up until nearly 1 in the morning to finish it, so apologies if there's any errors/disjointedness. Also, I'm not sure who started calling the Negotiator's medic Helix, but it's stuck with me and I can't shake it now!

The clones never removed their helmets. Or, at least, not where anyone other than another clone can see. They spoke in military terms only, introduced themselves with identity numbers instead of names.

It makes Obi-Wan nauseous, even as he smiles gently at CC-2224 and thanks him for his assistance again.

He could FEEL their personalities in the Force, which only made their outward meat-droid presentation all the more painful. It’s unsettled all the Jedi, he knows, but he has always been particularly empathetic, and their fear and anxiety every time any nat-borns are near them makes him want to gag.

It presses at him constantly, the wary avoidance of him, the hopeful hero-worship, tainted by terror and panic. He’s been convinced from the very beginning that the clones are a trap, too conveniently placed to gift them an army when war began. But they are a particularly efficient trap for him. He can feel the curl of the Dark in the violent hatred he feels for the Kaminoans, in the creeping desire to turn the Negotiator to Kamino and rip the foundations asunder.

He breaths deep, drawing in the loving warmth of the Force, and breathing out the pain. His eyes are closed, and he feels a worried pang from one of the helmsmen, but he does his best to ignore it.

It’s the most effective torture that could have been devised.

——

CC-2224 stares at his eyes in the Mirror.

Still matching. Still golden-brown. Still within operating parameters.

He steps away, pulling his helmet on and activating the seals, ceding his spot to the next brother in line. CT-1477 is similary within operating parameters, but he takes the pre-requisite 30 seconds to observe and ensure he is still acceptable before moving to follow CC-2224 to the bridge.

CC-2224 sheds Cody with every step away from the Vode barracks. The clone slips over him, concealing the defective core of the brother from the enemy.

It’s a little harder today, as he steps onto the bridge. General Kenobi turns to him, and there’s a sad smile on his face, that quickly slides into a warm greeting, blue eyes shining at him.

CC-2224 knows the flash of warmth in his heart is defective, but it passes quickly. It is not permanent. It does not require reporting.

General Kenobi’s smile falters, and briefly there’s something painful on his face, before the serene calm washes it all away.

CC-2224 does not ache for the smile to return. He is functional. He reviews the battle scenario presented to him, and devises a strategy. He is not proud when General Kenobi strokes his beard and grins. He is not pleased when General Kenobi tells him it’s an excellent plan. He nods, and issues orders.

Cody bundles the memory in a tiny, precious box in his mind, and holds onto it for later.

——

Cody wakes in the midst of his brothers, warm and comfortable. Boil has a leg over his, Crys’ stomach is under his head. Wooley, the limpet, has drooled on his kriffing bicep again, and Cody can’t quite bring himself to be annoyed about it.

He’s woken, as he always does, at precisely 05.00hrs. He’s the Marshall Commander, he needs to wake before the others. The Kaminoans had trained it into him.

They did not train the extra five minutes he takes to soak up the warmth of his vod into him. That he took for himself.

The others wake around him when the five minutes are up. Wooley wipes his face on Cody’s arm, grinning up at him when he glares down. Crys stretches, careful not to disrupt Cody too much. Boil doesn’t move. He’s always struggled with mornings. Waxer is already pressing kisses into his cheek, dragging him up from the dark with the sheer obstinateness of his love.

Cody sighs, and waits until Boil manages to curl himself away from him, into Waxer, fumbling tired fingers into Waxer’s hair and holding him to him.

It’s time to get up.

Cody rises, stretching out cramped muscles from sleeping on the cold floor. They haven’t had an inspection yet while on the Venator, but the harsh punishments of the trainers and Kaminoans when they’d dragged the mattresses onto the floor still ache in each of them, and they haven’t dared that level of deviance yet. He firmly pushes away thoughts that General Kenobi probably wouldn’t care, would probably be pleased to see the humanity in them, and goes to take a piss and brush his teeth. There’s mirrors all along the wall in the bathroom over the sinks, but they’re not the Mirror, so he doesn’t bother to meet his eyes. Around him, brothers do the same, a mix of grumbling and smiling vode, all going through the morning routine.

Breakfast is caff and porridge. It’s actually not bad. The Generals had argued that ration bars was not enough to sustain an army conducting warfare, so Cody and his vod got real food now. It’s eaten in the confines of their cafeteria, sequestered deep in Vode territory, away from any nat-born eyes, but it makes Cody feel a little more human.

There’s not been a lot of that in their lives.

He finishes first, and stands first. He is always the first. It’s the correct order of things. He feels Cody start to slip away, CC-2224 activating with the measured footsteps towards the armour lockers. None of the other Vode catch his eye, the fond touches of earlier come to an end.

CC-2224 is not their vod.

He strips perfunctorily, and steps into the sonic. Cody looks down at his body, traces the new scar on his shoulder. CC-2224 steps out when it finishes. Pulls on the new set of blacks waiting for him. He settles the pieces of armour into place.

Around Cody/CC-2224 other brothers/clones strip and clean themselves. Deadened eyes, tight jaws. The rare aesthetical defect standing out in the midst of symmetrical bodies.

Cody glances away and walks out. He stutters a moment, dread coursing through him.

What if he didn’t look in the Mirror? Just for one day. What if he didn’t look?

He does, of course. Two golden-brown eyes. Matching. No deviance.

CC-2224 pulls his helmet on and goes to his duty.

——

There’s something tense in CC-2224’s presence today, Obi-Wan observes. Almost like he’s approaching a precipice, and has a choice as to whether he backs away, or continues to the edge. It’s beautiful. Obi-Wan finds himself watching out the corner of his eye, breath held, waiting to see which way he goes.

CC-2224 stays calmly still, hands behind his back, feet shoulder width apart. His chest rises and falls slowly.

Obi-Wan sighs, and looks away. There’s a spark of frustration, before he manages to ease it into the Force. The tense feeling has eased, CC-2224 has walked away from the cliff edge, and Obi-Wan does his best not to feel bitter disappointment.

Perhaps if he’d approached the man...?

He’s very tired of being feared.

It’s a moment of anger, a moment of exhaustion that drives him when he strides over to CC-2224, and puts a hand to his shoulder. It horrifies him in the next second, and he gapes awkwardly at the tilted helmet.

He has never breached their personal space before. It was vile, they had so little autonomy over their own lives; he refused to put them in uncomfortable situations when they were so clearly institutionalised to avoid any nat-borns.

Yet he’s still got his hand on CC-2224’s shoulder. He’s still staring into that visor, blue eyes searching for a glimpse of anything underneath.

CC-2224 doesn’t shake him off, doesn’t move. His external comms must have switched off, because there’s not even the sound of his breathing. He is still, silent, and his Force presence has shrunk to a...

Oh...

Obi-Wan feels his own breath catch, as something delicate and yearning unfurls from the shadow of CC-2224’s mind. The helmet trembles slightly, and a gloved hand comes up to place careful fingers over his own. They stand like that for a moment, two, and Obi-Wan realises the trembling of the helmet is rough, disjointed.

He thinks CC-2224 is shouting in there.

Obi-Wan doesn’t know what compels him. He lifts his other hand to CC-2224’s helmet, places his fingers over the button to unseal his helm. CC-2224’s other hand jerks up, grabbing his wrist. He waits, and CC-2224’s fingers loosen, then slide over the back of his hand, over his own fingers, and press down against them.

The helmet unseals with a hiss.

They stand there for a moment longer, Obi-Wan staring into the visor, the visor impassively staring back. The trembling has stopped, but CC-2224 heaves with every harsh breath that pants out of his mouth, loud in the absolute silence of the Bridge. Obi-Wan suddenly worries for his ability to breathe, bringing both hands to the edges of the helmet, dislodging the gloved ones on top of his, and slides the helmet off.

CC-2224 has wide, golden-brown eyes, a cruel scar around the left one, and a wide, gasping mouth. He stares desperately back at Obi-Wan, who hungrily drinks in every line of his face, the helmet falling to the floor and rolling away as he presses his hands to either side of CC-2224’s face.

He watches, wonderously, as the golden-brown of Cody’s left eye swirls and rivers of blue flow through it’s warm deserts. He feels an odd, warm sensation in his own left eye, and knows sunlight and sand is filling his in turn.

CC-2224’s eyes snap to his own changing one, and he touches a gloved thumb to the edge of Obi-Wan’s eyelid. Obi-Wan can’t help himself, this wonderful, miraculous man in front of him overwhelmes him, and he turns his face and tilts up, pressing his lips to the pad of that thumb. Something broken punches out of CC-2224’s throat He grabs Obi-Wan’s face and slams their lips together.

It’s imperfect, teeth, brutal desparation and terror, but Obi-Wan answers, careful and gentle, easing them into a cautious kiss. He slides a hand into curling, regulation-cut hair, and slowly pulls away. He leaves his forehead pressed against CC-2224’s briefly, watching him come back to himself in fits and starts, and the horror beginning to twist his face.

Obi-Wan steps back, heart heavy as he lets go of CC-2224, as CC-2224’s hands fall away from him. This is his soulmate. His soulmate is terrified of him.

Obi-Wan has gone too far.

He still isn’t really sure what came over him. He steps away, collecting CC-2224’s helmet from where it rolled to, and walking back to him. The man is frozen, the only movement his eyes, wide like a cornered animal as he watches Obi-Wan. It hurts, like nothing Obi-Wan has ever felt before.

He raises CC-2224’s helmet over his head, and carefully brings it down, concealing those beautiful, mismatched eyes, one the colour of golden sands at sunset, one ocean-blue. He brings the helmet down, until it sits snugly where it should, and activates the seals.

He steps away, then turns and leaves. He feels the tears on his cheeks as he goes, and knows CC-2224 saw them before he left.

The other clones on the bridge never turned away from their panels.

——

CC-2224 functions within parameters for the rest of his shift. He does not see the General again. His heart rate is high, his breathing short, but he wrangles them back into acceptable ranges every time they begin to exceed the maximum. The other clones do not react to him. They do not say anything. They do not deviate from their duties.

Only Cody has done that today.

CC-2224 carries them through the rest of their shift. He does not wonder where General Kenobi, and his deviant mismatched eyes are at any point. He does not think about him. Does not remember his chapped, warm lips on his...

CC-2224 breaths carefully, brings them back within parameters, and functions.

It is Cody, when he passes the door to the Vode barracks, who wrenches off his helmet, tearing skin in his haste to pull it off before he releases the seals, and flings it carelessly to the floor. It is Cody who stumbles to the Mirror, desparate and terrified, and looks at his eyes.

Mismatched, deviant eyes.

His right is still regulation golden-brown. His left... His left is wonderful, brilliant stormy ocean blue. He presses stunned fingers to his own cheek, then to the Mirror, not quite able to believe what he sees. He stares, and stares, and stares. It does not change.

His brothers are behind him, helmets off, matching golden-brown eyes all staring at his own not-matching set. There’s wonder, horror, fear and anticipation on each of their identical faces. They are silent, waiting for him to react first.

He does not know what to do.

Eventually, the tableau is broken by Helix.

The Chief Medical officer orders them all to their dinner, placing himself between Cody and the others, arms folded. He stares them all down, until they trickle away, each one looking behind them at their Vod as they go. Wooley is the last to leave, and goes to reach out for Cody before Helix hisses at him. Wooley slopes off with a worried gaze, and finally, Cody and Helix are alone.

Helix turns to Cody, and watches him carefully through the reflection. It’s several minutes before Cody managed to look away from that blue, blue eye and meet Helix’s own regulation golden-brown pair.

Helix’s face is firm, but not angry. He looks at Cody. There’s no pity, or condemnation, he is simply there.

It helps Cody find himself again, in amongst the echoes of the Kaminoans in his head. He takes a deep breath in time with Helix’s own, and closing his eyes, turns away from the mirror.

He only opens them again when he’s turned completely away, and, standing straight-backed and proud, he faces Helix, waiting for his vod to lead him to the medical bay for decommissioning.

——

Obi-Wan hasn’t managed to meditate for the past hour. It’s not for lack of trying. He’d sat on the floor, hands on his knees, eyes (mismatched, wonderful eyes) closed that whole time. His legs are numb; he’s not entirely sure he can get up at this point, and frankly, he still desparately wants to go and find CC-2224 and beg him to please forgive him.

He winces as he unclenched his fist from where he’s dug his nails into his shin again. With a heavy sigh he gives up, awkwardly pulling his legs out from their crossed positions, and flopping back so he’s laid on the floor completely.

Meeting your soulmate was meant to be... The most incredible moment in your life. He’d grown up on stories of eyes meeting across rooms, drawn to each other inevitability. That first curl of colour-shift, that first warmth of knowing each other. Even Qui-Gon had spoken reverantly of it, in those moments he managed to overcome the grief and speak of Master Tahl.

Instead, Obi-Wan felt like he’d violated his soulmate.

He couldn’t help but remember those wide, frightened eyes, the hitch of fear in his soulmate’s breath. His warm brown skin had paled, even as he’d lurched forwards into the kiss.

Obi-Wan shudders, swallowing back bile.

Whatever the Kaminoans had done to the clones, his taking away CC-2224’s right to hide his eyes, to not make that soulmate bond was far, far worse.

He could feel it, delicate and frail in the center of his mind. He curled protectively around it, even as he carefully kept from touching it or strengthening the fragile thread. A soulmate bond with one who was force-sensitive could be a beautiful thing, a gentle sharing of emotions and thoughts of each other.

Obi-Wan refused to intrude upon CC-2224 anymore than he already had. He would allow himself tonight. One night to hover over it, bask in it, but careful not to touch. And tomorrow he would go to CC-2224, apologise for his over step, and seal it. It couldn’t be broken, not now it’d been allowed to form, but he could prevent it from growing any stronger, and give CC-2224 choice in this at least.

He wipes away his tears, and stared at the ceiling.

He was not meant for good things.

——

Cody stares at Helix, confused and frankly, fucking angry. They are in Helix’s office within Vode territory.

Helix has positioned them with Cody’s back to the door, and Helix facing it. He has placed Cody’s helmet in his hands, and set up a proximity alarm, so they will be alerted if anyone approaches. Helix stated he isn’t worried about Vode, that the secret will be kept by their brothers, but the fear of a nat-born inspection hangs over them even now.

Helix is a very good brother. He had spent the last hour explaining soulmates to Cody, and answering his questions. He explains that back on Kamino, those Vode pre-selected and trained to be chief medical officers had been quietly and secretly taught by Trainer Skirata exactly why they had to check their eyes every day, why they weren’t allowed to remove their helmets, why the Vode were trained to be inhuman drones when performing their duties.

Skirata had not been kind, but he had been indignant that this had been taken from them. It had been his small rebellion before he went and committed his full betrayal.

Helix told him of the Manda’s gift, the sign of the soulbond, the person who was made for Cody, and who Cody was made for. He told him that the Kaminoans had hidden this from the Vode, kept it from them for fear that their product would escape their indoctrination. He held Cody’s face and smiled, wide and proud, as he told him that this meant Cody would be loved.

At first Cody was silent, then doubtful, and then, so, so force-damned angry. So angry he shook with it, and thumped his fist on the floor, teeth clenched.

The Kaminoans took everything from them. Produced them. Trained them. Modified their bodies and mind. Gave them only identity numbers and shoddy armour. He didn’t know why this was the final straw on the pile of his resentment, but it was. He roars and bellows, Helix quiet and solid with him as he rages. The sounds of his fury echo off the walls. It isn’t long before the proximity alarm rang repeatedly.

No one enters, and Helix remains calmly sitting, waiting for Cody’s anger to settle.

Eventually, it does. But not into the weary acceptance of before. He feels something delicately warm in the core of him, and he surrounds it with calm revolution. He looks up at Helix with mis-matched eyes, and sees the same anger in him.

Together they rise, and Cody leaves the office, stepping out to the fading whispers of his brothers stood in the hallway, as they all turn to watch him. Boil and Waxer, Wooley and Longshot. So many brothers faces with halting, worried expressions.

He looks back at them, a single set of mismatched eyes within the sea of golden-brown, and tells them the truth.

——

Obi-Wan woke from troubled sleep to a sense that something had changed. For a moment, he stays lying on the floor where he’d eventually fallen asleep last night, and blinked up at the ceiling, struggling to center himself in the Force.

The oppressive fear and anxiety had been swept away by a flood of rebellion and joy. It sang through him, wardrums pounding at the heart of it. His limbs were flush with energy, his heart pounding in time with the beat. He found himself clambering to his feet, unable to resist the pull of fierce jubilance. His saber leapt to his hand, the force dancing playfully, excitedly around him, teasing him towards the door.

He walks dazedly through the hallways, following the curl of something golden dragging at his chest. His feet are bare, he wore only his sleep clothes, hair flattened from lying on the floor, and he didn’t care. He needed to find it, that wonderful bloom of warmth in the center of his mind, that proud, fierce presence that unapologetically called for him.

Blinking, he steps onto the Bridge.

The clones wore no helmets. Identical heads, with identical curled black regulation haircuts stood at their stations. The few nat-born officers were stood quietly, confused, unable to stop staring at the bared clone faces around them.

Obi-Wan could only see one.

CC-2224 stood, turned towards him, face open and proud and mismatched eyes locked with his. His hands are calmly held in the small of his back, posture military crisp. He watches Obi-Wan as he approached, until he stands infront of him, then he reaches out his right hand, placing his thumb on Obi-Wan’s cheek below his golden-brown eye.

“Cody,”

Obi-Wan startles, placing his own hand over the gloved one on his cheek. “What?”

Mismatched eyes crinkle nearly closed with the force of the smile on his soulmates face.

“My name is Cody.”

#star wars #the clone wars #commander cody #star wars the clone wars #obi wan kenobi #codywan #star wars fanfiction #codywan fanfic #cloneshipping #clone trooper waxer #waxer/boil

[margowritesthings]

Vedova Nera

pairing: Dutch van der Linde x f!reader

summary: You've been Angelo Bronte's live-in assassin for years now, going undercover to kill those who have wronged him. Your next job seems rather simple: eliminate the outlaw Dutch van der Linde. What could go wrong?

word count: 5710 words

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, PLEASE READ WARNINGS BEFORE READING, I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION, violence, mentions of sex as part of a job, breath play, reader is an assassin, rough sex, choking, attempted murder, angelo bronte being a creep, sexual themes, cunnilingus (r receiving and giving)

a/n: this was a request from my beloved @cowboydisaster and god was it a wonderful prompt. I LOVED writing this, so thank you for the inspiration darling. So so glad to be publishing after such a long break, and I want to thank any and all of you who have stuck around to wait for me <3 love y'all, here's some filthy Daddy Dutch smut!

beta read by @cowboydisaster

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @beea-nie @cloudynoiire @punctillous @dutchysoriginalwife

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When the sunlight streams through the gap between the red velvet curtains, peacefully stirring you awake, it feels like any other day. The silk sheets seduce you to stay, the feather pillow beneath your head luring you into five more minutes of dreaming, despite the noises of the hustle and bustle of Saint Denis penetrating the peace through a crack in your bedroom window. You really could stay here all day, cocooned in luxury while the staff serve your every whim.

But you can’t. The second your lashes flutter open and your eyes land on the dress hanging from your wardrobe, you’re reminded exactly why. While the fact that somebody must’ve delivered it to your room while you slept churns your stomach for a moment, you can’t deny that it’s an exquisite piece. The silk falls from the hook like a crimson waterfall and you know it will hug your body just perfectly by the way it hangs. You’ll look perfect tonight at the party, even if you will be draped on his arm. 

Urgh. The frown on your face is quickly pushed away at the sound of your door knocking. Nice of them to knock this time, though you’re sure it’s only because they know you’re awake and would knock whoever is brave enough to sneak into your room on their ass in seconds. 

“Miss? Mr. Bronte would like to see you.” The voice is somewhat muffled by the heavy wooden door, but your orders are clear as day, no matter how politely they’re worded. You’re to be downstairs in no more than five minutes. You huff, the only response you’re willing to give to the poor, innocent henchman at the other side of the door. Well, not exactly innocent, but who are you to talk? 

It doesn’t take long for you to brush your hair out of its braid with your fingers, the curls freely cascading down your back, get dressed, and find yourself knocking on the open, ornate door leading to the parlour. Bronte is waiting for you, arms stretched out around the back of the couch, taking up far more room than he deserves to. When he lays his eyes on you, he stands, reaching his arms out, palms upturned as he grins at you.

“Ah, il mio poccola ragna, how are you?” 

It feels like you’re being doused in lukewarm grease, but you allow him to hold your hands in his, pulling you just close enough to kiss you on the cheek, “I’m fine. Thank you for the dress, it’s beautiful.”

“And you will look stunning in it tonight, cara mia. Nothing but the best for la mia vedova nera.” 

You raise a brow, knowing that Angelo only calls you his black widow when he has a job for you. Of course he does. Nothing comes free in this world, and you have a deal. Bronte gives you a roof over your head, that plush bed you’ve grown awfully fond of, and all the luxuries a man of his stature could offer. In return, you work exclusively for him, as opposed to the freelance assassinations you used to offer to anyone with a fat enough wallet. In its simplest terms, that is your agreement with Angelo Bronte, but that doesn’t stop his wandering eyes, sickly terms of endearment and clammy hands wherever he can get them.

“It is with only the deepest regret that I shall not have you on my arm tonight, but alas, I have a job for you that requires a certain distance between the two of us, amore.”

It takes a level of restraint to not physically sigh in relief when you learn you won’t be spending the evening performing as Bronte’s woman, but your intrigue grows ever stronger when your curious gaze falls to the wanted poster laying on the table next to you. A sketch of a man steals your attention, and his intense stare threatens to never give it back despite being mere charcoal. Instinct tells you to reach out and run a finger lightly over the crumpled paper, tracing the man’s strong jawline, though you’re not quite sure why. You’ve never seen him before, nor have you heard his name: Dutch van der Linde. The poster isn’t from around here, it’s from Blackwater. You can tell, because you’ve seen your own face staring back at you on one just like it before finding yourself under Bronte’s protection. 

“This the guy?” You ask quietly, still entranced by this stranger etched into coffee coloured paper. Bronte doesn’t seem to notice, already leaning back into the loveseat.

“Sí, bella. He is new to town, he does not know of my vedova nera, and we must keep it that way. He dishonours me, dishonours my city. He will be at the mayor’s party tonight, but he will not see tomorrow, will he, cara mia?”

It isn’t a question, but you nod anyway.

Dutch van der Linde will not live to see another day. 

═══════☆═══════

Some consider this, the pomp and performance of high society, a gilded cage, forcing man into superficial roles to play and stripping him of any true freedoms, but you’ve learnt to see the beauty in taking advantage of it. You’re more than happy to put on a pretty dress and play pretend, laughing along to terrible anecdotes with a drink in your hand and a smile perfectly crafted on your reddened lips. After having truly nothing, living at the very bottom of the food chain, putting up with this farce is a small price to pay for a little security. Besides, drinking champagne while rich men call you beautiful is hardly a sacrifice. Most of them are old and rather greasy, but you’re more than capable of holding your own. They’re just microscopic cogs in a grand plan they’ll never even know about, orchestrated by someone they overlooked because of the way they look. Your greatest asset, you’re sure.

You reach for the champagne flute at the very top of the sparking pyramid, the bubbles dancing on your tongue from the first sip. When you make your way upstairs to the balcony, every tiny bubble rising to the top of your glass reflects the illuminated string lights wrapped around the iron gazebo and every pole in the perfectly tended garden, casting the who’s who of Saint Denis in a warm glow. From your spot on the balcony, you observe all, searching for your Dutch van der Linde. You can see your host, mayor Henri Lemieux, engaging in what could only be considered ‘schmoozing’ with a group of men in top hats by the fountain, and although you can’t see every face, you somehow know that none of them are the one you’re looking for. Those piercing eyes are sure to come with a presence to match, and you can’t feel it yet. 

That is, until the french doors into the house are opened and the hairs on your arm stand up straight. You blame the cool breeze that is pushed into you by the swing of the door, though that doesn’t account for the quickening pace of your heart. You rarely get nervous for a job, why would you? It’s all you’ve ever known. 

So why this one?

The thought falls down your spine with a shudder, and you try to shed your doubts quickly with a rather large sip of champagne that seems to numb the sharp edges to smooth curves just slightly. Your hand rests gently on the balcony, maintaining a facade that you’re looking out into the crowds below instead of listening in on the conversation between the group of men just feet away from you. In your peripheral vision, you spot him, dressed in a suit that simply must have been sewn around his body with the way it perfectly fits him. He wears a top hat, a large cigar burning between his gloved fingers. He takes your breath away upon first glance, your cheeks flushing when your eyes meet. You offer a small smile, before looking back over the ongoing party and finishing the rest of your champagne, leaving a red stain on the lip of the flute.

Now, you wait, hoping you left enough of an air of mystery and allure for your target to approach you. Bronte is with the group of men attending with Dutch, but neither of you acknowledges the other to maintain appearances. Definitely something you could get used to. 

Twirling the stem of your flute between your nimble fingers, you watch the crystal carvings refract and scatter beautiful dots of light over your dress as you listen in to Dutch, Bronte, and another man you’ve never seen before talk over their cigars. It’s all bullshit, Bronte bragging that the whole town fears him while he acts overly friendly to the man he has hired you to murder tonight, and it takes all the restraint you have to not visibly roll your eyes. You lift your glass to your lips again, before realising it’s empty. As you turn on your heel to head back to the drinks table, you’re met with an outstretched, gloved hand, bubbling flute presented to you in its grasp. 

It’s him.

Up close, you can see how beautifully he’s cleaned up from whenever he was sketched for his poster, his moustache gelled in an upward curve, his eyes a deep auburn that a charcoal sketch could never truly capture. He’s magnificent, his presence drowning you, and you’re sure even without the formalities he’d be just as stunning, a roughened cowboy with a drawl to send you weak in the knees. 

“For you, my dear.” He offers, watching intently as you take the flute between your fingers.

“Why, thank you, sir. I never knew they hired such well dressed gentlemen at these events.” You joke, smiling almost mischievously at him before taking a sip, “You surely can’t be a guest here, they’re never this kind.”

“Afraid so, miss. Dutch van der Linde, at your service.” He takes your free hand in his, lifting your knuckles to his mouth to kiss them tenderly. The sensation travels up your arm and sends a little flutter through your stomach. Quite the gentleman, it seems.

“A pleasure, Mr. Van der Linde.”

“Please, Dutch is fine. And the pleasure is all mine.”

You offer your name in return and a shy smile, the one that often has your victims bowing to your every need while they imagine you writhing beneath them, and by the way Dutch watches you, he’s no exception. 

“Tell me, Dutch,” you oblige, “what is a fine gentleman such as yourself doing at an event like this? Are you a friend of our host?”

“No, I am a guest of Mr Bronte’s, attending on a personal invitation.” You instantly sense it, the displeasure hidden in amongst the pleasantries. You’re not at all surprised, Angelo is hardly a likeable man. 

“Ah, I see.” “You know him?” “Not personally, no,” You lie, glancing over to the man in question, who appears to be boring the ears off Dutch’s abandoned friend as he downs his near full glass of whiskey, “But everyone who’s anyone in Saint Denis knows of him. He’s… real somethin’.” You match Dutch’s indignation with an expert precision, and you don’t need to pretend one bit. 

Dutch laughs, a hearty one at that, using the gesture to take a step closer to you, “Now that we agree on, my dear…”

A comfortable silence passes between the two of you and a waiter arrives, passing Dutch a rich amber drink that he thanks him for. You grab the waiter's attention, asking for a bourbon of your own. It doesn’t go unnoticed that Dutch looks impressed.

“I can admire a woman who appreciates a fine whiskey.” He remarks, tipping his glass to you and you smirk, raising a sharpened brow,

“I can appreciate much more than a fine whiskey, Mr Van der Linde.”

The air between the two of you is electric, charged with something inexplicable yet maybe the most powerful energy you’ve ever felt.

“Is that right?” It comes out almost a growl, which you feel deep in your core. The way he’s looking at you… it’s inevitable. Mission accomplished.

You lean in closer, glancing down to the snow white flower pinned to Dutch’s lapel. Your eyes linger on the thing, so stark a contrast to the jet black suit he’s wearing, so delicate a symbol for a hardened criminal you’ve been hired to murder. 

There’s little space between the two of you now, far less than is proper, but Dutch closes it, his hot breath tickling the lobe of your ear as he whispers to you,

“How about we get a real nice room somewhere and I show you just how much I can admire a woman who appreciates a good whiskey?”

═══════☆═══════

Sending Dutch back downstairs to the saloon for drinks gives you opportunity to reach under your skirts, pulling the dagger from your crimson garter and stashing it between the bed frame and mattress. It’s a simple routine, one that works every time to not only allow you time to prepare for the job, but to prove just how wrapped around your little finger your victims always are. Ever the gentleman, as you’re learning, it only took a simple comment of thirst and a bat of your thick lashes and Dutch was out the door. He returns to you quickly, hands full with two identical glasses of neat bourbon, the door shutting behind him with a satisfying click.

“Here we are, the finest this establishment has to offer.” He says, with just a touch of bravado as he goes to hand you the crystal glass. Your hand brushes with his own skin, tanned from what you assume to be hours out in the sun, and a jolt of electricity shoots up your arm, scattering your whole body with goosebumps. With strenuous effort, you collect yourself fast enough to thank Dutch, before letting that comfortable silence settle between the tiny space between your two bodies again. You’re so close to him you can smell the distinct cigar smoke and liquor burn on his breath, feel the energy buzzing off him. One deep breath and your supple chest would be pressed right against his hardened one. 

The golden liquid burns over your tongue and down your throat, but not nearly as much as your skin does under Dutch’s touch when he runs a thumb over your bottom lip. It feels as though your entire body heats from the contact, the only respite from the fever his contact elicits being the golden rings adorning his fingers, pressing up against your jaw when he cups the side of your face. It stops your heart, you’re sure of it.

“You, my dear, are exquisite.” He whispers tenderly.

In your line of work, there is violence. There is pain and fire and yes, sometimes passion, but never tenderness. But when Dutch van der Linde’s eyes roam over you, it feels different. Like he sees you, instead of seeking for whatever it is he’s looking for. They’re all looking for something, and they all seem to think you have it, but not Dutch… even if there is the most devilish grin tugging at the corner of his lips and a glint in his eye that tells you to be careful.

Your lips don’t meet, they collide, with a deafening crash that vibrates the earth below. Both yours and Dutch’s glasses are discarded on the table beside the four poster bed as you require both hands to grasp at his satin waistcoat while he reaches around your waist to pull you flush against him.

Every inch of him is solid, his hands moulding you around his frame as his tongue requests- no, demands entrance to your mouth. You’re happy to oblige, parting your lips so that he can run the muscle along your bottom lip, eliciting a real, sensual moan from deep within you. Most of the time, you feign interest and want and pleasure, using every tool at your disposal to have your victims as putty in your hands. Tonight, it would seem you have to fake nothing, feeling more like putty yourself, folding and sculpting around Dutch’s thick, strong fingers. 

Dutch growls, low and gravelly, and you feel it vibrate every part of you, leaving little cracks all over the shields you’ve grown so used to wielding. The tremors reach your knees and you have to put extra effort into not letting them buckle. He invades every sense, a smoky, powerful force that for a moment you worry you’ll never be rid of. It’s normally so easy to detach yourself from these men, seeing their demise as the only thing standing between you and the continuance of the life of luxury you’ve grown so accustomed to, but right now it takes everything you can to not fear a future haunted by Dutch’s ghost. It’s… strange, this attachment formed so quickly, so unexpectedly that you’re almost certain the only way to prevent it is to kill him now before anything else can happen. But you just can’t bring yourself to do it… you need him in this moment, need to take something from a man for yourself for once, instead of for your slimy Italian master. It’s a mistake, you know it is, but it’s one you can’t stop, like a train barreling towards you with broken breaks. The collision is going to hurt, but you’ll be damned if you don’t bask in the feeling of every bone in your body shattering for this moment, every speck of your being destroyed just for an evening. If your blackened soul must be broken, at least it’s your choice. And this is your choice. Dutch van der Linde is your choice.

His hand burns through the silk on your back, searing your skin that itches for a release of its confines. He never breaks your hungry, needy kiss as his expert fingers make quick work of your bodice, pushing your dress off your shoulders until it falls at your feet like a scarlet pool of blood. Your chemise is just as deep a red as your dress and the stain covering your lips, as is the garter squeezing your thigh. Dutch takes a step back, drinking you in like a fine glass of wine. Under his gaze, you burn all over again, feeling the heat pulsing in your very core, your clit throbbing and cunt weeping for him. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt a yearning so intense that you feel you might combust if you don’t have this man inside you soon. 

“As I said…” he growls, tongue licking over his own bottom lip this time, “Exquisite.” 

Your exhale is shaky from the sheer effort to stay still, to not pounce on Dutch and take him. Somehow, you take a steady step towards him, out of the pile of silk discarded on the floor, reaching back to the buttons on his waistcoat to pull them apart. Your neck cranes up slightly to meet Dutch’s intense stare, catching him flick his eyes down to watch you undress him. Your bodies are so close now you can feel his hard cock pressing against you, branding you, even hotter than the rest of him. Even through his breeches, his size is evident. Intimidating, but you can all but feel yourself drooling at the thought of taking him all. Patience growing thin, your fingers speed up to finish their job, pushing both waistcoat and crisp shirt off Dutch’s shoulders and onto the floor, revealing a strong, sturdy chest underneath. You run both hands over it with a featherlight touch, feeling him shudder at the contact. 

Looking back up to meet his eye, tracing gentle circles over his skin, you whisper, “As are you, Mister Van der Linde…”

“Oh, my dear,” Dutch catches your chin between his fingers, squeezing gently to pull you closer, until your lips are just a hair away from each other. Your breath hitches in your throat, lips parted and waiting for him. A gasp escapes when he runs a finger of his free hand up your inner thigh, pressing firmly against your slit through your lingerie, the sensation shooting up your spine, “I think we’re past the formalities, don’t you? Dutch is fine.”

You swallow down the moan building deep down, attempting to hold onto whatever little decorum you can before you crumble beneath this outlaw. When Dutch removes his finger from against your heat, it takes everything to not whimper from the loss of him. Still holding your face, he presses a kiss to your lips, inhaling you in through his nose before pulling away, glancing down to the space between the two of you.

“Kneel for me, beautiful.”

It takes you less than a second to obey, feeling the plush of the carpet against your knees. Your hands are instantly on Dutch’s belt, unbuckling it with hands that are almost vibrating with anticipation. His trousers don’t even fall past his hips before his cock springs out and you almost gasp again. It’s huge, thick and long, twitching and pulsing all for you. A beautiful sight, truly. 

Both hands look tiny in comparison, wrapping around his base with a slight squeeze that has Dutch groaning already. Your eyes lock onto his, never leaving them as you lick a line up his shaft all the way to his rosy head, the salty spend dancing on your tongue a sure sign he’s as desperate for you as you are him. When you take him in your mouth, cheeks hollowing as you get as much of his length in as you can, Dutch grips into your hair, cursing through his teeth as you start to bob up and down. 

Using your mouth and hands in tandem, you work up and down his shaft, licking across a protruding vein that causes another growl to leave Dutch’s lips and charge the air with a near blinding want. His cock pumps and swells even more so in your mouth, and when you take a deep breath and push all of his length in and down your throat, Dutch lets out a visceral groan sure to reach the ears of the devil himself.

“Fuck, just like that, angel, just like that…” He whispers to you, watching as little tears fall down your cheeks, mixing with the spit escaping the corners of your lips. Dutch holds your face between his large palms, fucking into your throat. It isn’t until your lungs are burning for air that he relents, his cock sliding out of your mouth soaked in your saliva, a bead still clinging to your chin. He wipes it away with his thumb, guiding you to your feet with an extended hand. You gasp as he lifts you into the air and all you can do is wrap your legs around his waist. His cock nudges against your lingerie, the thin, scarlet silk the only barrier between the two of you. You’re writhing, desperate for him as his tongue licks the roof of your mouth, dominating you. 

Dutch throws you onto the bed and you land with a squeak, spreading your legs wide to allow him to crawl over you, propping himself up on his elbows. His eyes roam over you, pulling the straps of your chemise down to expose your breasts. He continues to undress you, each second stretching out to an eternity until you’re bare underneath him. There’s a fire burning in his eyes and it scorches you. You feel the fire spread over every inch of you, especially when he dips down to lick a line from your nipple, across your chest, down your stomach until he is hovering above your cunt. His breath tickles your soaked skin and it takes everything you have to restrain and be patient. The devil is merciful, and after torturing you for what feels like hours, watching you writhe and whine, Dutch delves into your folds, taking your clit in his mouth and sucking on it gently. You scream, hands instantly raking into his jet black hair, nails scratching his scalp.

He hums in content, as if tasting a delicacy, and it vibrates your inner thighs. Your eyes roll back, jaw dropping as your back arches for him. 

“Oh, God…” you moan, relenting your grip just a little when Dutch stops to look at you, eyebrow raised and smirk tugging his glistening lips,

“Now, dear, I said Dutch is fine.”

He doesn’t give you much time to digest his cocky words, plunging a finger deep inside you, finding that spot that makes you go dizzy and curling against it. You whine and purr, bucking your hips up to show Dutch what you need. He takes your silent command and submits to it, bowing his head to take your clit in between his teeth. It tethers you between pain and pleasure, threatening to tear you apart from the inside out. One finger becomes two, pumping into your core and you feel yourself hurtling towards climax faster than you ever have in your life. There’s a burning on your inner thigh from his moustache while he laps up your juices, kissing and nipping and sucking until you’re sure you’re going to break and shatter all over the hotel room floor.

“Oh, God, Dutch- fuck, Dutch, yes Dutch- I- I’m gonna-” 

The whine you let out when Dutch withdraws his fingers from you is downright tortured. You look up at him, the question of why written all over your face. He simply smirks, sliding those glistening fingers in between his lips and licking your juices clean off them. 

“Tell me what you want, beautiful.” 

The sweet endearment softens your frown, his demand driving you even wilder. It isn’t a matter of want anymore, you need him. Right at this moment, you’re gasping for air, and Dutch van der Linde is your only oxygen. 

“Everything,” you breathe out, “God, Dutch, I need you, please…”

You earn a satisfied grin as Dutch begins to crawl over you again, the length of his body consuming you wholly. “Hm… I like it when you beg for me, my dear.” 

When he lines himself up to your entrance, the feeling of his tip brushing far too gentle past your clit, you’re truly dizzy with need. You reach up to Dutch, nails digging deep into the flesh of his shoulders as if he's your only tether to the earth itself. Your mewls guide him in like a siren's call, filling you more than you ever thought possible. Though slowly, Dutch slides all the way in, until you’re connected by the pelvis, the head of his cock prodding gorgeously into that swollen sweet spot of yours.

“F-Fuck…” you gasp out, concurrently to Dutch’s carnal groan. He fills you to the brim, and you squeeze his throbbing cock perfectly. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt, breaching past the barriers of what you once considered sex to be. When he steadily withdraws, pushing all the way back in, you see stars, scattering across the ceiling of the hotel room, falling into the faint freckles you’re sure nobody ever notices on Dutch’s cheeks. The pure lust ignited in his eyes burns hot as he begins to move, thrusting in and out at an excruciatingly deliberate pace.

When he picks up a little speed, you feel his hand brush against your cheek, finger tracing your jawline from ear to chin and back again. His expression as he fucks you is so intense, and there’s a certain darkness clouding it all that scares you. Dutch is otherworldly, and your mind briefly casts to under your back, where that little knife lays waiting. Your confidence in completing your mission is faltering, picturing golden ichor bleeding from Dutch’s chest in lieu of blood. He is so far removed from anybody Bronte has ever had you kill, so divine an energy that you’re starting to wonder what your failure would mean for you. It has never been an option before, but the possibility wanders into your mind as if it belongs there. 

Your whines and moans harmonise with Dutch’s groans and curses, the room filled with purely obscene, visceral vibrations. He fucks into you, one hand gripping onto the sheets, the other cupping the side of your face, slowly snaking downwards to cover your neck. He doesn’t put any pressure on yet, but can surely feel the thrumming of your pulse against his palm. The possessive way his hand covers your whole throat makes your heart skip a beat, your now untouched clit twitching at the thought of Dutch restricting your airways. 

“God, you are so beautiful…” Dutch purrs, teasing a hint of pressure on your jugular. He’s getting faster now, just faintly more erratic. That darkness is flaring in his eyes, spreading over his whole expression as he begins to squeeze at your windpipe. It's gentle at first, just slightly cutting off the blood flow to your head, making your cheeks flush red. Your lips part in gasps, less than an inch away from Dutch’s as you feel your orgasm building again, no external stimulation needed. You’re so close now, nirvana within reach, Dutch’s hold getting ever stronger. 

“So beautiful… such a shame.” He growls, not relenting his now iron-grip to give you the air to consider what he just said. You try to speak, try to ask what he means, but you suddenly can’t. He’s clenching too tight on your neck. It hurts, but coupled with the dizzying lack of breath, it’s only furthering your journey over the edge. Your vision is blackening at the corners, an unknown fear striking you in the chest. He isn’t letting up, and you’re not sure if you even want him to, but you have no idea where this is going now. The energy in the air is changing faster than you can keep up with, your chest feeling hollow as your futile attempts at breath go ignored.

“A-A shame?” You just about manage, Dutch still pounding relentlessly, gloriously into your tight cunt. 

“Oh, my dear…” he squeezes once more, a bruising grip, and it hurts so much that your hands fly up to claw at his wrist. It’s unavailing, Dutch far too strong to be deterred by the little scratches your nails are leaving on his skin, “That you’re trying to kill me, darling.”

Your eyes fly wide open, pupils shrinking to barely a drop in a sea of panic. Your hands barely make it an inch towards reaching for the dagger under the mattress before Dutch grabs them with the hand not already holding you, pinning both wrists above your head. He’s still fucking you hard, and it still feels incredible despite the pure terror coursing through your veins. 

“Oh, little vedova nera, did you really think it would be so easy?”

It’s hardly even a struggle, your scratching is no match for Dutch’s strength. You can’t move, can barely breathe, and you’re genuinely terrified he’s going to kill you before you even get the chance to fight back. His grasp relents, just enough to allow a small, struggled gulp of breath, but it’s seemingly only so you can hear his next words before blacking out.

“Now here’s what's gonna happen…” He growls at you, not once faltering from his pace. Despite everything, you’re still so close, on the verge of a blinding climax that may actually kill you. “That pretty little pussy of yours is going to cum all over my cock, and then you’re gonna go back to our friend Mr. Bronte and tell him just how well Dutch van der Linde fucked his woman and lived to tell the tale. Got it, my pretty little thing?”

Your heart is pounding, and you’re certain you only have seconds of consciousness left in you, but you manage a frantic nod, your nails leaving reddened crescent moons all over the skin of Dutch’s wrist. You’ll do anything, the terrifying part being that you’re not sure if you’re begging for your life or your death, your petite mort, if you will. 

“Good girl.”

He releases your throat, instead squeezing your cheeks together harshly, forcing your lips into a pout. The blood rushes everywhere, sending you hurtling over the edge, clenching on Dutch’s cock and keeping your promise and then some. Tears are streaming down your cheeks from the intensity of everything, screams falling from your lips as best they can through Dutch’s hands. He’s groaning loudly, vibrating your being as the two of you cum together, Dutch pumping rope upon rope of his spend deep inside you. Time stretches, seconds becoming minutes becoming an eternity falling through the stratosphere as waves of white hot pleasure mix stunningly with the pain you feel all over. 

Dutch finishes with one last thrust, so hard you’re sure you’ll never recover from him. You’ve never felt anything like this, never felt an orgasm wrack through every atom like this one, pumped through your body with a heart running on pure fear. 

Mere seconds ago you were convinced Dutch was going to end your life, but when he pulls out of you and removes all contact from your panting body, the loss is immense. By the time you manage to come around, your arms finally having enough integrity to prop yourself up, he’s already dressing himself, pulling up his pants and buckling his belt. You can’t think, let alone speak. What would you even say? The tear marks falling down your cheeks are inky black from your makeup, but you let them fall as the realisation of what just happened hits with enough force to shatter you, just as you predicted. 

You’re both silent as Dutch dresses, and all you can do is sit and cover yourself with the sheet on the bed. When he reaches the door, he stops, hand resting on the doorframe as he glances over his shoulder to you, “Tell Bronte I said hello, won’t you?”

And he walks out of the hotel room, leaving you alone, dripping with his spend, wondering what the hell you’re supposed to do now.

#dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde x reader #dutch van der linde x you #dutch van der linde x y/n #dutch van der linde smut #dutch van der linde fanfiction #dutch van der linde imagine #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfiction #dutch van der linde fanfic #dutch van der linde rdr2 #dutch rdr2

[loveshotzz]

Eddie Munson x Fem!reader

Burn One Chapter Five Heaven Can Wait

Summary: Eddie’s a mess of nerves when he has to rely on Reefer Rick to make sure his first date with you goes off without a hitch.

Word count: 9.8k series masterlist

Warnings: 18 plus! It’s with great pride to finally put smut, lots of soft soul mate smut. Semi public fooling around. Eddie losing his virginity 🥲

Author’s Note: it’s finally here, the end of another series. I’m actually really sad to see this end and I just want to thank everyone who’s stuck around these last few months. I know my updates haven’t been very timely, but just know it isn’t unnoticed and it means the word to me. This was such a personal story line to me and I just wanted to create something comforting for anyone who’s been through what reader has been through. This was for you. I see you and I love you.

“Relax man, Tony’s gonna be there.” Rick’s voice wheezes from holding in his hit, lounged out on his couch he’s the look of pure relaxation. The complete opposite of his favorite drug dealing mule who towered over him pacing the shag rug in his living room

Laughing sarcastically Eddie was literally pulling out his hair. Big rings getting tangled in his locks with every nervous card of his hand. Too stoned and nerves shot, he started liking this idea less and less.

“Yeah, I don’t know if I need to jog your memory of that time you told me he was going to be at the drop point last month. I’ll give you one guess who wasn’t there? Fucking Tony. You remember who was there though? No? Let me remind you, Chief Hopper.” Eddie’s eyes look wild in their blood shot state when they meet Rick’s carefree gaze. The lack of emotion at his words is almost enough for him to fly completely off the handle.

“Look, I made the call. You and your little girlfriend are all set up.” Voice going mockingly sweet, Rick takes another long drag.

“I swear to god if I drive her to the next town over and we pull up to an abandoned drive thru theater and Tony isn’t there.” Pointing a warning finger at his dealer his threatening tone doesn’t seem to have any effect on Rick.

“He’ll be there.” He says calmly, reaching over the coffee table that separates them, exhaling through the side of his mouth he offers the joint. “I think you need this more then me man.”

Despite his better judgment, Eddie take the joint, pressing the remains to his lips he inhales one last big hit. Holding it in till he feels the burn in his lungs he exhales with a roll of his neck. Snuffing it out in one of the many empty beer cans that laid littered around his house from a party Eddie opted out the night before.

“Call him one more time after I leave.” Still irritated he starts his usual pat down before making his escape. Anything longer than thirty minutes with Rick was always pushing it.

“Aww look at you. The freak of Hawkins finally gets the girl.” Snorting at the nickname the town gave him, Eddie smacks one of the cans off the table launching it at Rick who blocks it with his arm.

“She’s not my girl yet.” Eddie tries to ignore the fluttering in his stomach at the thought of you being known as his. “Which is why I need Tony to fucking be there!” Blood boiling he could feel himself getting worked up all over again.

“Wait? You haven’t gotten laid yet? You’re doing all of this, giving Tony two-hundred dollars to run Nightmare on Elm Street for a girl you haven’t even boned yet?” Rick’s tone and face are coated in utter disbelief, Reaching over he shakes his head grabbing another rolled joint off the coffee table.

“Jesus let your body have some oxygen, yeah?” Eddie tries to ignore Rick’s comment despite it casting even more doubt in his already fragile state. “She’s special, she deserves a grand gesture or whatever the fuck you call it.” Finding his keys he waves his hand dismissively when Rick goes to offer him another hit.

“That’s how you get burned my friend, that’s how you get burned.” Blowing smoke rings out of his scruff covered mouth, Eddie can’t stop the roll of his eyes, Rick’s lifestyle not the glaring example of someone you should take advice from, and with a bachelor pad like this, definitely not romantic advice.

“Yeah, yeah sure whatever you say. Just make the call okay?” Grabbing the backpack full of his re-up, Eddie gives him one last ‘please don’t screw up’ look.

With a nod of his head and wave of his hand he was too busy taking another massive rip to verbally respond. Turning on his heel Eddie’s anxious feet already have him have way out when Rick calls out “At least get to 3rd base man!” a harsh cough ripping through his chest as Eddie slams the door.

Grumbling all the way back to his van, Eddie was more than uneasy leaving Rick and Tony in charge of making sure his first date with you went off with out a hitch. The idea hitting him in the middle of writing a campaign late one night after the Halloween party, his thoughts always somehow always finding their way back to you. He blamed it on the way you looked up at him with your big eyes, the way you really saw him with them. Accepted him. And as much as he hated to admit to himself, adored him.

He knew he wanted this to be special before he even asked you, you deserved something special. Something thought out. It might be his first date but he was more then sure it wasn’t yours. Oblivious to what he was up against from your past, he was actually happy to keep it that way.

The old abandoned drive-in theater a town over popped into his head almost immediately. Having already thought it last summer when the boys revealed they’d never seen The Dark Crystal. It used to be owned by Tony’s dad who happened to be one of Rick’s oldest customers. Tony had been the projectionist when it was still up and running keeping all the old equipment, he was always looking for a quick hustle.

It might not be a dinner at Enzo’s but it certainly cost the same. The idea of having you all to himself and away from the town that hated him was something he couldn’t pass up. Seeming like a dream that was too good to be true, it only made his anxiety worse.

Even his Uncle this morning throwing a “The girl clearly likes you, she agreed to the damn date.” When he came home to Eddie already pacing around the living room far too tired to deal with his nephews antic’s.

You had him a nervous wreck, but if you looked at him with the same eyes as last night it would all be worth it.

——

You were just as much of a mess as Eddie, the two of you just didn’t know it yet. Heavy combat boots thump loud like your heart against the linoleum floor of your kitchen. Biting at the lose skin on your thumb, you’d been pacing like this for the better half of thirty minutes. Intrusive thoughts at an all out war with your common sense, a battle of the god’s for dominance inside your head.

It was the way you missed him when he was gone that scared you more then anything. After building yourself up and closing yourself off for so long the thought of letting someone into your carefully constructed walls terrified you. Eddie’s touch the first one that didn’t make your skin feel like was searing off at contact. Actually, it was the opposite. You craved it. You craved him. Still fighting with the new feelings that you thought you’d buried deep enough to never see the light of day, you just kept trying to tell yourself that this was okay. Despite everything inside of you begging to run, you kept your feet planted.

The knock on your door makes you jump - a string of cuss words tumbling from your glossed lips. Snorting to yourself a glossed lip wasn’t even a thing you did, another new side of yourself that stupid Eddie Munson was bringing out, the annoying urge to try and impress him breaking you down. Grabbing your denim jacket and bag off the island, your shaky legs take you to the door. You give yourself a moment to catch your breath, knowing exactly what this meant for once you stepped foot over the threshold. You just weren’t ready to say it yet.

Exhaling loudly like he was holding his breath just like you, his dimpled smile takes over his whole face when you step outside. The breeze in the trees cascading wisps of his wild hair across his rosy cheeks.

“Hi.” You hate that your skin heats up at just his simple greeting, blaming the glow of the porch light for hitting his features just right.

“Hi Eddie.” Cheeks blossoming cherries, your smile is enough to make him avert his gaze.

Twisting his hands behind his back he rocks on the heels of his Reeboks, your anxiety only growing ten fold when an awkward silence settles between you. Already longing for when it was less complicated you suck your bottom lip between your teeth nervously. Maybe it’s not too late to take it all back?

“You look, you look beautiful as always.” His words are sweet but his stare is set on the chipped wood of your front porch, toeing a rogue piece with his shoe.

Despite everything screaming in your body not to put yourself out there with humor. Your desperate need to ease the tension gets the best of you. “Looking exceptionally dapper yourself Master Munson.”

Huffing out a small laugh he untwist his arms to dig his hands deep in his jean pockets. Another minute of silence, and panic really starts to set in. This was it, time to rip off the bandaid.

“If you don’t wanna do this, like go on a date that’s fine. Don’t feel like you have to or something.” You try to sound casual but even you can hear the crack in your voice. “We can just go back to being friends.”

Turning around to retreat to the safety of your home heavy ringed fingers wrap around your wrist. Clammy against your skin, he was nervous too.

“Look, - shit.”

Letting him stop you his big chocolate eyes finally meet yours with the same look he gave you under the stars the night before, and the thought of taking anything back is thrown out the door.

“I have something planned for us, something specifically for you.” Dropping his hold, big hands start to gesture with his words a tell tale sign he was letting out whatever he was keeping pent up. “ - and long story short, I’m relying on someone to make all of this work that’s less then reliable. It’s a long drive and if he doesn’t show the whole thing seems sketchy, you’d think I’m some kind of creep that just got you stoned in the middle of no where.”

Eddie was babbling now and you were realizing that every intrusive thought you had was wrong, he was teetering on the edge just like you.

A flame lighting deep inside your darkest of caves, the boy was an awkward mess because he was trying to impress you. Eddie Munson liked you enough not only to want to plan something special for you, he was an anxious wreck because he was scared he was going to fuck it up. Fire burning brighter here he was disproving every negative thought. Taking the first step off the ledge, you push up on your toes ignoring his fumbling words pressing a kiss to his stunned lips.

Frozen with his hands in mid air, it’s only when your fingers hook themselves into his belt loops that he finally relaxes into you. The warmth of his palms landing on your frost bitten cheeks, the smooth velvet of his lips molds into yours like they were meant to be there. Nudging your nose with his, Eddie’s the one who breaks the kiss. A torn look in his eyes and and obvious tent in his pants, his thumbs smooth over your cheeks when he speaks keeping you close.

“It’s a long drive and I already can’t trust Tony to be there on time, let alone wait around for me if we’re late.” His doe eyes are pleading like you wouldn’t understand, like you wouldn’t do whatever he said after kissing you like that.

“Well now Tony has to answer to both of us, so he better not fuck this up.” Eddie’s face lights up with amusement before he’s laughing boisterous and loud.

Planting one last giggling kiss on your turned up lips before he lets you go, he tugs your hand into his leading you on the familiar path to the passengers side of his van. A path that you’d take a thousand times over again if he asked.

The drive to the next town over is filled with loud laughs, stolen glances, and brushing hands. In a mess of changed tapes he didn’t even make fun of your music taste giving your his Cheshire grin before adding “A special pass for the day.” An hour feeling like minutes your eyes catch the giant metal Drive - Thru sign amongst the thick shroud of overgrown trees, wilting in the beginning of winter cold. Tarnished with auburn rust on it’s hinges, the years of harsh winters and lack of up keep getting the best of it. A man with long brown hair tied up in a pony tail paces the dirt road at the entrance. Giant metal tins and what looked like a giant camera, like the one you’d see at the movies sit at his feet.

“Wow, no shit. He actually showed.” Eddie blows out a low disbelieving whistle, shoulders finally relaxing.

It takes you a minute to realize who he’s talking about, Tony the mysterious man who had the faint of your date in his hands. Pulling over in front of him, your eyes dart between the man with the pony tail, the sign and then back to Eddie at least three times.

“Wait, this is where were going? This abandoned Drive Thru? That’s Tony?” Slowly putting the mystery together, you try to fight the excitement that’s growing inside.

“Yes and yes.” Catching the way your face lights up like the Fourth of July, he throws Tony a greeting nod while trying to hide the proud smile slowly pushing it’s way across his lips.

“Is that a projector then?!” Practically buzzing in your seat Eddie can’t help but mimic your excitement. The genuine smile on your face pretty enough to make his heart ache.

“Long story short Rick know’s a guy who know’s a guy who can run movies here privately for the right price, Tony is that guy.” The way your cheeks were pushed up, Eddie wondered if smiling that hard hurt. “And since I made you skip your night with Freddy to come watch me get decked at a party I figured it was the least I could do.”

It was the least I could do.

The idea of someone taking the time to plan something that was so specifically catered to you was beyond your comprehension. Having only asked you out last night, the realization that this has been something bouncing around in his chaotic head for almost a week was enough for the years of your carefully crafted walls to crumble at his feet.

Lacing your fingers with his, you bring his hand to your lips. Brushing them across his knuckles you watch crimson burst under his skin, coating his neck and cheeks in his obvious bashfulness.

“Best date I’ve ever been on.” Beaming up at him, you watch his lips twitch trying to fight the smile that’s threatening to take over his whole face. The dimples you’d grown so fond of peaking out despite his best efforts.

“Alright let me go deal with this asshole so he can leave us alone.” Entertained by Eddie’s permanent annoyance with this man, you watch him begrudgingly get out of the van.

Tony’s arms open wide like he’s seeing an old friend before yelling an enthusiastic “Munson!”

Waving him away with a dismissive hand, the wind catches in his long hair while he digs for something in his back pocket. Eyes squinting it doesn’t take you long to figure out it’s a wad of money when Tony starts openly counting it in front of Eddie. With both men’s voices muffled by the metal of the van, you try to figure out what was going on by their body language. Eddie’s voice getting louder clearly angry at something. Turning around with one hand on his hip, he cards an irritated hand through his hair. Eyes catching yours in the window he gives you a tight lipped smile holding up a finger, the universal symbol for one minute.

Making a big show of counting the last bill he sticks out his hand for Eddie to shake when he’s done. Staring at him unmoving and unwavering Eddie shakes his head before walking away, foot steps bringing him close enough for you to hear. “Just play the damn movie.” Before opening the door with it’s usual loud creek, a string of angry cuss words falling from under his breath when he sits back down.

“What was that about?”

Face twisted up in rage, his nostrils flare big when he directs his attention back to you.

“When I tell you I hate that guy, I mean I really hate that guy.”

As if on queue Tony walks by on his way to the giant wooden projection booth that reached over the trees, waving as he goes.

“Hate him.” Starting the van back up with a low rumble. He glares at him from the other side of the window.

—-

Hidden past the thick trees, the giant empty lot where the drive- in used to be in over run by rolling waves of tall grass. Looming over the two of you in the space where he parked his van, the one screen that was left was nothing more then a tall standing wooden fixture. With an old coat of white paint thrown over it. The paint chipped along the sides and partly in the middle revealing the wind beaten wood underneath.

Nestled in the same spot as last night in the back of his van, you watch him yell at Tony again through the open door. Testing the screen the first scene starts to play lighting up the almost completely pitch black space, the crackling of the audio starts pouring out of Eddie’s speakers drowning out the last of his argument.

Clambering back in the van with the same look of annoyance that had been set on his features, he grumbles under his breath before sinking into the space next to you. His body warmth instantly heating up the giant blanket he’d brought you both to share.

“Hope this is okay?”

“Yeah, this is perfect Eddie, I love it.” Grinning you hope your answer is enough to lift his now sour mood.

Lips twitching up at the corners you catch the dusting of his cheeks under the glow of the screen. You almost had him. Turning around he shuffles through things behind the front seats before pulling out a plastic grocery bag.

“I didn’t know what kind of candy you liked so I kinda just bought everything?” Dumping the bag all over your lap, the assortment is so big it looked like he grabbed one of each thing in the candy isle at the store. His nerves making it impossible to make a decision so he panic bought it all.

“Jesus Eddie.” Overwhelmed by the sheer selection of it all, your hands rake through it. Mike n Ikes, Snickers, Butterfinger you name it, he bought it. “Did you spend a small fortune at the Melvald’s?”

“Look I just wanted to be prepared okay?” Not wanting to tell you that Joyce was so over the moon that Eddie was even going on a date that she only charged him for half. Encouraging his erratic behavior in the name of romance.

“I think we’re more then prepared for this hour and a half movie.” Teasing him you toss a bag of peanut m&m’s at him earning you the laugh you were missing. “Again, I love it thank you.” Reaching up, you plant a lingering kiss on his cheek the action making his body tense up.

“You’re welcome.” Voice going shy, the pink coloring of his cheeks turns a deep crimson before his eyes settle back on the movie almost already forgotten.

Hands fidgeting in each other’s laps the two of you sit thigh to thigh under the covers for the first forty minutes of the movie. Feeling like you’d already been the one to keep making the first moves tonight you keep yourself firmly planted on your side. Stealing glances from the corner of your eye his stare looks distant like he was lost in thought, despite Johnny Depp being slaughtered on the screen.

The wind kicks up enough for the icy chill to break through the barriers of his van sending a quick shiver up your spine.

“Shit, are you cold?” Shuffling next to you he finally does what you’d been hoping he’d do this whole time. Wrapping his leather clad arm around you he pulls you in into his chest. The warmth radiating off of him makes your body relax and mold against him almost instantly. Nose pressed to his shirt you inhale his scent deeply before you nuzzle even closer.

It takes him a minute to relax before sinking back even deeper into the pillows. Hooking your leg over his, your cold hand finds it’s way under his shirt in search for even more warmth. Jumping when your freezing fingers meet his skin, you can’t stop the giggle that comes out at his reaction.

“Here, I am trying to be nice and this is what I get?” Teasing you for the icy intrusion he lets your hand wander across his stomach despite the more then obvious reaction it was having on his body, loving the way your nails scratched against his happy trail.

Biting back your smile you angle your head up from his chest to look at him, you’d wanted to look at him like this all night. Smiling down at you, the playful glint had returned back to his eyes. Crinkling in the corners from the upturn of his lips, he just needed you close like this.

“They’ll warm up, you’ll get used to it.” Narrowing your eyes you add the other hand, laughing when his muscles flex when he jumps again.

“You’re gonna regret that.” Giving you a warning look the hand wrapped around you back slowly slides down to your waist.

“Is that so?” Egging him on with a rake of your nails, his fingers squeeze your side in a way that has you squealing away from him.

Landing on your back with him on top of you, his relentless hands attack your sides erupting in a fit of giggles as you try to push him away.

“Eddie - stop - stop- you win! You win!” Laughing maniacally above you his fingers finally slow their assault.

When you both finally catch your breath, the position you’re in dawns on you at the same time. Static electricity cracking in the air when his finger tips trace along the side of your hips, you hold his stare.

“This okay?” His voice is quiet when he asks, eyes trained on your reactions when his hand dips under neath your shirt to trace lines across your soft stomach.

“More- more then okay.” You whisper too scared that speaking too loud would burst this new bubble you found yourselves in. “Can you kiss me?”

Eyes going big like he can’t believe that question just left your mouth, you watch multiple emotions flash across his face before he settles with a smile and a breathy ‘yeah’ bending down to collect your lips.

It’s soft at first the two of your exploring each other like you had all the time in the world. Tongues meeting in a slow dance, gripping his shirt to pull him close. When you nip at his bottom lip, his hand gets more bold. Grabbing at your sides, he squeezes at you hips. Time speeding up with your lips, the kiss starts turning desperate. His hand wanders a little more freely when he feels the spread of your legs. Testing the waters his palm slides again you denim covered heat, the sensation making you shudder a mewl vibrating in the back of your throat.

Shit- is this okay?” Breaking away to gauge your face. He’s met with your blissed out eyes.

“I’ll stop you if I don’t like something Eddie, I want you, I want this.” Cheeks heating up under his gaze, you never wanted him to stop.

His eyes search yours for any trace of hesitation, finding none when your hand covers his to lead him back to where he was.

“I want you to touch me.” If he wasn’t so focused on you he wouldn’t have heard the words leave your mouth, they were spoken so quiet.

Trying to ignore the strain in his pants, he was going to make this about you. Determined to make you feel good, he started to unbutton the top of your jeans.

“Tell me what feels good sweetheart.” His words are enough to have you flutter around nothing, the blown out look in his eyes at just touching you like this makes your head spin.

Nodding you head when he slips under your waist band, you both groan out when his fingers hit your heat.

“Oh my god. Shit.” Head going slack Eddie’s eyes close tight when one thick ringed finger slides through your wet folds. “Is it always like this?”

Not understanding how loaded of a question that was for you, it hadn’t ever been like this. Your body’s need for him surprised you every time you’d get close to him.

“For you.” Your answer is enough for him to open his eyes, he had to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

Finding your bundle of nerves he experimentally circles it with the pad of his middle finger, chocolate eyes glazing over when it makes you stutter. He could watch you like this forever if you’d let him. All huffy and clingy and it was him who was making you feel this way.

Feeling more bold, encouraged by your reactions he adds his index finger, sliding the two digits down your folds feeling them get soaked. The hardness in his jeans becoming almost painful but he couldn’t get enough. No one ever told him it felt this good, part of him thinking maybe it was just you. Hips rocking up to meet his hand, he feels the way you try to suck him in. Finger tips dancing along your fluttering entrance, he finally pushes one in.

It’s a bigger stretch then you thought, feeling the way it stings when you wrap around how thick it is.

He still the motions of his hand relishing in the way you feel around him, velvet and silk he still can’t believe this is real. Hips pushing up he takes that as his queue to keep going, slow and steady pumps he watches the faces you make every time he tries something new. His favorite when he curls his finger deep inside of you.

“God, I think I’m close Eddie.” Not expecting those words so soon, he picks up his speed repeating the motions that got you like this.

Body shaking underneath him, he watches your eyes screw shut tight when you clench around him. Feeling the way you suck him in, his moan mixes with yours at the thought of this wrapped around his dick. Twitching against his zipper, watching you come undone is almost enough for him to cum inside his pants. He’ll never get enough of you like this.

Movie long forgotten now, the two of you stay tangled together even after it ends. Kisses in the darkness wandering hands earning gasps. It’s only when the cold becomes too much that you decide it was finally enough. All nerves and jitters coming back in the overhead light of his van, no longer hidden in the darkness of the back.

———

The air in your trailer felt different after what happened at the drive-in, a thicker tension then the one you were used to having around him. Feeling it in the goosebumps on your skin, you peer over at him from the top of your refrigerator door. Legs spread wide his body looks relaxed into the couch but his nervous ticks give his calm demeanor away. Biting the nail on his thumb, his knee bounces with the anticipation eyes staying trained on whatever was playing on your TV.

“Beer okay?” Catching your gaze with a swirl of emotions behind his eyes, the look he gives you is enough to make your breath get caught in your throat. Was he feeling it too?

“Yeah, yeah that’s good for me whatever you got.” Voice thick with jitters, he lets his stare linger before moving back to the TV.

The sound of glass clinking together loudly makes you wince as you shut your fridge door a little too hard with your foot. Your clumsy clambering has Eddie’s attention back on you as you make your way back to the living room. Failing at his attempt to be a gentleman he can’t stop his eyes from roaming over your body. The memory of you writhing underneath him with his fingers buried deep inside you has replayed on a loop in his head since you left the drive - in. Catching the way you silently scold yourself, he realizes you feel just like him. All flustered nerves but no regrets.

“Baby.”

Bending over the table in front of him the new endearment startles you, almost dropping the bottles all over the black painted wood of your coffee table. Cheeks tingling you suck your bottom lip between your teeth when you look up at him. Legs spread wide -they almost cage you in, thick ringed fingers outstretched for you to take, his dimpled grin is cute enough to make your knees shake.

“That’s a new one.” You hum biting back your smile before accepting his invitation, warm palm in yours he pulls you on top of him. Knees on either side of his hips, his big hands rub up your thighs before settling on your waist tugging you closer.

“You hate it?” Leaning back against the cushions of your couch is hair spreads out in a dark chestnut crown around his head. The twinkle in his eyes makes him look almost ethereal in the dim light.

“I didn’t say that.” Walking two fingers up his chest, your other hand grips the muscles at the top of his arm leaning yourself deeper into the warmth of his body.

Squeezing your hips he watches you intently, letting you set the pace he was more then content with just having you like this, you’d already given him enough to last a lifetime. Your fingers follow a path that leads them to the dip of his chest feeling the chain beneath his shirt, before they run up the length of his neck and he outstretches it just for you. Giggling when they hit his chin, something shifts when the tips touch his lips and you wonder if he can hear your heart beat from this close.

The heat of his breath fans across your finger tips when he parts them just a little bit, your own catching in your throat. Hands sliding further down your waist he stops at the top of the back pocket of your jeans. Glassy eyes matching yours, you push your fingers forward till they meet his tongue. Plush lips wrapping around them you gasp his name unable to control the roll of your hips. Groaning around you when you slide against him, his lips let you go.

Doe eyes going big when they finally open a sheepish look takes over his features, embarrassed at the lack of self control he displayed. Hands moving back to their home on your thighs he mumbles a quiet ‘sorry’ before his cheeks brighten pink. Emboldened by his actions your small hands cover his leading them back to the curve of your ass. Applying pressure to the tops of them in an encouraging gesture to touch you how he wants, how you both want.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about Eddie.” Hands leaving his as they start to knead the soft flesh. Your greedy fingers tangle themselves in his hair tilting his head back to pepper kisses along his sharp jaw before landing softly at the corner of his turned up lips. “I liked it.”

Moaning at your answer, his rough hands drag your heat over his erection that had been pressing tight against the zipper of his jeans for the better part of an hour. More then sensitive, he hisses when you apply more pressure with another swipe of your hips. Hungry lips capture his, swiping your tongue against him for entrance you tug his curls when he grants you access.

Everything feels like too much but not enough while your tongues battle for dominance, Eddie’s sloppy kissing only sending you deeper into a lust filled frenzy. Grabbing hands and clanking teeth, your hips start to move with reverent vigor against his. Still sensitive from earlier the arousal that’s coating the inside of your panties makes each thrust smoother then the last. Nipping at his bottom lip, you drag your teeth across the plush softness before letting it go with a loud pop.

Eddie’s eyes are still closed when you’re able to pull away and finally look at him. Pink kiss swollen lips blend in with his flushed skin. Long lashes fanning across the tops of his cheeks touching the small freckles that laid hidden under his skin - only visible if you were lucky enough to get this close.

Lips pulling up in a lazy grin his eyes slowly flutter open, the blacks of his pupils taking over the deep coffee color that could make you commit crimes. The motion of your hips only slowing down, his fingers tuck themselves into the back pockets of your jeans pushing slightly using your method to encourage you not to stop. Sitting back on his lap the new angle has the hardness of his zipper hit your swollen bundle of nerves with each languid roll. Biting back your moan your fingers curl at the bottom hem of your sweater. Eye’s going big as the moon in the sky when he realizes what you’re doing, stopping everything to give you his full attention.

Opening his mouth to speak you cut him off before he has a chance.

“Before you say anything stupid and thoughtful like you don’t have to do this. I know. I want to do this and I want to do this with you okay?” Swallowing hard, the sternness in your tone leaves no room for arguing. Words getting caught in his throat, having never getting this far with a girl, besides two hours ago in the back of his van.

Pulling the thick fabric over your head you toss it to the side landing some where on your living room floor. Feeling the heat of his stare you still don’t meet his gaze when you reach around to start working on the clip of your bra. A content sigh escapes past your lips when the tightness constricting around your chest releases before throwing it in the same direction as the now growing pile of clothes.

Eddie’s fingers squeeze at your doughy flesh and a sighed ‘fuck’ leaves his mouth before you dare to look at him again. Jaw slack, his eyes are greedy in the way they take you in. Hands leaving your ass, he glides his fingers along the smooth skin of your back the tips of them grazing the dip of your spine.

Eddie’s eyes look at you with the kind of adoration that you thought was never reserved for someone like you, someone broken, someone used. Overwhelming you in the honey specks that float around in his coffee eyes. The deep color of them returning to look at you like this.

“You’re fucking breath taking baby.” The gravel in his voice shakes as if he’d just witnessed some kind of miracle and it’s enough to feel the light sting of tears at the corners of your eyes.

You can feel the rough callouses of his fingers catch against your skin as they drag up and down your back. Making their way down they brush over your ribs, shuddering at the ticklish-ness of it he catches your reaction with a smirk murmuring a quiet sorry under his breath. Settling under the dips of your arms his thumbs brush gently against the sides of your breasts. Exhaling lowly he sits in awe of you sitting in front of him like this. You were better then what his mind could’v even conjured up, he couldn’t understand how this was happening to him. How you happened to him.

“I wanna see you.” Tugging at the bottom of his shirt, he shrugs his jacket off without missing a beat. Chains and zippers landing in loud clinks next to your feet he pulls his shirt over his head with an eagerness that makes you laugh.

Goofy grin plastered on his face he tries to pull you closer before you’ve gotten a good look at him. Arms outstretched to stop him, your eyes take in this newly exposed part of him. Tattoos you didn’t know existed showing themselves for the first time. Gentle fingers trace the faded demon head that rested over his peck, before planting a soft kiss at the crook between his collar bone. Eyes following an invisible line down his chest the dark happy trail that disappears into the top of his jeans makes your hips roll again. A low groan coming from the back of his throat tightening his grip against your hips.

“You’re so handsome Eddie.” Not used to getting them very often, he tries not to fight your compliment, instead he just reaches up to place a small kiss to your pouty lips.

“I’m glad you think so sweetheart.” Chasing his lips when he goes to pull away he meets you half way just as eager to feel you pressed against him again.

Long arms wrap around you to hold you impossibly close. The feeling of moving against him like this - skin to skin makes you feel closer to the sun. Kissing as if you could become one entity, two souls meeting and connecting in time, and that still wouldn’t close enough. Not when it felt like this. It never felt like this.

“Need you.” You breathe it into him because it was already bursting from your chest.

He nods against your open mouth, sucking your bottom lip before turning you both to lay down on the empty space next to hips. Legs wrapped around his waist he nestles between your spread hips, the new angle making you both pant into each other’s kiss.

Breaking away from your mouth he nips and kisses down your jaw before sucking on the place behind your ear he’d discovered earlier today already missing the pretty noises that fell from your lips. It’s music to his ears when you do it again, smirking against the curve of your neck he makes his way down your chest. Crazy waves tickling at your skin you watch him hover over the swell of one of your breasts, a tentative tongue darting out licking your nipple that sits at attention for him. Thighs closing around his hips at the sensation your hips push up. Dark eyes look up at you from the hood of his lashes, your reaction letting him know just how much you liked it. Licking his lips he wastes no time taking the whole thing into the wet heat of his mouth.

Back arching of the couch your fingers tangle into his hair holding him close feeling the tip of his tongue swipe over the sensitive bud before sucking it hard enough for your eyes to hit the back of your head. Moaning loud enough that you hoped Wayne wasn’t home you were completely lost in him, a want filling you that you didn’t know existed anymore.

Breaking away with a low groan Eddie nips at the skin at the top of your ribs smiling against you at the squeal he gets in return. His fingers fumble with the top button of his jeans when he leans back on his haunches, cursing under his breath he lets out a satisfied ‘yes’ when he gets them undone and off his body with a tug of his zipper. Fumbling hands, and an almost black eye later when your pant leg comes off with more ease then he was expecting you both are left in nothing but your underwear.

Sliding up your body till his face hovers over yours, he nudges your nose with his before collecting your lips in a tender kiss. Pulling away he tries his best to ignore the way that you chase him for more, something that he vows he’ll never do again but he needs to tell you while he can still function. Elbows on either side of you he cups your face in his hands holding you in place, he doesn’t want you to look away. The rough pads of his thumbs trace over your cheek bones before he breathes out.

“Thank you for sharing yourself with me.”

You don’t think Eddie realizes how much that really means, or maybe he does and that’s why he said it. Whatever the reason it didn’t matter, nothing else mattered anymore except for you and the boy who was looking at you like you were the creator of his universe. Noticing how your words getting tied up in the back of your throat he nuzzles the side of your face with his nose before whispering.

“You don’t have to say anything. Just needed you to know.”

Crashing your lips hard enough to bruise against his, you try to tell him everything your feeling this way. Desperate hands at the tops of his boxers the need for him closer was all consuming, if only you could crawl under each other’s skin. Feeling how much you need him, he places a kiss on the side of your jaw before helping you remove the piece of fabric that kept the rest of him from you.

Eddie’s eyes stay trained on your face waiting for a reaction. Hard enough to be pressed against his stomach, his leaking tip looks almost red. Bigger then anything you’d ever had before you knew he was going to have to ease it in. Your fingers wrap around his length with out warning. Jumping in the palm of your hand, his neck goes slack a breathy “Shit” falling from his lips.

“That’s definitely not my hand.” Laughing he presses his forehead against yours as your wrist finds a steady pace, thumb swiping over his tip to collect the precut pooling at the top, lubricating each slow and steady pump. “Fuck - shit that feels way too fucking good.”

“Yeah?” Voice breathy and raised when it comes out, his chocolate eyes snap to yours with a warning look on his face.

“Don’t do that.” His command is followed by a loud groan when you squeeze him at the base.

“Don’t do what Eddie.” Lifting your head up you nip at the vein protruding from his neck as he struggles to keep it together on top of you.

“Seriously, I’ll cum in your - ah- fuck- in your hand.” Squeezing his eyes shut you can tell he’s trying to think of anything that would stop him from blowing his load all over you.

Feeling him twitch in your hand you slow your movements selfishly needing to feel him inside of you. Eddie exhales a loud relieved breath when you let go. Hands finding their way to the tops of your underwear, you shoving them down before kicking them off so there was nothing left between you anymore.

Eyes wandering each other bodies unabashedly, completely exposed the two of you sit there with everything on the table.

Its you who finally breaks the trance to reach out for him, one hand gripping the back of his neck he grunts into your mouth when the other wraps around the base of his cock again. Parting your legs further you guide him towards your entrance.

“Condom?” Eddie’s voice is panicked when he pulls away slightly. Scolding himself for being too scared to seem expectant, he’d left the pack Wayne bought him months ago in his room.

“Birth control.” You mumble against his mouth as his tip runs the length of your wet folds, shuddering, you swallow his moan. His hips rut slightly against you when you swipe his tip against your swollen clit a few times, catching all your breathy gasps with his own, you soak him before lining him up with your velvet walls.

“Ready?” You ask forehead to forehead he’s never looked more vulnerable.

When he gives you a nod the balls of your feet push against his lower back encouraging him to push forward. His heavy tip breaches your entrance with a long drawn out “fuck” fanning across your face when he feels the way you stretch to fit around him. Stilling his hips he waits for both of you to adjust before he pushes the rest of the way in, bottoming out the rough patch pubic hair hits against your clit.

“Eddie - fuck.” Not used to an intrusion this big your eyes roll in the back of your head. The burn of your gummy walls getting used to his size slowly turns to pleasure with each slow roll of his hips.

Feeling the way you instantly start to constrict around him Eddie’s mind starts working over time to try to stop the inevitable from happening again. The soft mewls he’s pulling from you mixed with the way you meet his hips with every thrust he knows it’s a losing fight.

“Baby - I’m sorry, I can’t stop it, you feel so good, - fuck, I’m cumming.” Burying his head in the crook of your neck Eddie’s cock twitches inside of you before you feel the warmth of his release low in your gut.

Purposely clenching around him, you could care less about his speed finding yourself addicted to the noises and the blissed out words that spill against your throat. He gives one final stutter of his hips before his body goes limp on top of you, trying to catch his breath you trace soft lines down his spine. This kind of closeness with him making your chest swell. If only if could always be like this.

“Well this is embarrassing.” His self depreciating tone breaks you out of your daze. Finally lifting his head up to meet your gaze his cheeks are set a blaze.

“I’m taking it as a compliment.” You smirk kissing the tip of his nose ignoring the way he rolls his eyes at you. “Besides you have all night to make it up to me.” Suddenly going shy despite being connected at the waist you look anywhere but his big eyes before adding. “Only if you wanna stay.”

Eddie snorts loudly in your ear before you even have a chance to second guess yourself.

“I just came in like 10 seconds and you’re asking me to not only stay but have sex with you again? Do I look like an idiot? Wait - don’t answer that.” Rambling away you could feel the the pupils in your eyes slowly turn into hearts for the boy on top of you. “Yes, god yes. I will absolutely stay.”

Spending the night with Eddie only made you want more him and you were starting to think that feeling wasn’t ever going to go away. Instead of getting lost in each other’s bodies like promised, you spent the entire time doing something even more intimate, you got lost in each other’s minds. Clothes a forgotten mess on the floor for tomorrow the two of you laid tangled on your bed. Wandering hands and gasps in between spilling secrets, and laughing fits. It was like time didn’t matter but yet there was never enough, big yawns and sleepy eyes taking over once the clock struck four.

Keeping you pressed tight against his chest, the kiss he plants on your temple melts you into him. His slow and steady breathing finally lulling you into the kind of slumber that your body had needed for years.

—-

The muted light that leaks through your blinds coats your room in a silvery haze. Eddie’s snores mixing with the pattering of rain against your window in a way that brings heavy sleep back to your eyes. The overcast skies outside make it impossible to guess what time of day it is, tucked in with him like this you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Eddie’s body warmth was keeping you protected you from the chill of the storm. The dull throb between your thighs brings you back to last night, all fumbling hands and bruising lips, your skin heats up at the thought. The urge to turn around and look at the boy who made you feel like you put the stars in the stars in the sky was too much to fight.

Star-fished next to you, one long arm lays outstretched under his pillow while the other rests palm down fingers splayed out flat against your mattress. Plush lips slightly agape the lose strands of hair that fan across his cheek tickle his nose with every breath. His usually animated face was softened with deep sleep and eyes that dance behind his closed lids, you wonder what he could be dreaming about. Silently hoping it’s you.

Scooting yourself closer, gentle finger tips brush the loose strands away from his sleep flushed face. Brows knitting together at the sensation his breathing still doesn’t falter. Tracing a line down the bridge of his nose, you dance your fingers across his high cheek bone. A low grumble rumbles deep from his chest when he finally feels your feather light touches. Turning his head into you he leans deeper into your touch placing a chaste kiss on your palm. Big bright eyes flutter open in a burst of chestnut and mahogany warmth shining against your dreary room.

“I thought I was just having a really good dream.” Voice thick with sleep he tries to clear it out with a cough. Rubbing his eyes he leans back slightly before he pulling you deep into his chest. Pressing another kiss on the crown of your head he takes you with him when he rolls onto his back. Nuzzling under his chin with one leg hooking over his waist you try to ignore the way his hard length presses against the inside of your thigh.

“Sorry, I just woke up.” His laugh is light when it falls from his mouth, no nerves or anxiety hidden behind it anymore.

Cheek pressed against the warmth of his chest you run your fingers down the valley of his pecks, following an invisible line past his belly button you watching his muscles flex under your touch. Nails dragging through the rough texture of his happy trail you feel him twitch underneath you.

“I’m sure that’s the only reason why.” Earning a genuine chuckle you bite your bottom lip in a smile before looking up at him.

“I mean, I didn’t feel like I needed to state the other obvious reason.” Meeting your playful gaze, he brushes his tips over the side of your heated face. Cupping your cheek in his big hand, the rough pad of his thumb rubs the soft skin under your eye. “But don’t think I don’t notice what you’re doing with your hand.”

Mocking him with a fake gasp only to be replaced by a very real squeal when he pulls you on top of him. Hands covering yours on his chest he peppers your face with kisses with no room for escape. Blowing a raspberry on your cheek you try and wiggle out of his grasp. Hips rolling against this, his tip swipe across your dampened slit. His naked body having the same effect on you that yours did to him.

Eyes meeting his, you watch the warmness inside them darken. Chocolate turning onyx when you do it again. Another swipe through your folds his swollen head gets caught against your clit. Body shuddering against his, he lifts his hips adding more pressure to your bundle of nerves, eyes glazing over at your reactions. All the teasing and playfulness gone, the desperate need to feel each other close becomes over powering. Bodies moving together like the push and pull of the sea, the only noises that fill the space is your needy gasps for more and the storm pattering against your window.

His hands leave yours to find purchase on your hips, pushing his head back into the comfort of his pillow watching you take what you need from him. The heavy glow from outside wraps around your silhouette like an angel sent to collect his soul. One more swipe through your slick folds his tip hits your entrance. Pushing yourself up against his chest, your straighten up. Eyes meeting his in a silent confession of love before you sink down on him.

It feels different then last night, better. Stilling your hips the two of you stop time.

Eddie stares up at you with eyes that swallow you whole, tunnel vision with you as the light that’s guiding him home. A rumble of thunder and a roll of your hips, the metal walls of your trailer shake. Moans meeting in the air like two lost friends, his fingers tighten pulling you forward bringing him deeper into him.

“Eddie, you feel so good. Shit.” Words aren’t enough when it feel like this, the swivel of your hips making you feel every inch.

“I promise -” He loses himself with each lift of your hips “Jesus, I promise you feel better.”

Hands leaving their home on his chest to cover small on top of his at your waist, with a gentle pry of his fingers he lets you guide him up your curves needing to feel him on your breasts.

“God - shit - fuck - look at you.” Mesmerized by everything about you, his warm palm has your nipples at attention when he covers them. Thick fingers squeezing hard enough for you to moan your hips stutter against his at the added sensation.

The wind kicks the rain harder against the glass in a few loud splats, the movement of your thrusts matching the strengthening of the storm outside. Feeling the flex of his hand under yours while he palms you adds more to your arousal. His hips lift off the bed to meet yours feeling you start to flutter around him. His name falling from your lips in breathy pants, your hands land back on his chest for purchase nails digging in when he swipes that spongy spot inside.

“need to kiss you.” Releasing his hard grip on your breasts, his hands make their way behind your back. Long arms wrapping around you, he pulls you forward before sitting up. Knees to the mattress on either side of his thighs the new angle has him hitting that spot he’d been teasing this whole time. Swallowing your moans in his mouth, his lips mold with yours in a determined kiss. Chests to chest, every inch of you feels connected like this. You don’t know where he begins and where you end.

Chasing his lips when he pulls away his nose nudges your cheek, wet kisses all over your sweat kissed skin. Arms constricting tighter the new hold makes you gasp when he pushes deeper, holding his position when he feels you shudder against him. Smiling against the skin in the crook of your neck, one calloused hand trails down your spine. Giving you an encouraging push to the small of your back, you feel him twitch when you snap your hips forward.

His name falls out in a breathless chant with each roll, velvet lips kissing a path up the length of your shoulder. The smoldering feeling that had settled deep in your gut slowly setting a blaze feeling your body shake with anticipation.

“How are you this beautiful?” Nipping at your jaw his hips lose their rhythm a sign he was getting there too. His words settle deep inside your swelling, dangerously close to over flowing heart. It felt like two missing puzzle pieces finding their home.

Your arms hook around his neck pulling your body impossibly close, his arms completely caging you in. The air leaves your lungs when he lifts his head, blown out love drunk eyes reeling you in. Cheeks flushed red his bangs stick to his forehead, jaw slack, he looks completely consumed by you. The tips of your noses brush with each thrust as you both try to communicate every thing your feeling without your words.

“Eddie.” He breathes in his name from your lips as he matches the whine of your hips.

“Say it baby, what it is?” Feeling the grip of your walls against him, he knew you were moments away from falling apart. With a front row seat to what he’s sure to be a cosmic event forever imprinted in his mind, he was trailing dangerously close behind.

“Don’t -“ Brows knitting together when he hits that spot deep inside of you, almost making you lose your train of thought.

“Don’t what?” His voice is gentle brings you back, words fanning against your lips.

“Don’t leave me.” The closeness of it all making you feel vulnerable enough to bare your soul.

The snap of his hips becomes just as desperate as his kiss when his lips smash into yours, doing everything he can to convey that any thought of his future will always have you. That happened the moment he met you. The girl who thinks he’s perfect.

“I’m fucking yours.”

His response is enough for a galaxy to explode behind your eyes, Eddie grounding you, centering you in a way you’ve never felt.

Fluttering with each slowed thrust, the silk of your walls wrap around him in a tight vice. Watching you come undone on top of him is enough to send him tumbling down after you. Legs shaking underneath you, he twitches before spilling deep inside coating the walls that keep begging him for more.

Nails biting into your sides, he pants into your mouth when your eyes open to watch his close tight. The force of everything almost overwhelming feeling your two worlds collide. Tears sting at the corners of your eyes, the happiness so overpowering its threatening to burst from your chest.

Slow and languid his lips move against yours when he comes back down, all sweat and tears they stain his cheeks too. The universe changing it’s orbit just for you. Not making any moves, the two of you would stay here forever, just like this if you could.

Everything leading you here felt worth it if this was the karma you got back, Eddie Munson the boy who reminded you how to smile.

—————-

Taglist: @emotionaldreamer @eddiesprincess86 @bimbobaggins69 @rach5ive @luckyysstarr @h-ness1944 @stolen-in-moonlight @bohemianrhapsody86 @ms1oftheboys @maximizedrhythms @amethyst1258 @princesseddie @munsonology @sammararaven @edsforehead @b-irock @triplethreat77 @justherefortheescapsim @micheledawn1975 @ethereal27cereal @superbcoffeedrinkersubparwriter @elthreetimes @chickpeadumpsterfire @manda-panda-monium @fckyeahlames @angelsarecallin @sweetsweetjellybean @boomhauer @myobmaya @marymunsonloves @reysorigins @mrcylvsu @eddiethesexy @bebe0701 @aysheashea

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson series #joseph quinn

[cupidsyndrome]

ᖭི༏ᖫྀ A COFFEE SO SWEET.

🏹 FLUFF , COMEDY. 728 WORDS. 💌 in this game of cat and mouse, it feels like you're always losing. enough is enough. today, you'll win ! 🩷 cw. none.

getting involved with dazai wasn’t ever in your plans. if you knew that getting a coffee on that fateful day would turn your life upside down– maybe you would’ve converted to being a tea person. you’ve heard once or twice the waiters complaining about a freak that kept creeping around, flirting endlessly with each and every person that had the misfortune of setting foot in the coffee shop. you remember how their words made you weary of coming back.

but the coffee’s just too good for you to pass on, and the exact same day you chose to come back– you found him, sitting on one of the barstools; mindlessly chatting away with anyone that would lend him an ear. if it wasn’t for the bandages that decorated both of his wrists– you wouldn’t know that this man was the supposed freak.

you didn’t have time to react– his head turned straight at you; brown eyes full of curiosity staring back at you, a mischievous glint in them. something in you went on alert, legs ready to run away. 

you ignored it.

instead, you sat next to him. that was your first mistake.

your second mistake was coming back the next days while expecting to see him. he was always there– always dropping whatever he seemed to be doing to talk to you. you tried to reprimand him about it once, which he had laughed about (“belladonna, i’d rather talk with you”, had he say). belladonna. not letting the word get to your head seemed to be more difficult than anticipated– while the fact that he pretty much threw that word at every woman he had encountered remained like an on-going reminder. it didn’t stop you from blushing, the same night after you went home. that was your second mistake.

your third and final mistake came in the form of an endless dance of uncertainty that dawned upon you each time you talked with him. subtle glances and unspoken words slowly became a normality between the two of you– something you cursed yourself over for. his demeanour hasn't changed at all, which, possibly, made things worse for you.  

you’ve thought about asking him– taking the lead and, in the worst possible outcome, having him laugh at you. putting your pride aside had never been a problem before, but in this game of cat and mouse; you’ve had enough of doing so. red cheeks, stammering whenever he looked too long at you with those damned eyes of his– all losses on your side. 

a little bit over a month has passed ever since you first set your attention on him. 

tonight, he’s walking you home. the sight of your apartment keeps getting closer and closer, as your deception can only grow. was he truly to blame ? you’re the one who got the wrong impression– you’re the one who keeps setting yourself up for disappointment. he chuckles at something you’ve missed and you can’t help but stare at him, momentarily stopping the both of you. the city lights look good on him, you think. his lips stretch into a smile. 

“you gonna kiss me or something ?,” he asks. you know it’s meant to rile you up– you shouldn’t take it to heart. something within you snaps as bravery becomes your very own entity. it’s now or never. 

now or never.

your hands push his cheeks together in a not-so attractive manner, his lips puckering from it. It all takes him by surprise– his eyes growing almost comically. you’re almost there. you can feel your breaths getting tangled and a mere gust of wind would result in your lips touching. as he stands there, letting himself get handled like a doll.. 

a burst of laughter overtakes you. 

it’s so bad that you physically have to hold onto him. it takes about five minutes or so for it to die down and as you look up to him to apologise, the sight makes you fumble over your words. he’s blushing. God, he’s fucking blushing. your words get stuck in your throat as his gaze avoids yours like the plague.

“don’t play with my heart like that, belladonna,” he mumbles, his voice not as confident as it usually is– arms digging into his pockets, desperately trying to make himself smaller.

it makes you smile.

looks like being the mouse isn’t all that bad.

© CUPIDSYNDROME, all rights reserved.

#cupid's arrows #dazai osamu #dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #dazai scenarios #bsd scenarios #bsd fluff

[i-used-to-wear-the-fedora]

Kas Eddie AU, Steve's Little Secret

"Hey, is it just me or has Steve been acting weird lately?" Dustin looked up from his copy of Nintendo Power at Robin. It was a slow day at Family Video and Dustin was more than happy to loiter while Robin put back the returns.

"Whatcha mean?"

"This is the third time this week he's left a half hour early and asked me to cover for him. He doesn't tell me where he's going and is acting super secretive...you don't think he's got a girlfriend?"

"No way." Dustin laughed. "If he did, he'd tell everyone."

"True....you don't think it's drugs, do you?"

"Why don't we find out?" Dustin pointed out the window across the street at the 7/11 where they saw him walking out, holding a paper bag tight to his chest. "I'm sure your boss won't notice if you close early."

Robin didn't hesitate to start locking up for the night. Intent to find out what Steve was being so secretive about.

~~

Robin and Dustin were not subtle in their attempts to follow Steve. People staring at the strange duo as they trailed after the young man but somehow Steve was the only who had yet to notice them. Darting from convenience store to convenience store until they were on the edge of town just outside the woods behind the junkyard. It was getting dark out, the summer sun just starting to set as their confusion mounted.

"Why the hell is Steve coming out here in the dark?" Robin asked quietly. Less than a year ago, Hawkins had almost been torn in half by the the upside down. The last thing anyone should be doing is going into the woods alone. In the dark.

Navigating around the trees in an attempt to keep up with Steve, it was almost five minutes before he came to a stop in front of a run down shed. Robin and Dustin quickly ducked into some bushes as he looked around. Taking a key out of his pocket and unlocking the shed door. Looking around once more before closing the door behind him. Dustin and Robin shared a look.

"This is suspicious as fuck." Robin got up, brushing the leaves off her pant legs.

"I'm sure there's a totally normal reason he's out here." Dustin tried to reason but he sounded unsure. Quietly as physically possible, the two sneaked over to the dilapidated structure. Judging from the caution signs and the faded Warren Electric plate, this place used to be an electrical shed. Both Robin and Dustin placed their ears to the shed's side in an attempt to listen to it's occupants.

"-hey sorry I couldn't find Peanut Butter Boppers. Went to five stores but they were all out."

"C'mon, seriously? Did you at least get the Twinkies?"

"Right here."

Despite being muffled, it was clear Steve was talking to someone.

"Is it dark out yet? I can't fucking stand being stuck in here all day."

"Boohoo, you get to sleep all day and do whatever you want at night. I'm sorry your life is so unfair."

"Up yours Harrington, you know what I mean." There was a shuffling inside and the door to the shed opened. Robin and Dustin watched as Steve exited shack followed by an oddly familiar face. Dustin's jaw dropped and he couldn't stop himself from calling out.

"Eddie?"

#kas theory #vampire eddie #eddie x steve #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #dustin henderson #robin buckley #fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things au

[philtstone]

for Spotify wrapped prompts: lotr characters of your choice + #11?? (trying my luck to see if I somehow don’t land on a Bollywood song but will be thrilled no matter what!)

#11 -- main hoon na (I'm here now) so funny story my spotify wrapped playlist does NOT include numbering. no numbers. god knows why. and i am not counting my way thru that list. which means i will simply be selecting an inspiration song from the list for each of these prompts, but that still is not saving u from the bollywood of it all. so, to really hard launch things, im splicing the goofiest most spy kids ass incredibly sweet movie of all time with -- of course -- the hippie camp counsellor au

Aragorn's headache has been building since well before lunch, but the relative absence of any sort of real amenities at this truck stop has only made it worse.

First: because outside of a measly bag of chips, which he insisted be shared by Arwen (prone to blood-sugar-related headaches), Eowyn (technically still growing her frontal lobe), Frodo (looking too solemn for a thirteen year old, also still growing), and Sam (who immediately offered his share to Frodo), Aragorn has not eaten anything since their stop at the forlorn Wendy's last night.

Second: because, in pursuit of something more sustaining than said measly bag of chips, Merry and Pippin went investigating. Alone. And now they've been misplaced.

“Under construction! To be replaced by what? A corporate behemoth without any soul?! Without a whit of warmth? Grand oak tables! The ambiance of a fine dining experience! My cousin Balin’s restaurant was no ordinary truck stop facility! The spaghetti bolognese alone made it worth the detour! How many a road trip did I take as a boy –”

Gimli is only twenty one, so this is not so significant as all that. 

“Do you think we wouldn’t have misplaced them if we tried to find another Wendy’s?” Legolas asks philosophically, as if Gimli is not standing beside him on the verge of tears.

“We haven’t misplaced them,” Aragorn says. They definitely have. “We must simply ask around – they couldn’t have gotten far. At worst, they have squirreled their way into one of these trucks, and we would definitely notice that.”

The obnoxious horn-blowing alone, Aragorn thinks.

“They could have been kidnapped,” says Legolas, all pragmatic cheer. “Or run over. Or they could be trapped in one of the toilet stalls – the locks stuck on Gimli for a good five minutes when we were in there.”

“Gone!” wails Gimli, who gets very theatrical when upset. “Erased! An institution of road-side relaxation! Oooh, how could Balin not have told me? And for it to be replaced by a barren Travel Center with nothing but a few vending machines! I wasn’t prepared for this kind of tragedy to happen in my lifetime …”

“Legolas,” Aragorn grits out, “some optimism, please.” Gimli is going through multiple stages of grief, so Aragorn lets him be. “Let us put our heads together and do something constructive.”

Canvassing the truckers seems as immediate a solution as any, so that is what they do.

“We’re looking for the cousins of my father’s friend’s nephew,” Gimli describes emotionally to a confused old woman in a cowboy hat and her somewhat tree-shaped husband. “If anyone would have appreciated the smoked smash burgers of my own cousin’s menu … but it’s all lost now! Could you’ve seen ‘em?”

“We’re looking for two very small children,” Legolas says solemnly to the biker gang Eomer had serendipitously known from university, but who eye them with suspicion nonetheless. “You know, the kind you look at and immediately think, oh God, small children, if you’re the sort to not like children much.”

“We’re looking for two pre-teen boys,” Aragorn clarifies at every interval, feeling desperate. “Aged twelve and eleven, with fair hair, coming up to no higher than my hip. You couldn’t miss them if you tried; one of them is wearing a Super Mario t-shirt.” 

“Oh, that will be Pippin,” Legolas confirms from behind him. “Terrible taste in video games.”

Gimli dabs tearfully at his eyes with a large checkered handkerchief he pulled from the back of his jeans.

It’s not that he’s truly worried Merry and Pippin have been kidnapped – they do have a rudimentary grasp of stranger danger – only Aragorn is supposed to be exercising leadership on this trip. He is the driver, after all. Even if he still isn't wholly confident in his grad school options.

“Maybe you could do MSF or something,” Legolas wonders aloud, as they look underneath a particularly rusty-looking sixteen-wheeler for their runaway tweens. “Next year I mean, in between things. I’m sure Uncle Elrond would consider that a viable career. You had the pamphlet in your backpack last month and everything.”

“You need a medical degree to do MSF, Legolas,” Aragorn says tiredly; it’s not that he hasn’t thought about it.

“What if you started your own version of MSF, with herbal medicine,” Legolas continues, undeterred. “I’m sure that would be popular amongst middle class white moms. And you’d be an entrepreneur.” 

It would somewhat defeat the whole point, but Aragorn appreciates the brainstorming. 

Back to Merry and Pippin – technically they are Gandalf’s responsibility – but Gandalf is in the bathroom, so they feel like his, and, furthermore, Aragorn’s getting a bit nervous about leaving Frodo and Sam in the van all alone for so long. Two days ago they found a feral possum in the trunk who they kept on because it has an uncanny sense of direction (it will scratch at random points on the map when it’s not screaming and hissing from the back seat), and though it won’t stop chewing on the hem of Frodo’s jeans, Frodo refuses to let them toss it out of the car; he insists he and the possum can communicate. Aragorn would think he was lying if not for Sam also insisting they can communicate – he has absolutely nothing good to say about the Possum’s personality – and, well, Sam’s a stoutly practical kid. So certainly they must be being truthful.

But the poor possum could bite them, left unattended.

Aragorn decides to try the biker gang one last time.

“Please,” Aragorn says, “they’re like our younger brothers; we can’t just leave them to fend for themselves.”

“Hmm,” says the gruffest of the lot, after a prolonged bout of contemplation. “There was a fist fight or something by the portapotties — I saw a kid’s backpack lying around afterward.”

Of course it had to be a fistfight, Aragorn thinks, as Gimli goes pale and Legolas places a delicate mourning hand flat upon his breast. They march over to the portapotties, accordingly. Sure enough, the backpack is there, but Merry and Pippin are nowhere to be found.

Aragorn kicks at the side of the nearest portable. His toe clips it awkwardly, so he has to sit down for a minute, limping, and resist the urge to bury his head in his hands.

“Oh,” he hears Legolas say. “Oh, alright. Yeah. Yeah. Uh huh.”

Aragorn looks up. 

“It's Eowyn,” Legolas says, holding his phone up somewhat unnecessarily. “She says they’re in the van.”

“This whole time?” asks Gimli, slow of voice.

“Well, no. They’ve got deli sandwiches with them. Real ones. Apparently the honey ham is pretty good.”

“Give me the phone,” Aragorn says; Legolas does.

“Hello,” it is not Eowyn, but Arwen’s musical voice on the other end of the line. Aragorn wonders if she perhaps anticipated his mood from the other end of the truck stop and so had the forethought to rescue an unwitting Eowyn from it. Arwen does occasionally demonstrate a telepathic sort of vibe when it comes to him. “We heard your yell from all the way over here – is everything alright?”

Oh. Right.

“Put Merry and Pippin on, please,” Aragorn says, because he couldn’t bear to be rude to his girlfriend and his toe really is throbbing, so he can’t trust himself. “Are they – there, yes. Yes. Well I can hear them in the background. Arwen –”

“Hullo Aragorn,” comes Pippin’s voice, after a staticy smartphone handover.

“I will leave you here next time,” Aragorn says.

“No he won’t,” says Legolas.

“No he won’t,” says Gimli.

“He’s just a little hungry,” chimes in Arwen, a muffled distance from the receiver.

“Well, that’s alright!” says Pippin, before Aragorn can protest. “We got you sandwiches, didn’t we?”

“Oh, yes,” adds Merry, just as close to the phone. “We picked one up just for you. Saved it and everything from that biker gang and Frodo’s possum.”

“Oh, he’s named it now. Calls it Smeagol.”

“I thought he said it introduced itself.”

“Oh, yes, it did do that. Sam disagrees though, says it’s named Gollum.”

“Terrible name for a possum.”

“Don’t you think so? But anyway, your sandwich is safe with us.”

And, despite it all, Aragorn finds that he can do absolutely nothing else but laugh loudly, fondly, and for a long while.

#the 3 hunter sequence in 2 towers is one of my favourites and main hoon na is one of my favourites BASICALLY FOR THE SAME REASONS so #my writing #spotify wrapped prompt meme #the lord of the rings #aragorn #gimli #legolas #merry brandybuck #pippin took #arwen #the two towers #emma you know i will only ever write you hippie camp counsellor au content

[lulutaylorsimaginarium]

The Chain

Summary: When the guys get stuck in a situation and hunted down by a drug lord. Frankie makes a call he really doesn’t want to make to the only person that can help them

Words: 1,256

Warnings: “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the right age to handle mature themes. We handle our own triggers with kindness and grace

AN: Mind any grammar mistakes even though the story has been checked. The author is dyslexic and it is the wonders of her brain.

AN 2: Guys, this one took even me by surprise. Never saw us here, but here we are. Let me know what you think xxL

THE CHAIN MASTERLIST

Chapter Thirteen

They walked into the house forty minutes later thinking no one was the wiser. How very wrong they were. Once Santiago and Gabby walked into the house. Will and Benny stood up from their seats giving them applause.

“Finally!”

“Thank god!”

“Jesus” Santiago said under his breath chuckling.

“What are you guys talking about?” she teased. The jig was up there was no point to lying about it

“Did you have to check on the money twice?”

“Yes” Santiago finally answered, “Trust me, the second time was more fun.”

He lingered behind her as he walked past her and farther into the house. She noticed Frankie sitting on the sofa by himself. She walked up and sat next to him, facing him, legs folded in front of her.

“What’s going on?”

“You tell me” he sighed “Did you forgot to tell him about Mangus?”

“Mangus doesn’t really seem relevant now, does he?”

Truthfully, Gabby hadn’t thought about Mangus since she landed in South America. With all her talk about new jobs and moving. Her boyfriend didn’t really seem important now.

“Then who is relevant to you, Gabriella?”

He had only ever called you by her full name twice in her life .The first time that they had met. When he found her in a state and only knew the information that they had told him and the second was forty-five minutes ago

“What you think Santi and I are going to have a happily ever after? She chuckled.

“Not with Santiago, no”

His voice was cold. Colder than she had ever heard it. She sat back and looked at him confused. He couldn’t take it anymore. The bewilderment on her face, the way she pouted at him. Frankie couldn’t do it.

He stood up walked across the room and towards the stairs

“Baby” she called out

There was that feeling that shot up Santiago’s spine again. She said it again calling out to Frankie, with no response.

The vibe of the room had changed since she sat down with him, the playfulness was gone. It was now cold, awkward and slightly dark.

She got up and stood at the table with the brothers.

“Don’t worry” Will told her quietly “He gets like this sometimes.”

She nodded her head and smiled the best she could. He never got like that with her

“I’m going to go up and have a shower before all you guys steal my hot water.”

All three of them watch her go in silence

Well, almost in silence

“You don’t think he’s been in love with her this whole time, do you?” Ben asked, more to himself then anyone.

Will frowned at his younger brother and shook his head. The answer was so clear to everyone else in the room.

#

Santiago walked into her bedroom twenty minutes later, she was walking around the room in the tightest jeans he could imagine and a black bra , the ends of her hair dripping on to her skin and he had to remind himself of the reason he had actually walked in there.

Gabby looked up at him and gave him a small smile

“Hey”

“Hey” he said sitting down on the end of the bed

“What’s wrong?”

“Who says any things wrong?”

“Your face”

He didn’t say anything at first. He knew he was being stupid but before good sense could take control, Santiago’s mouth took over

“Why do you call Frankie that?”

“Call Frankie what?”

“You call  him, Baby”

She looked up in the mirror to look back at him

“I don’t know just always have. I don’t even think about it”

“Could you maybe, stop”

She frowned before pulling out a black tee and pulling it on over her head, maybe a little too forcefully.

“Why?” the question come out sharper then she intended.

“I don’t like it”

“Suddenly I’m back in junior high” she said under her breath.

“Gabs”

“So, because I’m  fucking you . I have to stop calling my friend a nickname that he has always had”

“First of all, that’s not what we are doing”

“It’s what I’m doing” she shot back

“Wow. There is it”

“Oh come on. Don’t turn into a girl on me now”

He stood up off the bed because he felt like he needed the higher ground right now.

“Wow, you can really turn into a  bitch quickly, can’t you?”

“Only when called for, Baby”

He took a slow, controlled breath because he knew if he didn’t this was going to turn into a disaster

“Stop”

“I’m not doing anything”

“Don’t take it out on me because Frankie is pissed at you”

She frowned and grabbed her handbag and keys off the dresser

“I gotta get some air”

“Gabs, don’t go”

“It’s okay. I’ll be back”

He watched her go and wanted to take everything back. He used to not care when she was angry or ticked off. He actually used to like it.

Now it made him uneasy.

She walked downstairs and past Will and Benny

“I’m going out. Do you guys need something?”

They looked at her confused and shook their heads before she walked out the front door and slammed it. Before hearing they heard the Porsche overly rev up and speeding off.

#

It was a good thing that the guys didn’t want her to bring something back for them because it was ten thirty at night and she still wasn’t back. Countless messages to her phone and no answer. Will looked at Santiago over the table

“So you fucked up too, huh?”

“Little bit”

“What if someone grabbed her?” Benny questioned, saying the thing everyone was thinking

���Don’t be stupid, Benny” Frankie shot “No one knows we’re here”

“Don’t they?”

“I’m calling her. This is bullshit” Will said getting up and walking out to the porch.

“What did you do?” Frankie shot at Santiago

“Me?”

Santiago got up from the table and  stalked over to the living room where Frankie was.

“We fought because you did. The reason she’s not here right now is because of you pulling that crap. You never wanted her until someone else did or maybe it was just because I wanted her”

“You have no idea what you are talking about, Pope”

“Maybe the problem is how you see her. She’s not that broken girl you rescued anymore. She’s so fucking strong. Frankie, she doesn’t need you protecting her. She’s more than capable then you give her credit for” he stopped for a beat “Trust me”

He knew it was coming.

That’s why Santiago said it

He wanted to get under Frankie’s skin

He still didn’t see the punch coming

It happened just as soon as Will walked back in the front door to see it happen.

“She’s okay but she’s not coming back tonight”

“I can’t imagine why” Benny told them all getting up from the table.

“She’s grieving, Pope”

“Fish, this has been coming way before that jerk in the jungle and you know it” Benny said handing Santiago an ice pack.

“Wrong choice of words, Dude ” Will laughed

Frankie made his way back up stairs

“You better start practicing your groveling skills, Frankie. You’re going to need them” Benny called out.

 “You too” Will told Santiago

“I’m aware”

“Did you have to stir him up?”

“Yeah, felt good”

He didn’t know where she was and they were still on the run. As much as he wanted to go out there and find her but Santiago knew when to stop.

#frankie morales #romanticism #santiago garcia #triple frontier #will miller #benny miller #netflix #santiago garcia x oc #charlie hunnam #garrett hedlund #pedro pascal #oscar isaac

[st0rmyskies]

Incredibly Specific Scenario™️. Stuck in the elevator without a phone.

Toad you are the best at these.

Twilight - Well, shit. It was bad enough he forgot to charge his phone when he got home last night, and now this. He’s the type to yell a few times for help before realizing there’s an Emergency button and using that with more success. Then he’ll just stand calmly and stew in his thoughts until help arrives.

Wild - Never realizes there’s an Emergency button. Resorts to banging on the door and yelling at first, then calms down when he realizes he can just bang out a beat and wait for someone to find him.

Champion - Oh hell no. That boy is up through the emergency hatch in leas than 60 seconds and prying open the door to the next floor.

Warriors - Spends the first five minutes checking himself out in the ceiling mirror that he just realized is there. The first time he presses the Emergency button he gets connected to an operator who hangs up because he asked what they were wearing. When he calls back again he clarifies what’s wrong and gets help on the way. “Well, while I have you, listen I’ve been having this problem and I’d love your opinion. See, I have this ‘friend’…”

Sky - Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, fuck. Sky is actually going to be the least cool in this situation. He’s had enough night terrors about dangling from a thin line over a pit of zombies that’s slowly crawling up the rope to claw at his ankles that in a short amount of time he is not okay. He yells and bangs on the door until four floors of people know that he needs help.

Four - Are you… Are you fucking kidding me??? Four hits the Emergency button but he also whips out his multi-tool and has that control panel off long before help is on the way. By the time someone arrives, he’s identified the problem even if he can’t fix it for them.

Legend - There's a steady stream of cursing trailing down the hallway from the elevator shaft when Legend gets stuck. He's too fucking mad to hit the Emergency button or remember that it's there, so like Champion he finds the exit in the top of the elevator and shimmies up the cable until he gets to a floor where he can let himself out.

Hyrule - This unfortunately isn't the first time this has happened, nor will it be the last. Rulie knows the drill; he hits the alarm button and has a seat at the back of the elevator to wait it out. Half the time when help arrives he's been stationary just long enough to catch a little shuteye.

Wind - He's not panicking. He's definitely not freaking out. He's just pacing because he's got a lot to do. His hands are sweaty because it's hot in here, alright??? God, if only these assholes would hurry up and fix this damn thing... Say, is anyone else feeling a little dizzy, or--

Time - His first reaction is defeat. It builds to annoyance when he finds out how long it's going to take for help to arrive. It turns to real anger when the time passes and no one's showed up yet to get him out. He's prying open those doors with his bare hands and, so long as he's close enough to the next, he's also the type to climb out and rescue himself.

Dark - Hell yeah, smoke break.

#stormy asks #hsh #townhouse au #toadbae asks

[voiceoffenrisulfr]

On The Tide - Chapter Four

Winter gets in an altercation for his ‘laziness’, and his Captain comes to his defence. Prompts met; - Quiet Cry for Help' (Double) and 'Don't Look Back' (Dozen), @multifandom-flash - 'Sexual Tension', @fandom-free-bingo (Frosty Edition); - 'Shielding Someone With Their Body' and 'Stuck Together', @seasonaldelightsbingo (Winter Wonderland) ; - '29. Hey, Wake Up!", @flufftober CW: Implied risk of violence

Check it out below the KR with the boards, or on AO3 here!

“Hey, wake up!” I blinked in surprise, looking down at the rope in my hands dumbfoundedly for a moment before securing it to the belaying pin, the snaked figure-eight wrapping around and around before I glanced toward the voice. It took two days of sleeping between his sheets for my Captain to let me return to my duties – or rather, to commence them, at last. It was clear that the explanation of my sickness had fallen on disbelieving ears, judging from the amount of scowls and distasteful glanced I’d received throughout the morning. But this was the first time anyone had spoken directly to me, and a man perhaps five years my junior strode across the deck toward me with a thunderous expression. “You slack off for your first few days, then daydream when you finally show your face? Just who do you think you are, newbie?” I raised an eyebrow at my heavyset aggressor, entirely unphased by the several inches and hundred-plus pounds he had on me. “Sargeant Barnes. US Army, special ops.” My genuine response seemed only to anger him further – which I more than moderately expected – and he stepped closer, his chest brushing against mine, forcing me to tip my chin up to maintain eye contact. “You’re a cocky little shit, aren’t you?” “I like to think so, yeah.” He growled audibly, jaw rolling in irritation, shoulders squaring in a failed attempt at intimidation. “You think I’m going to let you get away with talking to me like that, runt?” His fingers curled into a fist by his side, the motion catching in the corner of my eye, and I tensed pre-emptively, prepared to dodge and put this ogre on his ass before he could- “Walker, Barnes, that’s enough!” My head turned minutely, never breaking eye contact, but he snapped to attention, back stiff with respect, and I couldn’t help but snort under my back. Kiss-ass. A hand on my chest pushed me backwards, firm and unrelenting despite my tensing in response, forcing me to move my feet a few inches. I glanced aside at last, finding dark, intimidating eyes boring into my own, and winced minutely. Shit. “What’s going on here?” Lieutenant Tyne snapped, looking between the two of us, his irritation clear in his voice. “This grunt thinks he’s better than us, lazing around like a piece of shit ground p-” “Enough,” the Captain growled, his eyes settling on his crew member, cold and intimidating. Now that is scary. This guy should take notes. “Sergeant Barnes has been unwell through no fault of his own. Unfortunately timed, but genuine nonetheless. You yourself once spent several days without contributing due to illness, if I remember correctly – so it feels somewhat hypocritical for you to be challenging anyone, Corporal Walker.” I bit back a grin at that, pushing a hand idly through my hair. Corporal. I wonder how mad he is that I outrank him… “But Sir-” “That’s enough, Walker,” Lieutenant Tyne snapped, eyes narrowing further, stepping between the two of us as the Corporal turned back toward me. “No. Back off. Don’t make me tell you again.” Walker looked at me briefly over his Captain’s shoulder, his gaze full of fury, before he turned away at last, muttering under his breath as he walked off without looking back. Greg turned his eyes to me instead, hard and impossible to read beyond his evident irritation. “With me.”

I paused nervously in the middle of his quarters, gaze darting anxiously. Fuck, I’m for it now… “Are you okay?” My head raised in surprise, jaw slackening. “I-I-” “The first altercation can always be a little… Uncomfortable.” He reached out, his fingertips brushing my arm gently, causing my breath to hitch in my chest. “I wanted to check on you – though he seemed far more inclined to a quiet cry for help than you were,” he added, grinning. I was momentarily dazzled by the broad smile, mouth working wordlessly. “I-I’m not… Easily intimidated,” I breathed, feeling my cheeks colour shyly at his closeness. “I could’ve taken him.” “I don’t doubt it,” he replied softly, leaning just a little closer, his head tipped slightly to one side in a way that made my heart stutter. “But we’re stuck together – it’s better if we don’t start throwing punches just yet, okay?” I nodded, and he smiled again, making my throat dry up nervously. I stopped breathing entirely as he moved even closer, his face an inch from mine, and his smile turned teasing, one side curled higher than the other as my lashes fluttered automatically. “I can’t open the door with you standing there.” Mortified, my face flamed, and I ducked out of the way quickly, stiffening at the sound of his soft chuckle. “You think you’re funny?” I snapped, straightening up and grasping the door myself, irritated and affronted by his amusement. “It’s very easy to make you blush,” he countered, his hand still on the doorknob as he met my gaze once more. “I’d say more entertaining than funny, though.” I scowled, jerking on the door, but his muscles simply tightened, the wood barely shifting as I strained. “Let me go.” His eyes assessed my face before he released the knob in surprise. ���… Did I offend you? I’m sorry. I was only teasing you.” I nodded, and he hesitated again, hand touching my arm gently. “I’m truly sorry, Sergeant Barnes.” I nodded once more, placated by the softness in his voice, his fingers trailing over the thin sleeve covering my skin and raising a line of goosebumps in his wake. “I- Thank you, Captain Tyne.” I inclined my head shyly, ducking past him as he opened the door for me, returning to my work confused and uncertain. What’s happening here?

#fandom: marvel #Character: James Buchannan 'Bucky' Barnes #Rating: T #fanfiction #mine #writers on tumblr #writing bingo #Win speaks #seasonal delights bingo #winter wonderland bingo #prettyshipboy❤️ #fandomfreebingo #Lt. Gregor Tyne #flufftober 2023 #Bucky Barnes x OC #fandom free bingo: frosty edition #multifandom flash bingo #cw: implied risk of violence

[reborrowing]

I don't usually write gt pet stuff because it's such a pain to get something compelling and believable that still has room for characters and plot, but there is a worldbuilding variant of it I keep kinda idly chewing on.

obvious content warning for pet trope discussion under cut

Basically "pets" were sold at some point in the recent past, marketed as somewhere between a toy and a pet and branded as an ingenious, but artificial, development. There's some initial backlash but overall, tinies are branded as especially convincing mimics by a family-oriented company that has an upstanding reputation. The “pets” catch on as a fad and a good chunk of the population has or wants one.

Over a couple of decades, it gets fairly normalized until it eventually comes out that no, the backlash was entirely warranted, these are absolutely, unquestioningly people, not clever simulacra. They were shrunk down by whatever HandwaveTech and sold off after conditioning. Public outcry continues to build, the involved companies are investigated and ultimately shut down. It takes longer to set up any real protections or entirely outlaw the process.

But more than that, there's no real way to find and reach out to victims on a large scale. A good number of them were initially sold as toys, there's no paper trails, and there’s no definite estimate as to how many are out there. Awareness campaigns and advocacy organizations crop up to help ex-pets escape or to provide shelter, but (especially before everyone had multiple phones/computers perpetually hooked up to the internet) it isn’t too difficult to keep a tiny in the dark about what happens beyond your property line. Once the issue has had its five minutes of fame, aid programs quietly fizzle. Anyone involved essentially gets to deal with it on their own.

So you end up with the usual g/t problems from being out of scale and unequal and can grab at the trauma and uncertain personhood from pet trope but it’s not quite as straightforward as victimized pet-race, oppressive giants, and protagonist-coded rebels. You can get younger tinies who've lived their whole lives free and tinies who have seen the horrors of what people will do to someone who can't fight back and tinies who've "gotten over it" and are good taxpaying citizens who absolutely refuse to talk about it and tinies that still believe their best bet is to find a caring not-owner-because-that's-illegal-now, who've only ever experienced kind dehumanization and can't fathom surviving any other way.

You can skip over good-aligned humans reasonably encountering tinies for the first time and going “oh my godddddd it never occurred to me that the tiny people-looking things might be tiny people, it’s time to do a 180 and become a white knight about this.” To an outsider, the problem’s already been outlawed and solved and they shouldn’t have to think about this tragic thing that happened, past tense. You can have mixed-size groups of activists without humans in the group Rejecting Societal Norms and getting stuck with samey character traits. There’s still space for characters who are ambivalent or fine with the idea of pets without coming across as off-the-wall evil because 20 years ago it was normalized and they never questioned it. In-universe, it would be more like an old guy being unapologetically sexist: unacceptable, but not entirely unexpected.

idk just like. Reflects some gray areas a little better than "collective humanity saw little guys and put them in cages and no one thought that was fucking weird until you, random nice guy protagonist" which is something I feel like I see a lot of.

#g/t #giant tiny #g/t idea

[dreaming-of-the-end]

echoes, saltwater, lemon juice (or: a lesson in pressing bitterness into wounds): Kam

A/N: In which i give them the unhealthy relationship they deserve <3 Love these babies. Hi @pissy-victorian-vampire, I’m your secret santa! you said angst of any sort soooo...

Summary:

Keefe leans forward, places his hands on either side of Tam's legs and presses their lips together, quick, warm. "I'm sorry about that." He's not.

"You're not," Tam says.

TW: kissing? there’s a brief mention of physical violence. also, death mention. and mental illness.

Taglist: @steppingonshatteredglass @real-smooth @sunset-telepath @melanie-schmelanie  @stardustanddaffodils @jaxtheoraliestanner  @song-tam @turquoise-skyyyy @completekeefitztrash @wu-marcy  @saintashes  @rune-and-rising @lavender-and-rainy-days @chasteliac @confusedamphibian @hellomyfriends @cadence-talle @kai-i-guess @callas-starkflower-stew @a-harmless-poison  @professionalwhalewatcher @theogony @gay-otlc @confuzzled-fox @almostfullnerd @athenswrites @synonymroll648 @squishmallow36 @xanadaus

"It burns you sometimes, doesn't it?" Keefe twists his paper napkin so tightly it rips, shreds of the stained white scattering over his black pants. "The memory, I mean."

He doesn't have to ask what he means. "Like lemon juice. Like saltwater."

Keefe's fingers trace the grainy wood of the restaurant table with difficulty, the surface probably still sticky from the syrup-soaked pancakes he'd finished less than five minutes previously. "Like echoes?"

Tam stays silent. His hands are at his sides: he's never liked the cheap fast food places, preferring the clean-cut elegance of his own kitchen over screaming children and food he can't trust. More than that, it's the effect of it all: the bright lights in his eyes, the under-flavored over-sugared food, the lack of privacy, the smack of chewing gum coupled with the constant thrumming of the kitchen fridge, the tacky orange booth seats that stick to his skin.

And this conversation is too rich for the mediocrity of his surroundings. There's must still be something to be said about nights under the stars in a clearing in the woods, or perhaps a dock in the middle of the ocean, or floating in space, filled with the possibility of nothing and everything all at once. These words don't belong here. But Keefe does—not in a way to call him cheap or tacky, but in a bright, everything-everywhere-all-at-once kind of way. He's everything loud, everything bright, everything overwhelming.

"You need the reminder," Keefe says, resolute, as stuck in his self-righteousness as Tam's fork is to the syrupy table. "It's not over, Tam."

"Can't it be done? Can't it have died with her?" Tam feels the warm scent of unwashed bodies brush his skin. He wasn't made for this.

"You know that you did this to yourself."

And he hates Keefe for saying it. He hates him more than anyone, with an overwhelming catastrophic desperation that makes the entire world fade away, because it's always been that way with him. Keefe is simple and complicated in a terrifying, tell-me-who-i-am-and-i-won't-like-the-answer kind of way.

You know you did this to yourself.

Add that to his list of mistakes. Along with falling in love.

...

Tam might have physical echoes, but Keefe's are just as tangible.

The thing is, it's impossible to measure who has it worse (not that it stops him) when Tam's power is the thing attacking him night after night, while Keefe's mind is the only thing holding him hostage.

He's been there during attacks, of course. The times Tam loses himself in nightmares and his shadows come to life on the walls, shadowflux taking physical form to rake scratches into the mellow blue wallpaper Keefe handpicked for their bedroom, foggy condensation dripping from the ceiling onto the sunny yellow sheets of their bed. Their room is falling apart around them, and Keefe can't lie. He doesn't lie anymore.

It's his fault. Tam's.

His fault for choosing to learn shadowflux at all. Umber's journals taught him to weave shadow arrows and knives, rend apart concrete as if it's paper, bring objects crashing down when they're trying to sleep.

It's his fault. But he knows the way it burns. Lemon juice, saltwater, the sting of a frown and the twinge of hate. He knows burning like his own name.

So he knows regret. It calms him somewhat, to know that it was his own fault that he has these nightmares. At least he doesn't have to deal with blaming Tam.

Every day, he sees her: light auburn hair pulled into a bun tight enough to stretch the scars on her face that he'd given her. Right before he ended that light in her cold eyes, the ones that live on in his own face.

Gisela is trapped in his mirror. He has to live with the knowledge that every day, she might escape.

Every time he stares into it, meets his own eyes (her eyes) he feels her a little more. The burning of hate, of the fight with Dimitar and the salt of the ring in his wound. Sophie's desperate eyes, tear filled with prepared grief, because she knew then who he is now, and it destroyed both of them. And so he lost her.

Keefe plays that moment in his mind over and over, but he can’t come up with a version where she doesn’t learn who he is, what he is. He can’t come up with a version where she doesn’t leave him.

Sophie was right to mourn him then. Didn't that make it better when he died? When his mother killed him every way but physically?

...

Tam does not know who they want him to be.

It's a game of fear and choices, both of which he has learned from a schoolbook, studying the art of it.

This is fear: when your nightmares come to life, when your partner clutches at your arm because his mother formed from shadows made real, when the ghosts take physical form and you are powerless to stop them because you learned too well how to make them and not enough of how to send them away.

This is choice: to leave or to stay, to live or to die, how to run and how to love, how to unpack his clothes into drawers or how to make promises and keep them, how to leave one for another, to trust in his safety and let those he loves leave his sight to go with another.

And it's an art, along the lines of painting or singing or the poems he scribbles in his private journal. A love letter to terror, asking it to please stop calling because I'm happy now, I promise I'm happy, I don't need you anymore. All these lies.

He knows lying better than fear. Better than choices.

Tam knows lies, like the ones he tells himself. Like it was my fault (trying to convince himself) when it's not. It wasn't.

It was his fault. Keefe's.

Because he picked up Umber's journals for him, memorized every word to make the shadows leak into Keefe's head correctly, twisted his own insides around to keep him safe.

He would do it all again, of course. Every time, he's the one to lose himself in the glory of being a shield: Linh's protection, Sophie's rock, Keefe's last shred of common sense. It's him who makes the sacrifice, him who chooses to be exiled, to join the Neverseen, to give bits and pieces of himself away in a bargain that cancels out the danger instead of fixing it. He’s a bandaid on a gaping wound.

So perhaps this is fear: when you've given enough of yourself away to not recognize your shadowed eyes when you see them in the mirror.

Perhaps this is choice: whether to go on as half a person, or steal yourself back and take some of them with you.

...

"It drowns you sometimes, doesn't it?" Keefe watches Tam's legs swing back and forth on the countertop, and presses his hands against the cool marble. The chill is a tether and a knife cutting him free from his body. "The anger, I mean."

Tam considers this. Or, he puts on his Thinking Face, the one where his head tilts to the side and his eyes get all wide and his mouth comes open just a little bit, waiting for the spark to come through the space and light an idea in his head. It takes him a little while to form an answer, and when it does, it comes slow, tight with guilt. "Of course."

Keefe leans forward, places his hands on the counter on either side of Tam's legs and presses their lips together, quick, warm. "I'm sorry about that." He's not.

"You're not," Tam says.

He likes the anger, and Tam knows it. The day the two of them stop being angry about what happened to them is the day they turn into their parents and start being angry about what other people are doing and thinking and saying. It has to go somewhere. They have to go somewhere.

Keefe shrugs. He's less furious and more simmering these days. He paints it, his anger, the coolness of ice and piercing eyes. They stare at him always, worse at night, worse with Tam's shades bringing his mother back to life like she hasn't been dead for nearly three years. "You're not, either."

"No," Tam agrees, and this time it's him who moves forward to kiss him. His breath is warm against Keefe's cheeks, and he uses that warmth to center himself. Cold at his palms, heat on his lips.

See, he wishes he can tell his mother, I can still feel. Killing you didn't break me.

Tam did, though. Broke him apart and remolded him. For the better, maybe, or for the worse, probably. With a fire in the pit of his stomach like the throwing star he'd landed in hers. He hates him a little for that: for making him a new version of himself that he doesn't entirely like.

It's an attack, Tam's hands on his cheeks, caressing his cheekbone with his thumb, pulling him closer, threading through the tangles of his hair like he's not a boy made of lemon juice, of saltwater, of echoes. An attack because of how much it hurts, in his lungs and blood and bones, as Tam's palms warm his icy skin and Tam's lips part his own and Tam's eyelashes brush against his cheek with their closeness.

Keefe writes his own name in the fog in the mirror after he showers so he doesn't forget it.

He lets himself forget it now.

#summer's writing #keefe sencen #tam song #kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #kam #shadowheart #songcen #songsen #angst #angst without a happy ending #<- i suppose #if i were made to write healthy relationships i wouldn't ship kam. sorry guys. #if i were made to write healthy relationships i would ship keefitz. actually. LMAO #anyways enjoy! #kotlc 2022 secret santa