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moremaybank · 1 year

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MELT — j.m

pairing jj maybank x fem!reader

summary snapshots of your swoon-worthy relationship with jj (based on the song "melt" by kehlani)

warnings none. hella fluff. also, soft!jj

author's note i left out the ending of the song because it just would've been redundant. i hope that's okay!

jj masterlist ;; valentine's event ‘23 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪

i can’t tell where your hair ends and mine begins

if i ain’t have all these tattoos, i would think that it’s your skin

if i move too quick past you, i would think it’s my reflection

being this close isn’t close enough

you could tell every time we touch, every time we, oh

security. harmony. joy.

these were just some of the sentiments experienced by being together. there was a certain safety that you’d found in one another. it wrapped around the two of you like a lush blanket, much like the one the two of you were constantly under, and the warmth from it surrounded your hearts. it was fiery and beautiful. so powerful that it could make you melt into one.

and you did. every day.

the bed was warm, the heat of your bodies radiating onto the sheets and thick covers. sunshine was beaming through the sheer curtains, allowing a golden aura to light up the dimly lit bedroom. fingers danced along bare skin, soft kisses being painted upon each other with love. there was a simple contentment you and jj found just by holding each other.

“i never thought i could love anybody like this,” jj murmured, lips moving against your temple as his hand moved up your side. his heated touch left goosebumps in his wake, making you shiver. “you feel like something i pulled straight out of my dreams.”

“what do you mean?” you asked. a shy smile graced your features as you shifted in his arms, your chest now pressed to his as your hand came up to his face. you let your fingers trace along his sharp features, once again in pure disbelief at how gorgeous your boyfriend really was.

he shrugged. “i don’t know…i guess i never really saw the point in falling in love until i met you. you changed my whole damn world with that heart of gold, baby. you’re the one who cracked my heart open. you’re the one who made me feel heard. you’re the one who made me feel safe. whenever i’m around you, my heart beats out of my damn chest. my mind goes all fuzzy, and i can barely catch my breath. i wanna be around you and hold you in my arms all the time. sometimes i wish i could live inside your skin.”

“that’s kind of gross, j,” you joked.

“shut up,” he chuckled in response, “i’m serious. look, the only thing my dad has actually ever taught me is that love hurts. but it’s not like that with you. you make everything better. i just love you so damn much.”

“baby,” you cooed, your eyes welling with tears of joy. you leaned in, capturing his lips in a sweet kiss. “i love you too. it’s you and me, j.”

“it's you and me."

wish i could build me a cute apartment

one-bedroom right where your heart is

inch of space feels broken-hearted

across the bed feels way too far and

i wonder when they see just one, do they see us two?

ooh, oh

there was a soul tie between you and jj. a healthy one formed with love. it kept you linked as if you were tied together with an invisible string.

even when the two of you were apart — which neither of you was ever thrilled about because if you’d had it your way, you’d be together all twenty-four hours of the day — you still felt so connected to each other. you both carried the love you shared in your hearts and souls and brought that love everywhere either of you went.

still, it didn’t stop either of you from being upset when you were forced apart.

“do you have to go?” you pouted as you watched jj pack his belongings into his backpack.

“baby, i’ve been staying here for three weeks now. i’ve been wearing and re-wearing the same shit. i need fresh clothes,” he laughed softly, looking at you from over his shoulder. “i’ll be back tomorrow, i promise.”

you sulked further, getting up from the edge of the bed and wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. the left side of your face rested against his shoulder blade as you cuddled into him. “you do know i have a washing machine, right?”

he turned around in your holds, cradling your face in his hands as he tilted your head up to look at him. “you know i don’t like leaving you. things would be easier if we lived together. that way, i’d be here all the time, and i wouldn’t be such a crap roommate to john b.”

you let his words sink in, the wheels in your brain turning as you thought of an idea. “so, let’s.”

“let’s what?”

“let’s live together. you’re always staying for weeks at a time, and it completely sucks whenever you have to leave. maybe you don’t have to anymore.”

jj cocked his brow, “are you serious?”

“as a heart attack, my love.”

with that, jj’s arms wrapped around your waist, and he lifted you up, twirling you around in the air. you both giggled away cheerfully, embracing each other tightly.

“i’m moving in, baby!”

that’s when i melt into you, oh-oh-oh

i melt into you, oh

that’s when i melt into you

melt into you, melt into you, oh

jj loved to watch you sleep.

not in a creepy way, but in a way where he could take the time to take you all in. the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest as you took each breath in. the way your long lashes kissed the tops of your cheeks lightly as they fluttered. the hints of a smile pulling at the corners of your lips subconsciously. you were so angelic; sometimes, jj struggled to believe that you were real and not just a figment of his wild imagination.

he remembered the first time he’d admired you in your slumber, deeming you his personal sleeping beauty.

you were at the chateau with the pogues, having come together for a movie night. you and jj were just friends at the time, but you were as close as ever, like two peas in a pod. you’d fallen asleep cuddled into his lap, one hand under your cheek and the other resting on his lower thigh, just above his knee. your touch sent a thrill through him, sparks igniting inside of him due to your warmth. your hair was out of your face, and the light from the tv cast over your features. it illuminated the dewy, natural glow of your skin, dancing along the tip of your nose, your chin, and the cheekbone that was visible to him. you were always beautiful to him, but there must have been something in the air that night because his heart threatened to burst just by admiring how peaceful you looked.

jj carefully smoothed a hand up your arm, landing on your shoulder as he traced circles onto your skin with his thumb. you shifted, still asleep, but your hand moved from his knee and grasped his. you wove your fingers with his and brought your joined hands to your chest, keeping them close to your heart. and that was the moment he knew he’d fallen in love with you so deeply that nothing could ever waver it.

and now, when you were deep in your sleep, you would reach out and pull him closer to you, just like you had that night. even if the two of you were skin-to-skin, as close as you could possibly be without morphing into one, you’d always wanted for him to be closer. and jj could never deny you because what he wanted was the same. he’d sigh into your scorching touch, kiss the nearest spot his lips could reach, and melt into you.

he hoped that every night for the rest of his life could look exactly like this.

matching your breath, follow your chest up and down

hopin’ you let secrets spill out your mouth and

inhale, exhale, breathe me in

with every breath, i’m sinkin’ in

no way to describe it, i’m a riot

if i wake up and i’m somehow beside you

instead of inside you, that shouldn’t surprise you

you don’t even notice, no need to remind you

you’d had past relationships before jj, and each time, you thought you had a good idea of what love was supposed to be. with every new romantic endeavour, each one better than the last, your perception of love grew more profound and poetic.

but as soon as you started spending time with jj, you discovered that you couldn’t have been more wrong.

being with jj just felt right. being with him gave you a stillness that seemed almost too good to be true. his love settled you. it grounded you on earth, though you felt like you were floating in space. it was a once in a lifetime type of connection, and you knew it would last.

“should i be nervous? we’ve been walking for a while, now, j,” you spoke, your eyes forced shut due to the blindfold jj had covered them with.

“shhh. we’re almost there, babe. this will all be worth it, i swear.” jj replied, guiding your steps from behind you. his hands were braced on your upper arms as he helped you walk, and his touch added the comfort you needed as you worried about where he was taking you.

“you know i can hear the waves crashing, right? and i can feel the sand underneath my shoes?”

“c’mon, pretty girl. play along,” he whined.

“alright,” you huffed, “i will.”

jj grinned, although you couldn’t see it as he continued to help you make your way toward the surprise he had planned.

“okay,” he said, coming to a halt. “stay there, don’t move. and don’t take the blindfold off until i say so.”

“um…okay?” you stood there waiting as you heard some low shuffling, and then what sounded like something being set down.

“alright, baby. open up.”

you removed the blindfold, and your gaze landed on jj. he was laying on top of a blanket set down on the sand. there was a picnic basket and a bouquet of roses to the right of him, along with a bottle of high-end champagne — one that you were slightly worried that he stole, but you put that on the back burner for now. the moonlight shone brightly, illuminating jj’s setup.

“what’s all this?” you asked, your voice nearly caught in your throat. he motioned you over with his hand, and you obliged, making your way over to him.

“i wanted to do something special for you. we’ve both been working non-stop, and we barely get to see each other. tonight was the first night that our schedules matched up, so i wanted to take advantage of it. give you the date night you deserved.”

you remained silent, and he chuckled at the evident shock on your face.

“is this your way of proposing?” you questioned.

jj laughed softly, grabbing your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles, “hell nah, babe. when i propose, it’s going to be ten times more extravagant than all this. you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

“lord help me if that’s true,” you spoke, your lips forming into a grin. you leaned in, giving him a slow, gentle kiss. “thank you for this. i love you.”

“i love you too, princess.”

jj tag list (join here!): @maybankslover @kittyqrt @v-velvetykisscs @hobiibobii @rafesdior @fool4him @hemogloban @pankhoeforlife @rafesmuse @lyn07 @houseofperfecttaste @qualitybelieverflower @dudenhaaa27 @princessbetsy123-blog @tori-loves1 @alexxavicry @kenzi-woycehoski @elijahssuit @skydisneylover @adoreyouusugar @obxjjpouge @conniesanchor @baby-maybank @angel037 @wotfasked @rafelover @penny4yourthoughts @adr1an4 @nerd505 @xngelsau @maybank-archives @p4nkowrld

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vilentia · 4 months

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Echoes of the Past

Steve Harrington x reader

Summary: You find yourself grappling with jealousy and doubt after discovering that your boyfriend, Steve Harrington, has been in contact with his ex-girlfriend, Nancy.

****

The crisp autumn air was filled with the rustle of leaves as you walked hand in hand with Steve Harrington through the streets of Hawkins. The once chaotic town seemed unusually peaceful, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing in your heart. Steve, with his disarming smile and unruly hair, was talking animatedly about his plans for the future, but your mind was elsewhere.

“...and maybe one day, I'll own a chain of ice cream shops, who knows?” Steve chuckled, squeezing your hand.

You forced a smile, trying to push away the gnawing feeling in your gut. It had started a week ago, when you accidentally stumbled upon a series of messages on Steve's phone. They were from his ex-girlfriend, Nancy. You knew you shouldn't have read them, but curiosity got the best of you. The messages were casual, but one had stuck with you: "Miss our talks. Let’s catch up soon?"

Since then, a seed of doubt had been planted in your mind, growing with each passing day. You wanted to confront Steve, but the fear of what his answer might be held you back.

“Hey, you okay?” Steve's voice broke through your thoughts. “You've been quiet.”

“Yeah, just tired,” you lied, forcing another smile.

That night, as you lay beside Steve, the silence of the room was oppressive. Your thoughts were a whirlwind of doubts and insecurities. Mustering up your courage, you turned to face him.

“Steve, can I ask you something?”

He propped himself up on one elbow, looking at you with concern. “Of course, what’s up?”

“It’s about Nancy…” you began hesitantly. “Are you... are you still in touch with her?”

Steve's expression shifted to one of surprise, and then understanding. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Yes, we’ve talked a few times. But it’s nothing, I promise. She just reached out to catch up, that’s all.”

Your heart sank. “Catch up?” you echoed, your voice barely a whisper.

“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” Steve said softly, reaching out to touch your face. “You know you’re the only one I care about, right?”

You wanted to believe him, but the seed of doubt had already taken root. Turning away from him, you whispered, “I need some time to think.”

The next few days were a blur. You avoided Steve, ignoring his calls and texts. You wandered through Hawkins, lost in thought, trying to make sense of your feelings. The Steve you knew was kind, caring, and loyal. But the echoes of his past with Nancy haunted you.

One evening, as you sat at the counter of the local diner, a familiar voice called out your name. You turned to see Nancy Wheeler walking towards you, her eyes filled with a mix of concern and curiosity.

“Can we talk?” she asked tentatively.

You nodded, and she slid into the booth opposite you.

“I heard you and Steve are having some trouble because of me,” Nancy began, her voice gentle. “I want you to know, there’s nothing between us. I reached out to him because I needed a friend, someone who understood what I went through in Hawkins. But it was selfish of me. I didn’t think about how it would affect you.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you listened to Nancy. The sincerity in her voice was undeniable.

“Do you still have feelings for him?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Nancy shook her head. “No. My life has moved on, and so has his. Steve loves you. I can see it in the way he talks about you.”

The conversation with Nancy brought a new perspective. Maybe you had let your insecurities get the best of you. You realized how deeply you cared for Steve and how much you missed him.

You found Steve sitting on the hood of his car, staring into the distance. As you approached, he looked up, his eyes reflecting the pain of the past few days.

“I'm sorry,” you began, your voice trembling. “I let my jealousy and insecurities cloud my judgment. Can you forgive me?”

Steve got off the car and walked over to you, his expression softening. “There’s nothing to forgive. I should have been more open with you. I love you, and I don’t want to lose you over something that means nothing to me.”

You wrapped your arms around him, feeling the warmth of his embrace. “I love you too, Steve. More than anything.”

As you stood there, holding each other, the doubts and fears that had once seemed so overwhelming now felt insignificant. You knew there would be challenges ahead, but as long as you had each other, you could face anything.

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staycalmandhugaclone · 3 months

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Identity Pt 7

Part (7) of Identity, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Yuh know... there are chapters that are just so much harder to write because I elected to keep Doc unnamed... I'm standing by that decision, but that doesn't mean I won't bitch about it on occasion

Warnings: Flashbacks/PTSD, description of torture, loads of angst, reference to gore, profanity, self-deprecating thoughts

WC: 3,926

“So much for keeping that squad of yours off my back.”

He’d already removed his helmet before I’d entered, yet my gaze still settled blindly on the dark transparasteel shielded beneath the extended ridge of his visor, attention absently noting how clearly the burnt orange reflected atop the polished surface of his pale desk, and I found myself remembering the immaculate attire boasted by those at the gala, how carefully the droids had been prepared for display, void of even a scuff of dust, yet Cody had made no effort to hide the marks left upon him by war.

So much of that brilliant orange had been worn and chipped away that the rays of light adorning his chestplate were nearly unrecognizable absent the memory of how clearly they once shone. Even the base white yielded to the grey of raw composite below from constant wear and abuse. He could have it repainted or replaced, could elect for a separate set entirely to keep pristine for these moments between battles, but he stood before me with no thought wasted toward such excess. He’d earned every scar carved into flesh and armor alike, and he wore them with neither pride nor shame but with the simple acceptance that they were a part of him.

My chest hitched at the belated realization that he’d spoken, that I’d been silent long enough to prompt him to call my name with a hesitant concern, brows drawing slightly together as his head ducked slightly to study me with eyes that I knew had seen the death of thousands of brothers yet still held such kindness. I gave a quick nod, tongue slipping over my lips in preparation for a response I hadn’t yet thought of.

“I think Wolffe has more to worry about from them than you do.” I offered, body shifting back to attention as though it might make up for how heavily my voice fell in something far closer to a mutter than a proper reply. Drawing in a quick breath, I tried to force some composure over myself, determined to dispel the commander’s worries.

“The initial stage of the mission went smoothly – I met with the contact and acquired the datachip, and reported a significant portion of the Separatist defenses to Commander Wolffe through the comm in the bracelet.” Cody didn’t move as I spoke, arms relaxed at his sides, gaze still focused on me, and I found myself wondering if he was searching for any sign that I’d been compromised; that I was damaged beyond further use to the GAR and unfit to return to my unit, and that thought was enough to send my heart racing, nerves lighting with fresh anxiety until my fingers tensed with the need to fidget.

“You’re not on trial here.” He murmured suddenly, and I froze, unsure if I felt caught – trapped – or if I could allow myself a taste of comfort offered in the gentleness of his voice, the softness of his eyes. Still, I cursed the way my breath threatened to shake. “I’ve seen soldiers with more years on the battlefield than you break from that kind of torture… It’s okay to struggle with what happened.” I wanted to turn away, to hide from everything he saw when he looked at me in that moment, and I was almost shocked at the anger that warmed my chest, unsure if it stemmed from some want to prove him wrong or simply from needing to prove to myself that it hadn’t broken me.

“I appreciate that, Commander. All the same…” I knew he gleaned no reassurance from the mediated determination forced into words spoken with far more strength than I felt, but pushed myself to continue regardless. “After the exchange, I continued patrolling. A woman took notice of me.” My lips twitched into the beginnings of a scowl at my ignorance in that moment but refused to let myself stop. “I’m afraid I never got her name, but I later learned that she was the one who orchestrated the gala; that she… handpicked each of the members in attendance.” I knew Wolffe’s report would have detailed all of this; that nothing I’d told him offered new insight, but such was the nature of debriefing: hearing the same story told from different mouths in search of any sign variation, for the smallest detail that might have only been noticed by accident in the hopes that it could reveal something profound.

“She asked me to dance. I attempted to decline but came to the conclusion that doing so might draw too much attention. Afterwards, the speaker was introduced – the same woman who’d approached me. She insisted I accompany her to the podium, which I now understand was her way of keeping me from leaving. Her speech had barely started when an explosion blew out the back wall.” The scent of ozone and burnt hair lingered beneath the subtle staleness of the ship’s recycled air.

“I understand you sustained some injuries from that explosion.” He prompted after a moment’s pause, and I gave another quick nod.

“Suspected concussion, some burns and bruises.” The brief, itemized response left me absent any emotion, thoughts sifting through the snips I could only barely remember; bodies undoubtedly void of life beside those vying to escape still burning debris; screams reverberating throughout a ceiling designed to echo music not the sounds of agony filling that elaborate hall. “Maybe a dozen guards surrounded the speaker. I couldn’t see her status, but she must have been alert enough to talk. One of them approached me. I was too disoriented to move, and they sedated me.”

I didn’t notice that he’d moved until he called my name, eyes flicking back up to find him now seated in the chair behind his desk, and part of me recognized exactly what he was doing; wanted to snap at him for thinking I needed such a rote example of physical de-escalation, shout my insult at his hope that some ancient part of my brain would recognize his laxed stance and find enough comfort in it that I might mimic him, but I could feel how quickly my heart raced, noted the stiff movement of my chest around too-shallow breaths, and I knew why he’d felt the need to try.

My gaze dropped to the chair beside me, hand hesitantly shifting to rest atop the pale plastoid. I imagined myself pulling it out enough to slip into the seat, thought of what posture might be most appropriate when finding oneself across from one of the highest ranking members of the GAR, and then I remembered how my body had strained against the reclined seat in that filthy cell, robbed of leverage and hope and autonomy, and I quietly let my hand return to my side.

“I’m not sure how long I was unconscious.” I continued as though nothing had happened, pointedly forcing my attention back to him. “I was restrained when I woke up. A man was already attempting to interrogate me. I-” My voice caught, jaw freezing at the memory of his callused fingers gripping me hard enough for the bone to ache. Breath fleeing lightly parted lips in a huff, I couldn’t keep myself from turning away once more, studying walls not tarnished with dirt and blood and all manner of nightmares.

“He wanted to know who was responsible for the explosion, then asked general things about me: my name, where I’m from.”

“What did you tell him?” I didn’t even try to look at him again, though I couldn’t dismiss my reluctant gratitude at how quietly he spoke, how free his voice was of any judgement or disappointment. My head shook before I could form an actual answer.

“I didn’t… I didn’t say anything.” The words felt weird as they dragged up my throat, as though my body was going through the motions of speech before my mind could anticipate the sensation of anything other than the burn of frigid water. “Then he put a cloth over my head.” I didn’t want to hear it. “Turned on a… spigot or… I don’t know – I couldn’t see where the water came from.” But my lips kept moving despite how my chest threatened to lock around what precious air filled my lungs. “He didn’t… It wouldn’t stop.” I remembered not being able to tell up from down as that icy liquid poured over me, remembered that first rush of true panic.

Again, Cody called my name, but that earlier softness was gone, replaced with something firmer, commanding, and it was just enough to rip my attention away from the deafening sound of crashing water. He wasn’t sitting anymore, stance rigid, hand clasped about the corner of his desk as though he’d paused midway to me.

“I want you to take a slow breath and tell me where we are.” He ordered, and only then did I realize how quickly my diaphragm bucked with rushed gasps. Shame sent heat up my neck and across my cheeks as I caught my lip between my teeth in an effort to force some control back over myself. Still, it took several seconds before I could bring myself to speak, breathing only just quieting.

“The Negotiator.” I answered roughly, unable to hide the annoyance in my voice, the disdain for my own weakness, but he drew no attention to either as he visibly eased the tension from his stance.

“Good.” There was no trace of condescension in that murmured word, and something about that left me feeling even more defeated, shoulders innately trying to tuck into my chest. “We’ll stop there for now. Take a day. Tend your injuries. We can finish this later.” My teeth ground against the violent rebuke sitting atop my tongue, mind balking at the thought of delaying this, of trying to walk away with that impending conversation looming over me.

“I’m fine. We can finish this now.” I stated firmly, expression pinched into something I hoped illustrated my determination rather than my fear. He didn’t respond for several, long seconds, but finally yielded with a slow exhale before motioning me to continue. I had to swallow back the stiffness in my throat, resettle the weight between my feet to convince my back to straighten.

“I was rendered unconscious.” Empty words, carefully void of all trace of emotion lest they cripple me. “The cloth was still over my eyes when I came to. The man immediately attempted to question me again – asking my name, who I worked with.” My head flinched at the ghost of water droplets hitting my forehead. “He repeatedly demanded I tell him who ordered the attack and who the primary target was.”

“Did you tell him about Commander Wolffe’s presence there?” Again, his voice fell into a gentle whisper, tiptoeing around the edge of pushing me too far, and part of me tried to remember that I should have rebelled against being coddled like that, but I merely shook my head in reply. “What did you tell him?” He asked softly. Something shouted at me to remain silent – to say nothing lest I reveal everything.

“I don’t know.” I muttered, faltering thoughts straining to remember who I was speaking with despite the rancid scent of filth filling the room that was somehow too light and too dark at the same time. “I… I said I didn’t know.” I clarified, neck seizing as I tried to swallow against the sudden dryness of my mouth. “And he’d… every time I did, he’d…” I choked around an attempt to clear my throat, eyelids straining to blink away the memory of that black fabric trapping me in utter darkness. “He’d pull the mask back down and… he’d wait until I was just about to pass out before turning the water off.” Something about my voice sounded wrong… drawn too thin… like my lungs were being stretched, squeezed.

“Did you tell him anything about the GAR’s involvement? Or the contact you were sent to meet with?” Again, I merely shook my head, unsure if my eyes were closed or if I’d feel that harsh fabric upon drawing my fingers over my face, and the sensation of cloth against my skin ruined me.

In an instant, my torso curled forward, hand clawing at my hair to rip away that wretched sack, my other arm thrashing against whatever held it trapped to my chest in sharp, desperate jerks that sent agony tearing through the joint. I couldn’t understand that the cloth I’d felt was from my own glove, that my arm was held fast by a split rather than those cruel restraints; that the frigid liquid soaking into my blacks was sweat as panic ripped all memory of thought from my mind.

The depth of familiarity that should have accompanied the voice echoing around me was muted beneath how violently my heart slammed against my ribs, the wheezed keening of frantic breaths stolen in what little time I knew lingered before that putrid water would again fill my lungs.

Something touched my arm, and my body reacted in a feral rush of terror, legs snapping out to launch myself away with enough force to nearly rip that coveted air from me at the powerful impact of my back slamming into the wall, and still I felt myself straining to escape, to vanish, feet pressing into the front of my boots until my toes ached.

“…otiator… safe…” Snips of words that held no meaning echoed amidst demands screaming from the shadows, questions I couldn’t answer laced between an icy guilt of knowing I was no better than the man torturing me.

“…eed you t…”

I couldn’t tell who was screaming, stomach churning at the scent of flesh burnt by blaster fire and explosions, and I sobbed at the knowledge that nothing I could do would get the bleeding to stop in time, that I deserved the hatred in his eyes in that first moment that understanding dawned on him even as his life slipped through my fingers.

“…member where… not…”

The shriek of my pistol morphed into his cries, and I realized I’d never bothered to note where his fingers had fallen, only felt the relief of watching him tumble closer and closer to breaking, to telling me what I needed to know, and I felt sickened at the certainty that the man in that cell had felt that same exhilaration granted by what self-deception promised us that fault lie only with the one refusing to answer our questions… how easy it was to believe that our cruelty was justified…

My body shied from a touch I should have known without thought, deaf to gentle words and blind to the concern darkening eyes I’d found comfort in so many times before. In that moment, however, I couldn’t remember the safety once so inherent to his presence, nerves screaming with a terror I had no hope of freeing myself from. He didn’t shy in the face of my panic, touch following me with a quiet persistence untainted by the impatient indifference that had left my jaw bruised and tugged so roughly at the sack clinging to my face between shouted questions, and, for that reason only, I found myself hesitating.

Trembling violently against a chill that no longer sank into my bones from fabric left soaked by hours of torture, I found myself again trying to find something beyond the memory of that almost perfect darkness, wide eyes darting all around for some glimpse of a reality that was lost to me.

“…d… don’t kn… I… I don’t know…” Was that my voice?

“Shh, just look at me, Doc.” Something swept carefully along the ridge of my cheekbone, and I felt myself flinch sharply away even as my mind longed to cling to the tenderness of that touch.

“N… I-I d…” Ruined, broken fragments of pleading words that I knew would bring me no relief stammered from lips shaking too violently to attempt real speech. Someone called my name, and I felt myself sob at the fleeting warmth laced through a smoky voice I so desperately wanted to remember.

“Just look at me, cyare… I’m right here…” I could feel the heat of his words washing over my cheek. There was no lingering stench of stale beer nor rancid sweat, no overwhelming taste of copper from old blood, and that didn’t make sense amidst the certainty of what nightmares engulfed me. “Good… that’s good…” He murmured, fingers shifting ever so slightly through my hair, and I couldn’t fight the shiver that swept down my spine. “I want you to try to breathe with me, Doc… nice and slow…” Was I looking at him? I couldn’t tell. My head swam, vision too blurry to make out more than churning colors… but… even that was different, brighter than the devouring darkness that had robbed me of all sense of self.

I vaguely understood that I was still pinning myself against the wall, fingers tangled into my hair as though it might keep that mask from blinding me again, that I’d slid down so far as to nearly be curled in a ball against the corner; that the man speaking so gently to me had lowered himself onto a knee at my side, callused hands delicate in how he cradled my face between them, how he wordlessly wiped away the line of tears falling from my eyes, and I somehow noted the slow rise of shoulders broadened by that familiar, dark armor illustrating his own mediated breaths.

“Come on, Doc… breathe.” It wasn’t a command. He was begging me. There was a whisper of logic reminding me of the dangers of hyperventilating – the way that imbalance of oxygen and carbon dioxide impairs cognitive function, how it increases blood pH and causes systemic upheaval; remembered that he could hear how quickly my heart was racing, smell the adrenaline flooding my veins. My hand tentatively shifted, fingertips just skimming the thick tendons lining his wrist, and I saw how quickly he stilled at my touch.

“H… Hunter?” I could barely whisper his name, only then realizing my eyes had locked onto his, and the way his body sank with a relief that should have left me ashamed only worked to further drive away dreams that I knew would haunt me for years to come. In that moment, though, I allowed myself to focus only on the man before me as his hand trailed lightly through my hair.

“Yeah… Yeah, it’s me.” He sighed, shifting his weight thoughtlessly in silent invitation, and I needed no further incentive, feet scrambling even as my legs folded uselessly beneath me, hand abandoning his wrist in favor of darting toward him for my arm to lock around the back of his neck in an effort to drag me closer. He didn’t hesitate, embrace instantly drawing me flush against his chest, and I sobbed at the familiar earthiness of his scent.

“I’ve got you, cyare… I’ve got you.” Another shiver tore through me at the warmth of his words fluttering atop my scalp, and I pressed myself harder against him because of it, the hand still trapped by that splint latching uselessly about the lip of his armor. “Alright… Just breathe, Doc… You’re alright…” How could I not melt into his touch at the softness in his voice, air fleeing me in a shuttered huff before forcing some steadiness into the next inhale, if only to hear the quiet “Good” whisper past his lips once more.

He made no effort to rush me as that panic gradually quelled, moving only to ease me closer against him as he leaned back to unfurl his leg, and I tried to ignore the static prickling up my own legs at nerves reawakened by the subtle change. I wondered if he was listening to the gradual slowing of my heart, if he was torn between the want to ask endless questions I was too frightened to answer or if he was too busy pushing back plumes of anger that the mission had clearly gone so wrong, forcing him to pick up the pieces… and then I felt that shame.

Body tensing, I couldn’t help but pull away from him slightly, head falling to my chest as my teeth burred into my lip. I could see his attention shift, gaze studying me expectantly though he kept purposefully silent. Cheeks warming as understanding finally dawned on me, as I realized just how deeply I’d broken and where, I stole only a quick glance around us, half expecting to find Cody watching with arms crossed about his chest and a knowing darkness in his eyes, but I saw no one else in the room.

“Cody’s outside with Wolffe.” Hunter explained quietly, and my brows drew together in confusion.

“Wolffe?” I asked, voice still too unsteady to keep from breaking.

“Cody called us both. I just got here first.” He explained, thumb absently dancing against my back. I took a moment to make sense of his words before a tiny huff of laughter escaped me, and my arms instantly tightened around him once more, but this time the gesture was driven by an affection I couldn’t bring myself to try to explain. I knew how far away the hanger was; could guess how much time had passed since I’d said my farewells to my old Commander, and I didn’t doubt just how hard Hunter had pushed himself if he reached me before Wolffe could.

At that, he paused slightly before returning the embrace. While that brief note of mirth was a desperately needed reprieve, it quickly ceded in light of the still wretched truth evident in the very need that had brought him so swiftly to me. I’d crumbled beneath the weight of all the horrors I’d done in those past weeks, beneath the horrors that had been done to me. There was no hiding from that truth; no means of denying the display of devastation and fear that had overcome me in front of the damn Marshall Commander himself… and a new fear brought back the ghostly chill that was so eager to whisper through my chest.

“Is… is Cody going to…” I couldn’t finish, my tentative grasp on control already threatening to cave at the mere thought of being discharged from the GAR because of this. It took him a moment to understand what I was asking, but then he answered me absent hesitation or doubt.

“No.” He leaned back just enough to meet my eyes, hand cupping the back of my head to keep my gaze turned toward him that I might see the conviction fueling his words. “He knows things have been… hard lately… and then this… but he’s leaving that decision up to me, and I’m not ready to let you go yet… Not unless that’s what you want.” He added, head ducking down slightly in an unspoken question. Unable to even try to respond, I quickly shook my head, overwhelmed by a relief I hadn’t begun to let myself hope for. He let out a carefully slowed breath before pulling me against him once more, and I finally managed to feel the stretch of air filling my lungs, the warmth of a safety somehow still untouched by a lifetime of terror, and I knew I would never be able to find the words to tell him just how much he meant to me, how desperately I needed him, so I merely hugged him harder.

Next Chapter

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suiseisyojo · 1 year

Text

because i am sinful, this body will rot away

「overblot!riddle rosehearts x gn!reader」 ↳ ever since you arrived in twisted wonderland, riddle had looked after you. the you who felt so lost and empty, they thought that maybe you'd accept whatever love you could get. cw: [name] is yuu/mc, general yan themes (one forced kiss), riddle's bg mention a/n: [pt. 1] just 1.5k of word vomit describing my adoration for overblot riddle♡

You don’t remember what it felt like to be whole, to be filled with purpose and meaning.

As tears speckled your dampening eyelashes, you blinked while a rush of scorching pain suffused through your body. Trembling in agony, your hands pushed your body upwards and you scrutinized your hazy surroundings.

Beyond the blanket of murky mist whipping around, massive bushes aligned with roses encased the garden of your resting spot; the shapes akin to hearts and royalty. Blotted card soldiers punctuated the outskirts around you, and your tongue felt sordid just looking at them.

“Where am I⋯?” you whispered to yourself, watching how your breaths reflected solemnly in the thick air. You could feel the bluster across your cheeks, pieces of thorns and twigs snapping through each [breeze], burning your legs and tearing apart your uniform. “Ah, that’s right⋯ Heartslabyul. Ace-kun and Deuce-kun were fighting——”

“[Name], this is what happens when you disobey me, and now,” a familiar, yet discordant voice called out to you from your pitiful silhouette on the ground, “are you going to be good for me; or do I have to punish you again?”

Peering upwards, your gaze fell upon 「Riddle Rosehearts」— heaps of ink coated his pallid skin and clothes as the daunting, oppressive figure of a beheaded queen emerged from behind him. The Queen of Hearts who operated solely on the arbitrary darkness of her own choosings, obsessed with order and control.

“I expect an answer when I’m talking! No response other than ‘Yes, Riddle-sama’ is acceptable!!”

Wretched misery smoldered behind the cavernous depths of his euphoric high—the high born from his inundation of blot. You look at him through your dazed stare; do you feel fear? Pity? Why do you have no desire to flee? Even with all this pain inflicted onto your body, you⋯ stay put.

“I-I’ll be good,” you choked out between heavy breaths, gradually beginning to lift yourself back up. A short distance from you laid an abundance of Heartslabyul students converging together in piles.

Just what did he do?

“——But are you okay, Riddle-san?”

The question spilled from your lips in a soft whisper, a prayer spoken from your heart. It had Riddle’s eyes widening, a flick of his wrist following as the gargantuan blot queen floated rapidly towards you.

Drip, drop.

You blinked and in an instant you felt yourself being scooped up into its frigid, slimy hand. Your back pressed against its palm, the inky blot roiling beneath you, and its elongated fingers confined you into its clasp.

Drip, drop.

Heeled shoes dug into eroded grass as Riddle sauntered over to you with precise steps, and he extended his hand to you.

“How am I expected to trust you’ll listen to my rules without disobedience? Do you think asking some foolish questions is going to save you from not answering?” Riddle asked austerely, his ink-stained fingers tracing along your quivering jaw, smearing splatters of blot into your skin.

Slowly, you shook your head; your own quietude was eerie, yet you couldn’t help but to continue looking upon him. Your precious Riddle.

“I understand what happens if I don’t listen to you,” you answered as you steadied yourself in the queen’s hand, a delicate hand coming out to touch his tarnished cheeks. You needed to placate Riddle, not exacerbate his rampage.

“Hm, do you really understand? If so, then, kiss me,” Riddle ordered with a sardonic smirk, his hot breath fanning across your cheek as his mouth brushed against you. “Ever since you came here, you’ve been far too vulnerable. Ah, but I suppose your kindness is my sin to keep, isn’t it?”

Fluttering your eyes shut, you felt trepidation pervade in your gut.

Is he all you know in this strange world of Twisted Wonderland, and thus you can’t bring yourself to leave his side? No. It’s because you’re becoming him; engulfing everything he has to offer and storing it inside you. You can’t separate yourself from him—not when you both need each other to feel full, whole.

You knew the hole in Riddle’s heart is so deep, he can feel how it aches with his every breath. And if you reached into his chest and searched for something, anything, your hands would only end stained in black.

That’s why, at this rate, he’s going to fill you up with pitch-black ink too.

Distantly, a child cries. Somewhere far within the rose maze, guarded behind rows and rows of card soldiers, lies 「a child bound by rules with no reason」.

Underneath your fingertips, you could feel a faint thrumming starting; it was warm yet lonely, inviting and calling out to you—begging for you to stand back up against the blood red queen in front of you.

Ink dripped and trailed from his face onto yours as you felt his mouth connecting with yours, deep and forceful. As if this kiss was an absolute sacrament that was meant to happen in the warped wonderland Riddle wished to create.

As Riddle parted from you, leaving a heavy blot along your lips—a stain of a reminder to everyone that this day, you had been marked, claimed by him—his smirk only imposed onto you an unending yearning.

“‘I’ want to bring him back⋯!”

As if galvanized by the invisible voice that wept out for you, your hands shoved against his chest and you stumbled from the interstices of the queen’s fingers. Tottering to your feet once more, you held onto yourself tightly⋯

“——After them! Don’t let them escape, soldiers! Capture them, now, now, now!”

⋯so tightly your numbed fingers could feel the force in which you dug into your own flesh.

Riddle’s horrifying screams resounded behind you as card soldiers upon card soldiers pursued you, the unjust ire emanating from him nearly tripping you.

You followed along a vein of heat that permeated beneath the soles of your shoes into the Rose Maze, granting feeling to your nerves, and you looked desperately for the source of the wailing. Your vision was obscured by the frenzied mist, scattered streaks of blot deluged the billows of grass and roses, and you spotted a shimmering red glowing from deeper within.

Glimpsing behind you, from above the hedges, you espied the lances of the soldiers bouncing up as they ran and ran, getting closer to your position. Of course they would know the maze’s layout better than you, this is your first time inside it.

You fixated on following that red light, turning around twisting corners until you lost your footing from a vine; you barrelled into the hedges, rolling until you were stopped by an invisible force.

Despite the pain, you brought your gaze onto the new area of the maze—in the farthest reaches.

A red gleam shone around you, pitch-black silhouettes of teacups and books and treats swirled around the air. In the middle of this vacant-feeling space was a sobbing child, one with red hair and despairing eyes.

“You’re,” a hiccup, “finally here!”

“Riddle-san⋯?” Mesmerized, you slowly made your way over to the child. His sobs were lagging, matching that of your weak breathing, and you could feel his pain burn your skin even from the distance you were at.

You sauntered over to him, steadily as to not trip again, and extended your hand out. The closer your fingers reached for him, the more emotion that swelled in your chest.

This dream truly felt alive to you, as if he was wailing out.

And you still didn’t know why the fog obfuscating your mind wasn’t lifting, making you so readily accept an irregularity such as this but you can’t help but feel like you belong here—as if you were always meant to find and comfort this crying child.

Why had they brought you here? You wondered, the question gyrating before dissolving into nothingness as a memory of misery filled your aching heart.

A young Riddle clinging onto his mother’s dress as hot, thick droplets of tears cascaded down his flushed cheeks; mortification and devastation contorting such an innocent countenance. Apologies spewed from his lips, the once glistening strawberry tarts he longed for colorless and rotten.

Your arms enveloped the young Riddle, laying your warmth over his tender flesh.

“[Name], we were waiting all this time for you,” he spoke, his voice garbled and distorted, reminding you that this was nothing more than an afterimage, “Ever since you arrived in Twisted Wonderland, we felt right again. You’re not going to abandon us, are you?”

“Abandon Riddle-san? No⋯ I-I couldn’t,” you whispered, fingers carding through the young boy’s hair as you spoke with a mollifying tone; to soothe and comfort his hurt.

“Yay! Because you need us too,” he told you, his hand coming up to rest over your chest; feeling the heat of your heartbeat, “you came here because you were empty. You need someone to fill in the pages of your lonely, empty soul. But that’s also why⋯ you have to bring him back.”

Your blurry, tear-soaked vision continued to ravage your grasp on the situation; you sat there, holding onto the young Riddle, overburdened by bits and pieces of memories from the past. What were you suppose to do right now?

Just as that thought entered your mind, you heard the sound of swift footsteps as card soldiers flooded into the hollow space; and you squinted your eyes to see them better.

Their thin lips moved, and all you could hear was, “Queen Riddle ordered us to bring them back—or it’s off with all our heads!!”

And you were subsequently drowned in black as every single soldier pounced on you at once; and you vividly remembered in that moment using your body to shield the young Riddle from their onslaught.

#riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #x reader #overblot #overblot riddle #gn reader

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yetanothersparrowofthedawn · 5 months

Text

River

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.6k

Pairing: Jake x Reader

Genre: Angst, Hurt, ex!Jake

Synopsis: Jake hasn’t healed even months after his ex-girlfriend Y/N said ‘I do’ to another man. After one night of desperately trying to hold onto Y/N, will he get back the woman he loves, or was it all nothing but a mistake?

For a bit of context while I try and write what came before: Y/N is a super successful singer-songwriter although it’s not super relevant in this chapter. She has been close friends with the members of Greta Van Fleet, for several years. She had a tumultuous yet terribly passionate relationship with Jake that ended not very well (you’ll see), although they eventually figured out how to remain on good terms for everybody’s sake.

Disclaimer: English isn’t my native language, so I apologize in advance for mistakes and awkward wordings to come. Also, I guess this fic could be triggering for some because it’s kind of sad and angsty.

Previous Track: Prayer Factory

Chapter soundtrack : River – Joni Mitchell

Oh, I wish I had a river, I could skate away on. I wish I had a river so long, I would teach my feet to fly.

Alright let’s get into this,

Christmas music was playing softly in the warmth of the Styles household. The young couple had decided to host a Holiday party together for their close friends in their newly purchased London home. Kids were running around everywhere, stuffing their face with appetizers, while grown-ups were enjoying more than a few glasses of wine around the crackling fireplace, or in the sitting room.

Harry, however, was busy looking around for his wife with a frown on his face. He had barely seen her since the arrival of the first few guests.

“Hey, Gemma, do you know where my beautiful wife might be?” he asked his sister.

“I’m not sure, although she did tell me she was going to the loo about half an hour ago.”

Indeed, the hostess was still in the master bathroom upstairs. Far from the picture of holiday spirit, she was sitting on the tiled floor, with her arms wrapped around her knees, surrounded by a pile of tissues and mascara running wildly down her cheeks.

“Shit. Shit. Shit,” she whispered, for what felt like the hundredth time, as she heard footsteps heading in her direction. She took some more toilet paper to blow her nose, jumping slightly as she heard a soft knock on the door.

“Y/N, come out, love, everyone’s here,” she heard her husband say.

She got up, flinching as she looked at her reflection. God, she really looked like shit, “Um, you should go back down, I'll be right behind you, I’m just touching up my makeup”, she said, hoping Harry wouldn’t be able to notice the shakiness of her voice.

“Are you okay?” he asked, clearly worried.

“Of course, I am” she answered. She was relieved to hear him walk back downstairs.

Of course, I am, she thought. Was she really, though? Definitely not. She quickly put all her mess into the tiny bin, before starting to work on her hair and face. Just get through tonight, she thought, just tonight.

“Ah, there she is!” everyone cheered upon seeing her walk down the split staircase, her silky dress flowing beautifully behind her and her makeup opaque enough to hide any previous meltdown.

“Sorry I kept you waiting. You know I love making an entrance,” she giggled, trying to hide her nervousness behind a sparkly smile. No one seemed to notice anything wrong as she went around the room, greeting everyone one by one, cracking a quick joke here and there.

Most of the guests were Harry’s friends and colleagues, but Y/N didn’t mind that much, she understood London wasn’t exactly an ideal location for most of her friends. Plus, she had gotten rather close to her husband’s inner circle. It didn’t quite feel like family just yet, but it would come, or at least that’s what she hoped.

“You look a bit pale sweetheart,” Harry’s agent told her laughing, “here, have a drink it’ll loosen you right up”.

Y/N hesitantly took the champagne flute he was holding out to her, mumbling a quick ‘thank you’ and excusing herself before heading to the empty reading room. She let out a sigh of relief as she heard the door close behind her, shutting any noise out.

She loved that room; it was always so quiet and cozy. The walls were covered in her favorite books, and the grand piano was almost buried under a mountain of sheet music and song drafts, both hers and Harry’s. The back wall, however, was very neatly organized. It was where they had decided to place their award shelves.

Without even realizing, she approached one award in particular. It was her second Grammy, which she’d gotten a few years prior. Next to it was a picture taken at the ceremony’s after party. She grabbed it gently, a sad smile spreading her face. It was of her with Josh, Danny and Jake. Sam had taken it while in his disposable camera phase.

She brushed her thumb across Jake’s face, her throat drying up, before shifting her attention back on the glass in her hand. She contemplated the idea of downing it in one swift movement. God knew she needed a drink. But she wasn’t sure it would be wise.

Screw it.

She weakly brought the glass up to her lips but was interrupted as she heard the door open and footsteps approaching from behind her.

“You look beautiful,” Harry whispered in her ear. He laid a soft kiss on her exposed shoulder and wrapped one arm around her waist, his hand landing on her belly. She stiffened at the sensation. “Are you okay?” he asked, genuine worry on his delicate features.

“Yeah, I’m good, don’t worry,” she answered, smiling, setting the frame back onto the shelf. And delicately putting the glass down.

But her husband wasn’t fooled, he could feel that something was going on. Truth was, something had been going on for a while. Y/N had been distant, and quiet, very different from the sunny and bubbly girl he’d married just a year prior. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get her to open up to him. He was worried his job had started taking a toll on their marriage, since YN’s strange behavior had started when he’d come back from a press tour to promote his new album. Then again, Harry knew she had herself been working on some projects and even spent a couple days with her friends in Barcelona while he was away, so she’d always kept busy.

“Are you sure?” he insisted.

“Just tired,” she hummed, absent-mindedly, “who would’ve thought hosting Christmas would be so stressful?”

But Harry wasn’t satisfied with his wife’s answer “Y/N, you look-”

She gently slid out of his arms and walked towards the arched window; it was pouring outside. “I told you I’m fin-”, but they were both cut off by a strong voice coming from the foyer.

“Alright everyone, picture time!”

The reading room was suddenly silent for a few seconds, neither of them wanting to argue, neither of them knowing what to do or say. Y/N was the first to move, setting her glass down on the windowsill and walking past him and towards the exit.

“Y/N-” he sighed, his eyes never leaving her figure.

“You heard them,” she answered, smiling sadly back at him, “it’s picture time.” She quickly vanished behind the mahogany doors.

Harry was left alone in the study, with nothing to listen to but his own thoughts. He couldn’t understand what had been going on. Out of curiosity, he glanced at what Y/N was holding when he’d walked in. He felt a wave of guilt wash over him as he took in the picture frame.

Of course, he thought. She’d told him all about how she’d been spending the Holiday season in Michigan for the past few years. It must’ve felt weird celebrating Christmas without her boys for the first time in so long. Harry felt a lump settle in his throat. He’d taken her away from her family. Of course, he’d hoped he would’ve had become her family by then, but he knew Y/N and the Greta boys had a special bond that was hard for outsiders to understand. They were the family she’d chosen. And she was the only person that they had ever truly let in.

Without thinking, Harry took his phone out of his pocket and dialed his assistant’s number, “Hey, yeah, I know, I’m sorry, I just need you to do something very quickly for me.”

Harry walked quickly to the foyer, finding everyone standing around the staircase, facing the photographer. He walked to the middle of the crowd and next to Y/N, who still looked as absent as ever. But this time he chose to lay a soft kiss on her temple. “It’s okay, I’m sorry, I love you darlin’,” he said softly against her hair.

Except it most definitely was not okay, he did not have to be sorry, and should not have loved her. Y/N felt tears filling her eyes as the guilt once again ate at her. She discreetly wiped a stray tear. There wasn’t anything she could do now, was there?

“Everybody, say cheese!”

She turned around to face the photographer, H/N’s hand wrapping around her waist, a wide smile spreading across both of their faces.

“Cheeeeese!” everybody yelled.

To say Y/N was exhausted would’ve been an understatement. The party had ended being a lot of fun for everybody, perhaps a tad too much fun, as the last guest had left in a cab long after 3AM.

She yawned as she took off her jewelry and heels, before heading to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Y/N heard her husband’s soft snores coming from the bedroom and couldn’t help but smile a little as she remembered his sister had spent the night warning him against the spiked eggnog. He clearly had taken her advice lightly and had ended up getting completely hammered.

She started taking her makeup off, lazily throwing her used wipes in the bin. She froze for a second. The girl wasn’t tired enough to have forgotten the reason why she’d been sobbing on the floor just 6 hours earlier.

She slowly shut the bathroom door, flinching when the lock clicked loudly. She got down on her knees and started rummaging through the trash, only to let out a painful sigh when she noticed her worst nightmare hadn’t disappeared. Yep. The tests were still in there. All three of them, mocking her with their baby blue lines.

Positive.

Hope you liked it! Once again, don't hesitate to send me whatever or leave comments I’m always happy to get feedback xxx

Masterlist

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honey-flustered · 2 years

Text

Cruel Little Vixen 3

Rockstar!Perv!Eddie Munson x Journalist!Reader

Enemies to Friends to Lovers (18+ MDNI)

Summary: You’re on the cover of a Magazine! That’s not good news. If your going to protect your career, do not mess with rockstars. But damn, does he make it hard for you to want anything else but him?

A/N: Wanna say thank you for the amount of support I’ve been receiving for this story 🤗😱❤️ It’s been really fun writing these and sharing them with you and I love hearing the feedback the most! I hope that this next chapter here will peak your interest in this story further because there will be some smutty goodness as well as very heartfelt and fluffy moments with a hints of angst here and there. Next chapter will have a two week time jump as well. Again, thank you all for reading and supporting and I hope you…Enjoy!

>>>>>Series Masterlist Part 3 of 8

Word Count: 6.1k+

Warnings: graphic language, some blood and fighting, fluff, pining, kissing, some fingering, ANGST, mentions of cheating (non main character), toxic idiots in love, some cum eating, hinted spit kink, gagging (with fingers), ‘daddy’ kink

Your strapped heels hung around your fingers, as you stumbled towards his front door. Eddie follows close behind you so you wouldn’t fall. You had asked for him not to touch you, fearing you’d throw up all over him. But some part of you believed that the true reason was: those drinks made you kinda horny. You look back at him, his jaw clenched with anger. Angry Eddie was infuriating but looked so, so good.

Okay, you were now more than “kinda” horny.

You leaned your head against the wall, waiting for him to unlock the door. “You embarrassed me in front of the cute guy.”

He unlocks the door, sighing. “I actually saved you from embarrassing yourself.”

Eddie gestures you to go in first. You rolled your eyes, crossed your arms and walked in. There’s a hint of a sensual sway to your hips that you hadn’t voluntarily added. Your body was trying to betray you.

Behave!

You tried to walk up the stairs only to resort to crawling instead. You were sure you looked pathetic and Eddie chuckling behind you confirmed this. You glare at him over your shoulders, hair falling over your face like you were some possessed stair demon.

“Let me help you.” He lifts you bridal style into his arms, causing you to gasp.

“I thought I told you not to manhandle me.”

“We’d be here all night if I let you go on your own. Besides, you could seriously use some rest right now.” He climbs up the steps and, without thinking, you wrap your arms around his neck, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Do I look so bad that I’d need a serious rest?” You yawn.

“You look very beautiful tonight, actually.”

“You mean that?”

“Mhm. I always think you look pretty. Just that tonight…I got to see you in a new light. You were smiling and laughing. I thought you were having some kind of stroke or something. That’s how shocked I was seeing that coming from you. You should smile more.”

“Oh, you did not just say that.”

“Was that a shitty thing to say?”

“Oh yeah. Kinda sexist.”

“Then, I’m sorry. What I’m trying to say is: I’d really like to see you smile and laugh more…around me. Like I’d like to be the cause of it sometimes, ya know.”

You raise your head, blinking adoringly at him as his face turned a light shade of pink. He sets you down upon arrival in his room. You rush over to his closet for some clothes.

“Trying to steal more of my clothes, I see.” He says, sitting at the edge of his bed.

The mirror on his dresser, shows a reflection of you in the closet. You’d forgotten to shut the door, undressing in full view before his eyes! He quickly averts his gaze from the mirror but couldn’t help peeking every now and again. Eddie decides to frustratingly do the right thing.

“Closet door’s open! I can, uh, ya know…see you undressing.”

Eddie expected you to scream or call him a pervert but instead he sees you shrugging through the mirror. He’s surprised. Was it the liquid courage or did you actually not care?

“It’s fine. Not like I’m naked or anything.” You pull on an oversized sweater. Making your way into bed, you seated beside Eddie with your legs crisscrossed.

“Better?”

“Yes,” You twiddled with your thumbs. “Erm, you’re not sleeping in the same bed with me…are you?”

“Would you want me to?”

Did he have to ask you that while looking so appetizing? You’d never seen his hair put up before but it made you feel tingly between your legs.

“N-no.”

He looks at you, unconvinced. “Then, no. I’ll respect your boundaries.”

“Wow, thank you. You’re awfully sweet tonight.”

“Also, I couldn’t lay in bed with a girl drunk out of her mind. What if you puke all over me?”

“Aaaand the moments gone.”

He laughs, rising to his feet. “If you need me, I’ll be staying in my Uncle’s room. He’s visiting a friend in California, won’t be back til tomorrow. So, I’m absolved from couch duty. If you need me, though, I’ll be two doors down. Don’t be afraid to say the phrase if there’s an emergency.”

“What phrase?”

Instead of telling you, he simply walks out of the room, leaving you perplexed

“Dude, what’s the phrase?” Silence. You scoffed, throwing the comforter over your body. “Whatever!I’m too drunk for this shit!”

“That’s the phrase!” Eddie calls out from the hallway and you break into laughter.

—————

You found yourself awake in the middle night. Everything felt disoriented, the room spinning. You nearly forgot you were in Eddie’s bed but the scent of his cologne drew you back to reality. Attempting to go back to sleep, you squeezed your eyes shut. No matter how hard you tried your mind ran a mile a minute thinking about all the things in the world. Thinking about…him.

You groaned, shooting out of bed. You make your way down the hall, two doors down as he said. The door’s open a crack but you knock, anyway, before entering.

Eddie’s up, too. His eyes following you as you sauntered over to his bedside. You look down at him, him up at you.

A small smile on his face as he pats the empty space beside him, inviting you to join him. You smile back, entering the bed and he immediately wraps the comforter around you. Neither of you having to say a word.

——————

The sun shining on your face awakens you. You have a massive headache the size of Texas. Yet, when you felt Eddie’s breath against your neck it felt like instant pain relief. His face was currently nuzzled into your neck, an arm wrapped around you. Your back pressed tight against his front. You didn’t want to disturb him but you needed to get home.

“Eddie?” You whisper-yell.

Nothing.

“Eddie?” You repeat, slightly frustrated.

Again nothing.

You take matters into your own hands, physically removing his arm around you. He groans his annoyance, curling it around you tighter.

“Eddie, I need to go.”

In his most sexiest, raspy voice…Eddie says, “Five more minutes.”

You were putty in his hands, ready to molded in the way he wished. That moment, you’d do anything. Anything. So those five more minutes would be exactly what you’d give him.

You’d lost track of time being in his arms so much so that you hadn’t noticed time was up until Eddie finally rolled away. You turned to watch him as he stretched, sunshine cascading on his face. You hadn’t noticed he had light freckles on his face. You wish you could stay in bed all day and count them.

His attention lands on you. “How do you feel?”

“Like shit.”

“Knew you would.” He chuckles.

“I have to go. I need to change if I’m going to look somewhat presentable meeting up with my boss.”

“You’ll be passing by the studio, right?”

“Mhm, you’re not getting rid of me that easily.” You winked.

The smell of pancakes and bacon wafts your nose. You could really use some bacon to get rid of this headache. But who could possibly be cooking right now if Eddie was in bed with you?

“Looks like the Old Man’s back home.” Eddie says.

“Y-your uncle?”

Eddie nods.

“I don’t want him to see me like this,” You panicked. “He’ll think I’m some girl you’re sleeping with.”

“He won’t. You should meet him. He’s really friendly once you get to know him.”

“Uhhh, I’m not sure if I—”

“Know what…I’ll introduce you.” He springs out of bed, taking your hand and drags you out of bed.

“No wait! I’m not ready!” You say, trying to bring your weight down to keep yourself from moving but he was a lot stronger than you.

“Come onnn, don’t be shy.” He chuckles.

“Fine, can I at least put on some decent clothes? I’m not meeting him in only an oversized sweater.”

“Okay, okay. Deal.” He lets you go.

You dress up in last night’s attire. Although, you still looked a little too revealing to meet with him, it was better than being practically half-naked. Eddie also took the time to freshen up as well while you prepared for your impending departure.

You had your things bunched in your hands when Eddie decides to walk out of the bathroom wet from his shower, towel around his waist and hair clinging to his face. You nearly drop your items to the ground instead your mouth takes that action as you gawked in pure carnality. His yummy chest glistening with droplets of water, the soft yet toned abdomen that you wished to explore, the happy trail and the v-line that led to…Fuck! He knows I’m staring. Quick! Pretend that you’re just admiring his tats.

“Never seen that many tats before.” You say, breathlessly.

He flexes a little and you feel an aching throb between your legs. “Yeah. Thinking about getting more. You’ve got any?”

“No.”

“We’ve gotta add that to our agenda.”

“I don’t know. I’ve always thought I’d somehow make tattoos look lame.”

“Anyone could have tats? The Old man’s got some, too. You’d actually looked pretty badass with one.”

You contemplated, then settled. “Okay! Why the hell not? I’m the new and improved fun Y/n. I’m cooler than cool.”

“Please stop talking. You’re starting to sound,” He laughs. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be getting dressed. Would you like to stay and watch?”

“I’m going downstairs.” You say, giving him a bored look.

“I’m only teasing, little vixen.” He winks.

You tiptoed down the steps, spying on the tall older man in a flannel shirt, working away at breakfast. You very well believed that you hid yourself well enough that he didn’t see you.

But as if he had eyes on the back of his head, with his back facing you, he waves. “You can come down them stairs, little lady. Breakfast’s almost ready.”

Your eyes widened. Busted. You climb down the remaining steps. meeting him.

“Hello, Mr. Munson, my name’s Y/n of Tone Magazine. Whatever you saw up there…it isn’t what it looks like. I’m only Eddie’s journalist for the time being. Strictly professional relationship here. I’m a no nonsense kinda—“

“I know you,” Wayne says, cutting off your rambling. “Eddie’s already told me about you.”

“Oh, really? Good things, I hope.”

“Great things, actually. Told me you were a great writer so I read you work. That article you wrote captured him perfectly. A huge pain in the ass, that boy is.”

You laughed. “I’m glad you like it. But don’t you worry the next series of articles will be a lot kinder. I don’t want yo thinking I dislike him. Actually, I find Eddie…fascinating. A musician worthy to explore.”

“Yep, the kid’s pretty special. A little hard headed but that’s because he’s never wants to quit even when the tough gets going. He’s had a rough life, but he turned out a good man.”

“A good man raised by a great man. He’s told me about how much he appreciates you. It’s good that he has you.”

Wayne nods. “I think it’s the other way around.“

Eddie comes in, noticing you laughing and smiling with his uncle and there’s this feeling of peace that courses through him. Like he could finally trust you.

“What’re you saps talking about?” Eddie teases.

“You.” You and Wayne say at once.

“Oh, boy. What’d I do this time?”

“Me and Y/n are good friends now, Eds. You hurt her and you’ll have to answer to me.” Wayne playfully threatens.

“I leave you guys alone for about 5-7 minutes and now you’re both working against me?” Eddie laughs. “Hey, Old man, you think you could make that hangover remedy juice for her? She went all rockstar last night.”

“Luckily for her, I already made some. I figured I’d come home to find you drunk as a skunk. Pleasantly surprised it’s the opposite.” Wayne says.

The rest of the breakfast went really well. It was the most relax and wholesome experience that you hadn’t anticipated while in the presence of Eddie Munson. Yet, here you three were having a nice chat over breakfast as if it were something you normally did. You left the home genuinely happy enough to start the day.

——————

You got home to change for work when you heard sobbing coming from Chrissy’s room. Your heart sank. Though, you didn’t know the reason why she’s crying just yet, you hated to hear her sad.

You knocked on her door. She sniffles a bit. “Yeah?”

“Can I come in?” You say, sincerely.

Another set of sniffles. “Yes.”

You pushed the door open, noticing her curled into a ball in her bed. You rushed over to her side. “Hey, pom-poms. What’s wrong?”

“It’s Billy. H-he’s cheated on me.” She says, going to another crying fit.

You stroke her hair. “Oh no. What happened? You guys were so happy last night.”

She sits up. “Last night, right after you left, some girl came in asking for Billy. I thought she was a good friend or something. Yeah, real real good friend, apparently. She said she’s his girlfriend and I’m like ‘no I am’. Turns out, he’s been dating her before me which means I was the other woman. So, technically he cheated with me.”

“That fucking asshole!”

“Right! I ended up leaving in a cab last night.”

“I’m sorry, poms. I wish I stayed longer. I wouldn’t have ever let you go in a taxi alone that piss-drunk.”

“No, no,” She says, wiping her eyes. “It’s okay. You were wayyy drunk compared to me. Like wayyyy.”

“Well, that’s little excessive but to each their own.”

She laughs. “Don’t make me laugh. I’m supposed to be sad.”

“Right. Sooo, do you wanna go pop his tires? My keys are really sharp.”

She quirks her head back in surprise then laughs again. “When did you get all ‘Godfather’ on me?”

“I’ll do anything for you, babe,” You wink. “I have to get ready to meet with my boss today but maybe you and I could hang out a little after?”

“Won’t you have to meet with Eddie?”

“Oh, right. Oh! Maybe, you can come along! That’ll get your spirits up. Eddie and his bandmates will be recording in the studio. We’ll get to see some music-making magic.”

“That sounds fun,” Chrissy twirls a finger in her hair, nervously. “Speaking of Eddie…there’s a new Hey Hello Magazine issue that came out today. Promise you won’t freak out if I show you the front page.”

“I won’t freak out.”

“I’m going to need you to promise.”

“I promi—”

“With pinkies.” Chrissy says, holding out her pinkie finger.

You sighed, wrapping your pinkie around hers. “I pinky promise that I will not freak out.”

“Okay, here it is.” Chrissy says, quickly flashing the magazine cover.

You felt the world shrink around you. You try to contain your scream. “Will you excuse me for one moment?” You say, voice strained.

“Gonna freak out?” Chrissy asks.

“Mhm.”

“Okay.”

You power walked to the bathroom and let out the most deafening scream of your life. Then, you entered Chrissy’s room, sitting beside her once again.

“Eddie and I are…”

————-

“….On the cover page of Hey Hello GODDAMN magazine!” Your boss, Murray Bauman, could throw up a cow with how pissed he was.

You sunk into your chair.

The title page: Francis’s Mystery Girl. The money shot is a candid picture of you holding hands with Eddie from last night at the bar.

“This could ruin us. You know this right? He’s not supposed to have a girlfriend! He’s a…Rock. Star. You thank your lucky goddamn stars that your face isn’t showing in this or his fans would’ve torn down this entire building just to get to you.”

“I was really drunk and he was only trying to help. I mean, what the hell?! We were at a bar who the fuck carries a camera there…” Then, you remembered back to the guy that you met. The photographer.

He sighs, calming down. “Sleazy paparazzi always carry cameras around with them. No matter where the fuck they are. They live for moments like this.”

“I’ve never had any issues with other clients.”

“Welcome to the life of a rockstar. Look, doll, I’m your number one supporter. The piece you wrote made rounds. I’m super proud but you can’t fall for this guy. No more pictures in compromising positions. You’ve gotta keep it professional.”

“I-I’m not falling for him. I can keep things professional.” Lies, Lies.

“I know you can. You’ve gotten farther than most,” He pours himself a cup of vodka, questioning with his eyes if you’d like some. You wholeheartedly decline. “I took a chance on you. I mentored you when no one else would. The journalism community’s a dog eat dog world. Yet, despite everyone else seeing you as a fresh out of college, bright-eyed rookie, I saw your potential. I don’t want to see you ruining your career over a rockstar who’ll only get bored the moment he gets in your pants.”

You swallowed hard. It was harsh but true. You were way in over your head. Where did you think your feelings would lead you? Rockstars don’t belong to just one girl. They belong to the world. You needed to crush any developing feelings you had for him or you knew you’d fall for him to the point of no return.

“I’m sorry.” You say, lowering your head.

“I’m not trying to break your spirit, Y/n. You should still have fun. Most journalists become great buds with their clients but it shouldn’t interfere with your career,” He pats your hand. “The boys will be going on a tour in London about two weeks from now. They’ll be touring there possibly the entire time passed needed for the exposé. You don’t have to stay the entire time but I’ll need you to go and write the greatest masterpiece of your young life to make up for this mess. Are we clear?”

You nod. “We’re clear.”

“Good. Now go kick some ass.”

—————

You and Chrissy arrived to the studio that Eddie informed you he’d be recording in. Currently, you were both walking down the hall of the building to the specific room.

“He was super pissed, poms. Unbelievably pissed. Now I’ve got a major target on my back at work.”

“I’m sorry, babe. It’s so not fair what women have to go through just to get a shred of what their male counterparts receive. That’s why when you’re in the hair business, like moi,” Chrissy addresses herself. “You could never go wrong. I hardly have to compete with men. Although, the gay men have been killing it it in the industry. Damn, they’re good.”

“Room 7,” You point. “That’s his room.”

You both knock on the door. The door roughly swings open and your both greeted by Mr. Neds, Corroded Coffin’s manager, who was currently shouting at the top of his lungs on the phone.

“I don’t give a shit if that Hey Hello magazine crashes and burns. It’ll be Hey Goodbye once I’m through with ‘em. I want you to put out that fucking statement, putting a nail to that fucking coffin!”

“Corroded Coffin.” Eddie chimes in, jokingly.

His manager glares at him. “Quiet, mop top.”

The manager pushes past you girls and you look at Eddie who’s, of course, amused by all of this.

“I’m guessing he’s not too happy about that cover page.” You say.

“Nope,” Eddie says, popping the ‘p’. “Not to mention, the rest of the band’s being late because their limo’s surrounded by fans. Even the producer’s caught in traffic so we can’t even begin to record. But anywho…what’s shaken, ladies?”

“How could you be so carefree about this?” Chrissy asks.

“Because they’ll get over it. They usually do,” He shrugs then mimics an exaggerated English accent.“Come on, then. Into the recording room we go.”

He bows out of the way, gesturing you and Chrissy to go in first. Your eyes land on the piano in the room. You used to play piano only because your mother had force you to take lessons between the ages of 10-13 but you’ve always known you wanted to be a writer.

Eddie sees you eyeing the instrument. “You play?”

“A little.”

“Play me something.” He says, sitting on the piano bench then patting the seat next to him.

You sit, thinking about what to play then you played the familiar keys.

Eddie chuckles. “‘If You’re Happy And You Know It’. A classic.”

“Can you play piano?” You ask.

“Can I play piano?” Eddie repeats, offended. “Come sit with us Chrissy. I want you both to bask in my glory.”

You and Chrissy roll your eyes. The bench was big enough for the three of you to sit. Eddie right in the middle. He cracks his knuckles then began dwindling with the piano keys, playing the “Flight of the Bumble Bee”.

Your mouths dropped at how well he played. His fingers scaled across the piano so effortlessly. Chrissy seemed to be thinking the same although with more of dirty mind because she flashes you a knowing grin. When he finishes, you both break into applause.

“Wow, Eddie, that was incredible.” You say.

“It was awesome!” Chrissy exclaims.

“Aww, you guys are just saying that.” He says, swatting a hand at your praises.

“Where’d you learn to pick up piano?” You asked.

“As a musician, I have to learn how to play most instruments. The ones that matter anyway. I’m self taught. All I do is play by ear.”

“That’s great to know. I’ll write that down.” You went to retrieve your notebook.

“Can you play ‘Master of Puppets’?” Chrissy asks.

Eddie’s mouth drops. “There’s no way you know that song. It’s too raw.”

“I’m a fan of Metallica, you jerk,” Chrissy laughs. “This isn’t to impress you by the way. I just would like to hear you play it.”

“How about I play it on guitar for you, instead?”

“Ooh, that sounds nice.”

Why did it hurt seeing them laughing and flirt with each other? This is good. You should be fine distancing yourself.

So you did. It’s for your career. You don’t care if Eddie’s giving her more attention than you. You don’t care if they reference things only they understood. You.Don’t. Care.

A hand rests on your shoulders, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“You seem out of it.” Eddie comments.

“I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”

He nods. “Okay. Well, I was wondering if you and Chrissy would like to come with me to Jessie Blue’s beach party tonight? I’d hate to go alone because I can’t stand parties. But it’s my bandmate’s shindig so I’ve gotta support.”

“Yeah! We’d love to go. Right, Y/n?” Chrissy says, toothy smile on her face.

They look at you, awaiting your answer.

“Y-yeah. Can’t wait.”

Eddie smiles. “Great. I’ll pick you both up at 8. I’ll be the designated driver so you girls can drink if you want.”

“Nooo. We are good for forever.” You say.

The rest of the noon, the remaining bandmates and the producer had finally shown up and the boys recorded their song,‘Bloodshed’. You can tell that Eddie was singing to Chrissy almost like he was giving her a personal concert. You could hardly focus on your writing.

When the day was done, you and Chrissy headed to your car. Eddie runs behind to catch up with you guys. You assumed that he was trying to say his final goodbyes to Chrissy but instead he was looking for you.

“Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?” Eddie asks.

“Sure.” You say.

“What was that about?”

“What?”

“You being weird and distant.”

“I told you I’m just really tired.”

“Do you still want to go to the party?”

“Why so that you can be alone with Chrissy?!”

“No. Of course not. I’m just concerned for you.”

Oh, shit! Did I just say that out loud? Goddamn!Fucking fuck!

“I’m fine, Eddie.” You snapped.

“O-okay. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“Yeah.” You say, dismissively, entering you car.

He waves and Chrissy waves back. You don’t.

You drove off and Chrissy sighs, a huge smile on her face. “I forgot how fun it was hanging out with him.”

“Yeah, so very fun.” Y/n! You sound bitterly sarcastic. She’ll definitely know something’s up.

“Is everything alright?” She asks. You see?!

“I’m fine. Tired.”

“You do get a wittle cwanky when your sleepy,” She says, pinching your cheek. “I wonder what I’m going to wear for the party.”

Why did the villain part of you wish to search for the hottest bathing suit on Earth so that Eddie would have eyes for you and only you?

—————

The night arrives and Eddie’s waiting outside for you in his car. You were ready a long time ago but you were beginning to question buying this white thong bikini that, although it made you look amazing, it was too revealing. You’re regretting this.

Chrissy walks into your room, looking you up and down. “You look amazing!”

“No, you look amazing and I should change.”

“No! I refuse to let you change. You’re cool girl now, remember? Wear this knitted cover up dress. It’ll leave things to the imagination while still remaining sexy. Now hurry up. Eddie’s waiting.” She singsongs, leaving the room.

Fuck it. You wanted eyes on you then eyes will be on you. You headed outside, noticing Chrissie had taken the backseat. You were going to do the same when you heard a whistle calling your attention.

“You gonna take a seat or what?” Eddie challenges.

You did love a little competition. You took the challenge of seating in the front seat. Although you stayed silent the entire ride, Eddie and Chrissy having most of the conversation. Every now and then, Eddie would glance over at you. At one point you swore you saw him lick his lips in your direction like he’d devour you at any moment.

Finally, you’d arrive to your destination. The beach house was ginormous. Jessie Blue had definitely spent his money well as a celebrity. The three of you enter the home and you immediately looked around in awe.

Jessie comes over to greet you all. “Hello ladies…and brother of mine, I’m glad you guys made it. There’s a bonfire on the beach, volleyball, all the booze you need and so much more,” His eyes land on you. “You look incredible, Y/n. May I whisk you away?”

You look over at Eddie. His jaw clenched as if trying to keep himself from protesting.

“I’ll go with you.” You said.

“Wonderful,” He holds out his arm and you loop your hand around his. “I know you said you liked art. So I’d like to show you some of my pieces.”

“How nice. Can my best friend join us?” You asked.

“I’m sure she doesn’t wish to intrude. Eddie’ll take care of her.”

You looked at Chrissy. She nods, letting you know she’ll be okay. You’d worn this revealing outfit only to walk off with the wrong member of the band.

…

Jessie took you to a closed off room that led to a private hallway filled with different artwork mostly inspired by the impressionism art style.

You’d been exploring some time, him following silently behind you as if he were stalking your every move.

“Wow, these are gorgeous. I feel like I’m in some fancy cathedral,” You say, approaching one of the painting. “You made these?”

“Yep. Made this whole room so I can show to pretty girls such as yourself.”

You never remembered Jessie being so forward or showing any interest in you whatsoever. It was strange.

“I appreciate the compliment,” Suddenly, you felt his body heat behind you. You turned to look at him, a little lost. “Something the matter?”

“I just noticed how fucking sexy you are, too.” The faint smell of bourbon on his breath.

This wasn’t the Jessie Blue you knew. Jessie was a southern sweetheart. Not a douche. This was the alcohol taking over.

Your pushed up against a wall. “What are you doing?”

“Can I kiss you?” He says, tilting your chin up.

“I-I don’t think you’d want to. You’re a little intoxicated.”

“I’m fine. A little kiss won’t hurt.”

You sighed. Maybe a kiss can help you forget Eddie. You lift your head and lowers his. Just as your lips were about to touch. Eddie and Chrissy barged in.

“Hope you don’t mind that we’ve joined the tour.”

Jessie Blue growls, angry at the interruption. “I said I’d whisk her away, Eddie. What the fuck are you doing here ruining the moment?”

Eddie steps up to him. “Don’t you ever lay hands on her again. You hear me, Blue?”

“You don’t fucking own her! She wanted it bad. You should see how wet I made that little cat—”

Eddie punches Jessie square in the jaw. You’re hands immediately flew to your mouth in shock. Jessie stumbles back, wiping away the blood from his mouth before attacking Eddie. They were swinging punch for punch and no matter how much you and Chrissy pleaded them to stop, they kept taking swings.

You ran out the room out into the living room where full crowd had dance away.

“There’s a fight!” You yelled, pointing down the private hallway.

The crowd rushed in but instead of helping to break it up. The crowd goes wild and chants. It was like fight club for rich people.

“You people are fucking useless,” You spot Mel Thomas and Judas Argo, having a beer on the deck. “Boys! It’s Eddie and Jessie. Their beating each other up!”

“Ahhh, fucking hell.” Judas says, putting down his beer.

“They do this every time they drink,” Mel explains to you. “Come on, Judas, let’s go fetch our idiots.”

You followed the men to the private hall. They effortlessly pushed through the crowds of people. You run to Chrissy’s side, holding her as you watched the men try to break up the fight.

After, Mel and Judas had to physically restrain Eddie from going after Jessie, the fight was officially over.

“Nothing to see here, folks. Continue partyin’ and all that.” Judas yells out, shooing the crowd.

Mel stares hard between the boys like a disappointed father. “What the fuck just happened?”

“Yeah, ya scarin’ the dames,” Judas chimes in. “You’re pissed drunk, aren’t you?”

“No. I’m not fucking drunk. Jessie tried putting his hands on Y/n.”

“Wait, I’m still trying to process what ya said. You’re not drunk?” Judas asks.

“No. Why the fuck’s that important? That bastard tried to touch Y/n.”

“Was it consensual?” Mel asks you.

“I-it was. Sorta.” You say, rubbing your arm.

Mel sighs. “I’m sure you girls are both shaken up. You should probably be taken home. I’ll get my keys…”

“No. I’ll take them home.” Eddie says.

“Bruv, you’re nose is bleeding so bad it has it’s own cycle.” Judas says.

“I said, I’ll take ‘em home.” Eddie growls.

“Alright, Terminator.” Judas says, holding up his hands.

Eddie grunts for you and Chrissy to follow him. The two of you tiptoeing around Jessie’s body lying out cold on the ground.

————

When you got home, Eddie came inside. You’d offered to patch him up. Chrissy heads to her room but not before giving you a little nudge of approval which meant ‘Get that dick, girl!’.

You shook you head at her, letting her know it was not happening much to her discontent.

You figured the best place to tend to him was in your living room where it was an open reminder that it was just regular patch up and done job. You stood between his legs as his sat on the couch wincing like a baby after every touch.

“You idiot.” You say, shaking your head at him as you cleaned around his nose with the medical gauze.

“I’m the idiot? Why the hell did you go with that asshole?”

“You mean, your bandmate?“

“Fuck that. The guy’s a pig.”

“He was.” You admitted.

“Then, why’d you let him kiss you?”

You couldn’t tell him the real reason. He’d never let you live it down. “Because I’m only a woman. I like what I like.”

“You like assholes who can’t fight?”

“Maybe,” You shrugged. “What’s it to you?”

He chuckles. “And I don’t even get a thank you. Just more of your bratty behavior.”

“Thank you,” You say, sincerely. “Ya happy?”

“Not yet. I don’t like that he touched you like that. I hate it actually.”

“It’s not so bad.”

“Oh? So if I were to touch you like this,” He wraps an arm around your waist, palming a handful of your ample globe in his large hand. His silver rings biting at your skin through the holes of the dress. “Is that ‘not so bad’?”

You lips parted but no words come out, you just look down at him with doe eyes. A mischievous glint sparking in his chocolate brown eyes let you know that he’d only push this further. He lifts cover all from behind letting the bottom hem rest on the top of your ass.

“What about if I did…this?” He moves his hand lower, squeezing between you clenched thighs. He looks up at your face for any protest. But you nod, allowing him to go further. All common sense had gone out the window.

Moving the thong over to the side, he can already feel the heat giving off from your pussy. You’re warm. You were probably wet, too. He trails a middle finger through your while kissing at your stomach. You bite back a moan, trying not to wake Chrissy. You have no control over your mouth once pushes the thick finger into you. You whimpered loud as if it were as cock. You cover your mouth, as he pumped into you.

“Fucking shit, you’re tight.” He growls. Loving the feeling of your cunt suctioning him in as if it wished to absorb it.

Your knees buckle and fall in front of him, removing his finger from inside you. He takes this opportunity to taste you, eyes shining once his tongue collects the ambrosia.

Eddie wraps his fingers around your throat. “Open wide.”

You shouldn’t but you did. He feeds you his index and middle fingers, making you suck on them as if they were his length. He’d just beat the shit out of his bandmate with them and now he’s making you take them down your throat, forcefully gagging you. You hope there wasn’t any blood on them but you could first taste the faint essence of you.

He pulls his fingers from your mouth, watching the saliva dribbling from your chin.

“That’s a good girl. Look at how eager you are to please me.” He rubs at his thigh. “Come sit on daddy’s lap.”

Y/n, it’s not too late to stop this! You crawl into his lap, straddling him. He’s so hard. If you’d grind just a little against him, you’d be through. He grips your throat. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want…”

Chrissy comes into the living room, stopping dead in her tracks when she spots you and Eddie in your positions. “Oh, shit. I’m cockblocking, aren’t I? Fuck!” She rans back into the room.

That was a sign. You quickly pull off him. He’s noticeably frustrated. You cleared your throat, gathering the last of your strength.

“I think you should go.” You say, arms crossed as you avoid his eyes.

“What’s with the switch up?” Eddie inquires, genuinely confused.

“I’m not thinking straight right now.” You say, standing up from the couch to show him the door.

He’s lost but gets up from the couch, anyway. You guide him to the front, doing your best not to ask him to come back.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?“ He’s trying to hide the fact that he’s visibly pissed. He doesn’t care what anyone says: Blue Balls is very fucking real.

You nod. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” He says, defeatedly, turning on his heels and exiting.

Then, you closed the door behind you and you let out a breath you weren’t sure you were holding. That was the hardest experience you’ve dealt with. Maybe you weren’t as strong in suppressing your sexual appetite as you thought. You’ll make a note for a separate room in London.

Taglist: @that-idiot125 @strangerthingsstories5255

@haylaansmi @tlclick73 @chcolateeyelver

@apolixyan @micheledawn1975 @maystecc @gay-weirdo262772 @itswormtrain @httpmedxsa

@3m0xbunn1 @bebe0701

@lokiofasgard616 @joeyfilth @secretdryrose

@sammararaven @cherrytree69 @bimbobaggins69 @nicolaj1978 @idgafboutyou

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fandomfluffandfuck · 1 month

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TELL ME ABOUT THE SHOES!!!

related to this

Okay, okay, okay, first, I have to mention that every day I drive home from college, I drive past two different sex shops and one strip club and one of these sex shops has an LED sign that advertises a bunch of different spicy stuff, and the other day they had one word up--

Shoes

And upon reading that, I was hit over the back of the head with the first shoe-related thought I have that relates to fandom:

You always want what you can't have

Bucky mentioning in Captain America: Civil War how Steve used to wear newspapers in his shoes speaks to me about the depression, how he must've had beat up, worn out, hand-me-down shoes with newspapers stuffed in them to make them fit better, to make them warmer in the winter, to try and at least make them feel like there weren't holes in the bottoms of them. Steve drawing here and there throughout the Captain America movies--drawing himself as a dancing monkey, sketching buildings--makes me think of his artistic eye. An artistic eye that we see beyond drawing, with his comments about Stark Tower being big and ugly, plus, similarly with, according to Steve, the ugly brown van they use to save the world. Both Bucky's comment of the way things used to be and Steve's appreciation for aesthetic makes me imagine that Steve could gravitate toward shoes. Pretty, slim "women's shoes," as well as generally shiny, bulky "men's shoes."

The first time he notices shoes is early, when he watches his Ma slip into her Sunday best heels. Her stockings might be laddered and torn because she doesn't have enough pairs to have a special Sunday pair--she needs to use all the ones she has when she's nursing, dealing with all sorts of untold grossities at work, often throwing them out--but this pair of shoes look brand new. She takes good care of them, so much so that Steve's not allowed to touch them. Her Sunday best heels are hardly scuffed or creased because she never wears them to work or anything, just to church. They're pretty and special, and on the way, she's always careful, not stepping in puddles, on cracks, or anything.

The way his Ma treats her Sunday best shoes makes Steve investigate during church, more interested in eyeing all the other special shoes than listening to the preaching that Sunday, peering over the open Bible his Ma holds out in front of him. He's cataloging all the differences between the men's and women's shoes. Both kinds are shiny, but women's shoes are especially so. Angular and polished and bright, often with tiny details that men's shoes don't get the luxury of having--tiny buckles, little bows, patterns pressed into or cut out of the leather, etc. Women's shoes are so delicate, clicking across the floor while men's land much heavier, more of a clunk. A thunk even.

As soon as he's drawing, his interest translates there, too. It's the shine, reflective and glinting, every crease exemplified; the angles, shapely and precise; the colors, usually more muted but occasionally very bright and attention grabbing, either way, they're always saturated. It's fascinating to draw shoes. The lines are so clean that it's easy to make a mistake. And it's so challenging to capture the way the positioning of the shoes changes the shape of the whole thing! But that's what makes it interesting. Every angle holds new details. Steve discovers quickly that he can tell stories through shoes, too... where the creases are and how many there are, scuffs, rough leather, loose threads, color bright and bold or not, the angle he draws the shoes from, too--looking down at them from where he stands, lying on his belly and sketching straight on, detailing the bottoms--there are endless possibilities.

But, as Steve gets older and the more it sits in his head, the more it becomes something deeper until it's something beyond a passive, special interest. Beyond somewhere where his eyes always go when he meets someone new--glancing at their footwear just to see. It becomes something of desire.

Desired because of how forbidden it is. Women's shoes are for girls. Steve isn't a girl. He can't have them. He wasn't allowed to touch them. He's still not allowed to touch them.

There is a desire for men's shoes, too, but he knows men's shoes. He appreciates the sound of a big, tall man walking down an alleyway by the hidden bars around their run-down cold water walk-up with the swaggering thunk thunk thunk of their boots on the street. He does like that. Something about it makes shivers crawl up his crooked spine. But, he knows them. Bucky wears work boots. They live in a heap next to their front door. Plus, Steve has his own shoes. Men's shoes are familiar.

Steve buries his desire for men's shoes deeper, for whatever reason. It has nothing to do with internalized homophobia, no, why do you ask?

Women's shoes, though...

They're forbidden and unknown. The closest Steve's gotten to fancy, truly bright, and angular ladies' shoes (outside of staring at them through shop windows) was when Bucky brought home a blonde dame--Steve never got her name, she just came and left once--with a rich Daddy. Her shoes were kicked off by the door when Steve got home, sitting fallen over next to Bucky's heavy boots. Steve's heart pounded unevenly in his thin chest, just seeing them together. Darting between the shoes. The contrast.

(That dame must've been short, too, like Steve. Her shoes were so little, especially next to Bucky's. By the looks of it, they might even fit Steve. Maybe. He wouldn't dare touch them, though, not even to straight them in the way he grumbles but organizes Bucky's footwear.)

The second time Steve really comes close to the off-limit territory of women's shoes is after the serum, dragging through the USO Tour with all the chorus girls. Their glittery, flashy, short, and bright uniforms. Meant to attract, so can Steve be blamed? Because suddenly, it seems like Steve can't go ten feet without tripping over one of the girls' pairs of shiny, bright, tall heels.

Once, just once, one of the gals leaves her heels behind. She's going back home, her service done with, so...

With his heart pounding strongly in his broad chest, practically echoing through it, he swears, Steve grabs them. Hastily stuffing them under his trench coat and wisking them back to his private tent--the luxury of being a technical captain.

Alone and in private, Steve knows just looking at them, understanding space strangely well these days, that they're too small for his feet. Even if they weren't too small, Steve is sure he couldn't bear to try them on. Not here. What would he do anyway? He's never thought past getting his hands on ladies' shoes. He couldn't walk with them on. Could he? No. He would be scared of someone hearing the click click click. And he couldn't... he doesn't have anyone to... show?

So, what would be the point?

There isn't one. And Steve doesn't even try to put them on. Instead, he sets one of the pair of the heels in his lap. Cradling it, the shoe is a lot lighter than he expected it to be. The material is much thinner than he thought even though he's drawn shoes a ton. He's studied them. And he studies them again now, up-close and personal, just... looking.

He just holds it.

Without realizing it, he starts to subconsciously stroke the shiny, patriotic-colored leather. It's so smooth. It's cold to start, but quickly, it isn't anymore, warming up to him. The heel isn't as sharp on the edges as he would've thought, but it's not too soft, either.

He's more familiar, having it in his hold, but they're still exciting. Fascinating. Interesting. No matter how often he sneaks away to hold one or both of the stolen shoes in his hands, they're still so different.

They're special.

Steve loses the pair when he walks to Austria. He's not sure what happened to them, and he's afraid to ask. Did someone find them? If they did, what did they think? At worst, they probably just thought Steve spent the night with one of the chorus gals, right? They wouldn't know about... about what Steve did? (And what did he do? He just held them!?) He can't stop thinking about them, though. His hands are so calloused these days, and all his shirts are grimy and coming apart at the seams, holes everywhere, and wouldn't it just be nice to touch something smooth?

Bucky sees through him and asks him what he's missing, but he falls before Steve can say it out loud. So, the secret dies with him.

Steve doesn't let himself think about something so soft and delicate when he wakes up. He can't stomach it.

Eventually

Bucky is back.

Steve has Bucky back.

And they're both trying to heal.

Healing takes many shapes... including, apparently, the shape of a sleek, biege box with a looping, white font delivered to their front door, which contains rich, red, and shimmering tissue paper, fragile and weightless, and a pair of matching, shiny black heels with blood red bottoms.

Steve doesn't even want to know what they cost Bucky. He vaguely grasps the pop culture knowledge to understand how infamous heels like these are, how expensive they are, and he's not dumb enough to miss all the details, thoughtfulness, and exorbitant materials. Shockingly, they have money now, existing somewhere, acrewing in a bank account that feels like it belongs to someone else entirely, and between the two of them, Steve is the one who doesn't know what to do with it. Bucky knows.

Bucky knows.

Bucky bought him a pair of heels, not so bright, save for the bottoms, but still delicate and shiny and alluring. The shoes feel more like Bucky's style than Steve's and... Steve likes that. He likes that Bucky chose them, he likes that he wants to see him in them, and he likes that they're here.

Steve's almost afraid to put the shoes on, his thumbs rubbing back and forth across the smooth, perfect surface. He's not even sure if he wants to put them on or not. He's only ever drawn or held shoes like these. He's not put them on. Does he want to cross that line? Is that even a line? After all the things he's done, is this even daring?

What if it's not special? What if it's not as good as he wants it to be? Does he want it to be good? What's good?

Should he put them on?

Steve's head is so full of questions that he can't do anything but stand there, a contemplative statue; Steve's supposed to be brave and daring, but there are moments where even he's allowed to hesitate.

Right?

Bucky isn't so hesitant. He knows his best guy is going to look killer in those heels, and he knows whatever Steve has built this up to be in his head... it'll be fine. He just has to let go and do it.

With some convincing and a few charming grins, Steve puts the red bottomed heels on and...

It's good.

It's better than he imagined.

While he's wearing them--falling apart at the seams and succumbing weakly to the fever raging through him--Bucky fucks him hard. Deep and good. Leaving Steve unable to hold back the ah, ah, ahs that pour out from inside him and causing him to put bruises, dents really, in Bucky's back with how tight his legs are wrapped around his stocky waist. He can't. Bucky's dick hits his prostate again and again. Oh, god. It's making him so weak--his dick always does. It forces Steve's brains to melt out of his ears, struck stupid with his lips falling open, bright red and wet.

With another hammering, ah, ah, ah, dick carving so deep in him, sparking and hot, desire courses through Steve so strongly that his toes curl until the soles of his feet cramp. As his toes curl, it forces the shiny heels to slip off of his feet just as he crashes through his orgasm. His moans pitching higher--shattering suddenly, shaking apart with the pleasure coursing through him.

Bucky is merciful enough to fuck him through his orgasm, leaving him a whimpering, shaking mess, all too docile and sweet, but he doesn't say merciful. He's awful. Terrible. Evil because he's slowing his hips to a filthy, deep grind. It's slow enough to have Steve's gasping, his body electric and white-hot, making him go haywire and stay achingly hard. He doesn't do anything about it, though. He doesn't reach to jack him off or touch him or do anything but--

Bucky spares one hand to grab the shoe from where it landed haphazardly on their ruffled bed before sliding it back onto Steve's foot after using his strength to uncurl his leg from around his waist, straightening his leg so the back of his knee is at Bucky's shoulder, all so he can put the stray heel back onto him.

He's so flexible.

The position makes Bucky's cock get in deeper.

AH!

Fuck, Bucky is treating him like he's delicate and cute, kissing the thick curves of his muscles and making sure nothing is out of place as he worships him, fucking him like he isn't soft or delicate or nothing. It's like he's being fucking out to make sure Steve's heated draw to heels is even worse after this!

Also, secondly, I keep thinking about:

You wear your devotion on your sleeve

By the time Steve gets to the front and gets to Bucky, pulling him from the jaws of Hell, dangling above its throat, on the cusp of being swallowed, Steve is fucking sick of...

Everything?

He's sick of being in a body that doesn't fit. Chronic illnesses first. A lifetime of rasping lungs and fatigue that follows him like a shadow, always growing taller and longer with the ever slowing dip of the sun in the sky. Then. This. Whatever this is. A body that attracts attention, eyes always dragging over his form, never leaving him alone when before no one would ever even glance his way. He was invisible and agonized; now, he's in the spotlight and burning up.

Something in him yearns to be small again.

The only refuge he finds for that is at Bucky's feet.

He finds the feeling of being small yet respected, taking up no space at all but still being seen and heard, at Bucky's feet while he's shining his boots. He knows how much appearance matters to Bucky. His hair is always done just so, even in the middle of the rain and wind and wilderness. He's always freshly shaven, no matter if there's running water nearby or not. And his boots are always shining, never mud caked like all the others.

So, when Bucky ended up with bruises shading his ribs, barely able to sit up, let alone bend over or breathe as good as he should be able to...

It's only natural that Steve offers to shine his boots for inspection for him.

At first, honestly, it's terrible. He's holding Bucky's leg as delicately as he possibly can, scared to even slightly squeeze him too hard and leave more bruises or, god forbid, break his bones, but Bucky won't have it. Bucky tugs on his hair, shaking his head to get the point across, making sure he's looking up at him before he assures him he won't hurt him. He can't. He needn't hold him so delicately, and, c'mon, if his boots are gonna be clean, he needs to put some more muscle behind it. A smile cracks across his face, and, suddenly, it's all good.

It's great.

It's so fucking nice to be staring up at his familiar face and be small and--

How does Bucky convince him to wrap himself around his leg and grind against his newly polished boots until he's messing them up, so he has to lick them clean again? 😮‍💨😮‍💨

(I wanted this to be longer, but I don't have the time right now, ughh)

#asks #fandomfluffandfuck #bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky

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lorkai · 4 months

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.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: Wrote this for my secret santa friend, hopefully he'll love it as much as I did writing this. I really like Pomefiore and Ignyhide chapters a lot, but Diasomnia, bro, Diasomnia has my heart, ngl. I don't even have words to describe everything it's making me feel so far. Although something I know for sure is that chapter 7 made me fall in love with Diafamily even more than before. (Also tagging you @hanafubukki I feel you're gonna like this)

“Papa, can you read to me?” A familiar little voice caught the attention of the fae who was lost in his own thoughts, tired eyes looking at his son with interest as he patted the seat next to him, small smile on his lips.

The boy took his place next to his father on the sofa, bringing with him a large book of fables and myths, and birds that rested on the open window, singing. Normally Lilia would read to him right before putting him to sleep but Silver needed to distract him from whatever was troubling his old man right now. His father did that sometimes, staring at the horizon without saying anything as if he was recalling precious but painful memories. Despite his young age, Silver could detect conflicting feelings in his father's eyes.

But it was okay, Silver was there to hold his father's hand and kiss his wounds just like his father did for him.

“What story do you want me to read, Silver?” His father asked, letting the boy lay his head on his lap like he always did. A hand automatically came down to play with the silver strands of his hair, twirling the strands and massaging his scalp with slow movements.

Silver thought for a while. For the past few days he had heard Little Red Riding Hood, Cinderella, Snow White and several other funny stories. But he had his favorite. It was a story he really liked but he didn't know how to put into words why yet, maybe in the future he would come to understand that it was because of the message behind the story.

“Goldilocks!” He responded promptly.

Lilia let out a nasal laugh, already preparing to tell that story for the tenth time that week. Despite wanting to share tales of Little Thumb, The Match Girl, and Hansel and Gretel with Silver, Lilia couldn't resist giving in to Silver's request once again. His eyes lit up each time he read to him, as bright as two diamonds reflecting the excitement the young boy felt.

Lilia prepared, using his best storyteller voice. "Once upon a time, there was a beautiful bear family living in a distant forest."

He turned the book to show the illustration of three brown bears for Silver to see, and even though the boy had seen that drawing a million times, he smiled widely and touched each of them with his finger. For a moment, he wished to meet a bear and become friends, as he was already capable of befriending other animals.

They do look cozy, Silver thought with a smile, imagining how comforting it would be to snuggle with a bear to sleep.

"[before lunch...]. The wise mama bear already set the table before leaving, so they could eat as soon as they returned from their walk." Silver wondered what kind of food bears ate and shivered. He hoped it was better than his father's food.

The story continued smoothly with Silver laughing at Goldilocks' antics, but what he was really paying attention to was his father's face. Lilia was now visibly calmer and relaxed, no longer sad in his thoughts, no longer lost in his memories. And that made Silver smile. He didn't like it when his father was sad.

And he imagined that no other child liked it either.

"Finally, she tasted the soup in the smallest bowl, and it was warm and delicious–"

His eyelids were getting heavier as Silver relaxed, listening to his father's voice trailing off until it disappeared. Imagining being friends with bears and eating alongside them, Silver let himself be lulled by the affection offered and the comfort he felt, his eyes closing completely. Everything was okay now; his father was smiling again.

Lilia leaned in and gently kissed his son's forehead, looking at him lovingly.

Humans grow so fast, the fae thought.

It's not like he didn't know this fact; it was clear that he knew, and he was reminded of it every day. Every second spent with his son was more precious than the previous one. Still, five years passed quickly, five long years where his heart was filling with the purest kind of love. The love of a father for a son, the same love he felt when Malleus's egg hatched, and he could see his beloved sister's child.

It was a difficult feeling to put into words. But he knew instantly when he held Silver in his arms for the first time that his little world would change and change for the better. His bloody days turned into joyful days spent with his son, filled with small joys and simple actions that touched his heart more than he could realize.

The fae let the book rest on the couch, standing up with his son in his arms to put him to bed.

He could always tell another story to Silver when he woke up.

#disney twisted wonderland #disney twist #twst silver #twst lilia #twst lilia vanrouge #twisted wonderland #silver #lilia vanrouge #twisted wonderland lilia #twisted wonderland silver #twisted wonderland lilia vanrouge #lorkai imagine

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breakfastteatime · 8 months

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What do you think the actual in-universe mechanics are for Cal interacting with echoes? Fandom is big on him being struck by accidental echoes all the time, and that's great for plot or angst purposes, but I don't read it that way; honestly, I can't see him staying sane if so. With the rare exceptions like Trilla's lightsaber, it seems to be an active choice on his part. My tenative headcanon is that (at least as a trained adult) Cal has to be actively open to/using the Force to read an echo from something (which he was when he was using it to summon Trilla's lightsaber) and otherwise, it's similar to game mechanics, that he can sense from a distance that something has an echo, and choose to interact with it. I like how you've balanced logic and fantasy world in your storoes so I'm wondering what your take on it is.

Thank you for asking about this! I will try to break down my thoughts as coherently as possible. I admit my interpretation has developed over the *checks notes* fifteen months since I first played Fallen Order.

This got lengthy so under the cut we goooooo!

Firstly, the headcanon that goes around about Cal not picking up echoes if he wears gloves does not work for me because you literally see him picking up echoes with his gloved hand in Fallen Order. He uses both hands to do this. Okay, PHEW, got that off my chest.

Alright, moving on!

Personally, I always try to separate videogame mechanics and storytelling because as a game, the echoes function the way finding documents would in another game (e.g. all the files you find in games like Control or Resident Evil, or the voice recordings in Bioshock). Whenever they are being included as a gameplay element, the player literally sees them as glowing blue light, and you have to interact with the item for Cal to pull out the echo. So yes, I agree that to some extent he has control over what he does and does not experience. I like to think Master Tapal taught him some self-control. You know - resist temptation, Cal!!!

However, when echoes are included as a storytelling element, there isn't always a light (e.g. the hallikset doesn't have anything until Cal touches it and it flashes, Trilla's lightsaber has nothing, the bacta tank in Survivor). These tend to be the more all-consuming ones (again - because it's a storytelling element so we're gonna get a cutscene).

We also see Cal pull his own echo out of a dream, and arguably the flashbacks in Fallen Order are examples of him doing this too... The flashbacks in both games (although more so in Fallen Order) are where gameplay and storytelling come together beautifully... but that's for another day!

So, how do I marry gameplay and storytelling? My interpretation is this: some echoes are so huge and so powerful that they just spill out of the Force from Cal's perspective. He can then choose to either interact with them or leave them. Others are equally powerful but catch him off-guard for whatever reason (he's distracted, he's tired, it's surrounded by 'brighter' echoes, or it just doesn't glow... I will find a plot device!). I also feel like the Force has this element of benign will, so if the Force wants Cal to see something, he's going to see it because the Force doesn't care about individuals. It's the Force! It doesn't conform to human behaviour.

As for how he would stay sane if almost everything he ever touches has some kind of echo on it, I come at it from a perspective of 'Jedi are as used to their abilities as I am with breathing'. If Cal does pick up stuff from everything (which I don't believe because not everything is being held while something of great importance happens!), he just processes it because he's a natural-born Force-sensitive, and he's used to it. The Jedi trained him on how to focus, how to let some things pass right through him, and how to reflect upon the echoes that won't go quietly. In other words - he gets better with age and practice, however sometimes psychometry still gets the better of him (a bit like how my lungs can breathe, but asthma makes that harder at times).

I also find it fascinating how Cal has clearly developed his ability between games. In Survivor, we see him holding onto himself more frequently (he follows Dagan in his dream/memory, we see him watching the moment Santari fights him... he then turns an echo against Dagan which I freaking LOVE... interestingly, he doesn't hold onto himself in the memory he picks up from Zee, suggesting that he hasn't quite perfected this yet.) Oh, and then we have the fractured echoes which I'm still kicking around as a 'how do I take this definitely a gameplay thing and make it a storytelling thing'.

The character development in these games is just fantastic, and going back and playing Fallen Order after a couple of Survivor playthroughs just makes it even clearer (and not because I keep forgetting teenaged Cal can't do a bunch of things).

I love to play around with echoes because they're just such a fun concept. Except more stories about them in the future!

I really hope my logic makes sense here! Thanks for the Ask ^_^

#answered asks #star wars jedi: fallen order #star wars jedi: survivor #cal kestis #jfo meta #jfo headcanon

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antianakin · 4 months

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How do you think Anakin would react to Kylo Ren's antics? Would he approve of them?

I think that entirely depends on what period of his life he's in when he's being asked this.

Child Anakin? No. Kylo's a villain and it's that black and white. And baby Anakn is probably too young for the concept of a grandchild to mean that much to him.

AOTC/TCW/early ROTS era Anakin? Outwardly, no, he wouldn't approve of Kylo's choices because he is doing Evil Things and that makes him Evil. Whether he'd be more conflicted on this due to the blood relation would probably entirely depend on how WELL he knew Kylo or not when he was being asked. If he's being asked upon first meeting with zero context other than the knowledge that this is his grandson and he's doing evil Sith things, I feel like Anakin would have less conflict about disapproving of his actions. Again, I think there'd be some distance between Anakin and the concept of this being his grandchild, especially since he has no concept of his OWN children to begin with.

This brings us to Anakin in his Darth Vader years. At this point, yes, he'd approve wholeheartedly. Anakin WANTS someone to side with him, to tell him he's right, etc. He tries it with Padme, with Obi-Wan, and then ultimately with Luke. If his GRANDSON shows up, that last connection to Padme (no matter how distant), and he's already perfectly ready to side with Anakin and become Anakin's apprentice, I think Anakin would be DELIGHTED and take him up on that unhesitatingly. There's no reason to disapprove, Kylo's just doing what Anakin would do in his position and Anakin's not evil, he's just doing what needs to be done to bring peace to the galaxy, etc etc. What would be interesting in this AU is how this would impact Anakin's later relationship to LUKE if he meets Kylo first. I don't care enough about this concept to delve into it, but it'd be an interesting thought experiment for someone else.

And then we have "redeemed" Anakin in his last like 10 minutes of life and any variation of an AU Anakin who survives ROTJ. I feel like he'd be back to being much more outwardly disapproving of Kylo's choices, but his inner conflict could go either way. Anakin isn't... the MOST self-aware of people or the kind of person who really delights in self-reflection much. I don't think that would honestly change much in an AU where he survived ROTJ because he doesn't really NEED it much in order to save Luke from Palpatine. But if Kylo came into the picture, you introduce the possibility of a rivalry with Luke where Anakin has to decide whether he's going to side with Luke (his son who believed in him and saved him but who is always asking Anakin to do the hard work to be better) or Kylo (his grandson who says Luke betrayed him and is a Sith and feels SO SO FAMILIAR to Anakin and asks exactly nothing from Anakin but his loyalty). I feel like he'd know he SHOULD disapprove of Kylo's actions, but a part of him desperately wants back what he sees as the kind of freedom the dark used to give him. And obviously it's NOT freedom, not truly, but Kylo's doing whatever he wants, he's just acting on his emotions whenever he wants regardless of consequences, and to Anakin, it LOOKS a lot more like freedom than all the self-reflection he has to do in order to try to let go of the darkness.

He's almost JEALOUS of Kylo's ability to be dark even if he knows objectively that that's a bad thing. I think any Anakin who survived ROTJ would struggle with the temptation to go back to the dark at every turn for the rest of his life. It's an addiction, once you've BECOME an addict, you have to go completely cold turkey or it'll never work. You can't have just "one drink" and be okay like other people can. Anakin is an addict. He can't touch the dark at all and he's CONSTANTLY tempted by it because, despite the pain and misery he objectively knows that it caused him, it also felt GOOD to be able to just let his emotions control him rather than the other way around. His grandson going dark and asking Anakin to join him would be the ULTIMATE temptation.

And that leaves us with Force Ghost Anakin, who shouldn't exist anyway, but maybe this is the version that gets to have perfect compassion and understanding for Kylo's choices. He gets it, on a level nobody else does, and is in a unique position to perhaps be able to speak to him and be HEARD in a way Kylo will do for nobody else. He knows Kylo is doing evil things and has to be stopped, but he knows exactly what Kylo is feeling that has led him down this road and just how hard it can be to turn back and wants nothing more than to show him that it can be done and that it's so worth the work it takes.

#star wars #anakin skywalker #anakin critical #anakin skywalker critical #kylo ren critical #ben solo critical #anti kylo ren

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theoffice-imagines · 4 months

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Alive

Pairing: David Wallace x reader

Warnings: None

Requested: @ricflairdrip20

Request: Prompt random #10

“You make me feel alive.”

***

You had unfortunately come down sick with something on one of the worst nights possible, yet a night you had been looking forward to for a while now.

This was supposed to be a date night with David Wallace and you had gotten sick, so you had to call him up and reschedule, which was something you were going to feel bad about for quite sometime.

It didn’t matter how reassuring or how much reassuring and understanding David was about it, you felt terrible and knowing you may feel this way until date night really happens, you had no idea David was on his way over to your place. David was on his over to take care of you and of course was wanting for you to understand that everything was okay and you had nothing to worry about except for getting better. When it comes to getting sick, you become the most stubborn person in the world, not only to those around you, but the most to yourself. For example, even knowing you were sick, you refuse a doctor’s visit unless you feel it’s necessary to even go. Little did you know, David was going to become like your doctor that night.

It was just reaching 6:30 when David shows up, parking on the side of the curb before walking up to your house. This was ironically the same time you agreed to schedule to have your date night. You were in the middle of a tv series when the doorbell rings, confused, you get up to answer it and the last person in the world is there when you answer. David Wallace was now standing before you with a warm smile in greeting, a smile which quickly falters upon seeing the state of condition you were currently in. One of the things you hated the most was for people to see you without makeup on, and the fact that you haven’t looked at your reflection in the mirror caused you to wince knowing you must have looked awful. You suddenly felt shy, shy enough to look away from him right before he pressed a soft touch of his hand against your forehead without any warning.

After doing so, David realizes you’ve come down with a fever and takes action immediately to help you.

“Are you feeling alright? Have you gone to the doctor yet?” he questions.

“I feel miserable and no, I haven’t gone yet.” you admitted.

“Let me take you.”

Before you could protest, David takes your hand and begins to lead you to his car.

Just as you were listening to the doctor diagnosing you with a fever, you felt the impact of the harsh symptoms, feeling the cold, heat, and shakes. David pulls you in as to comfort you but you pull back, not wanting for a David to come down with this as well. Although you should have known better to think you can do that so easily, David wasn’t just about to let you pull away from him and only embraced you tighter in his arms. After receiving instructions, you were allowed to go home and because you were feeling so miserable and emotional, David tries to cheer you up on the ride back to your place.

David starts by letting the kind of music he knows you like play through the speakers, and that did seem to help a little bit. Once you got home, David immediately sets to work on taking care of you through the recovery process, as you are supposed to recover quickly. After parking the car again, he helps you out of the car and inside your house before questioning on what he thought you may needed for him to do.

“What do I do? What can I do for you?”

“Pain killers, preferably. You for the rest of the night.”

David smiled, knowing he wasn’t leaving your side now.

His arms moved under you, gently maneuvering around your fragile body as he picked you up and tucked you close to him while making his way to your room to lay you down gently. After doing that, he heads back to fulfill your request on painkillers. When he returns, he returns not just with the painkillers, but your favorite snacks and a movie you greatly favored for the both of you to watch. A smile made its way to your face as David comes near, handing over most everything he brought for you. As you were opening a bag of chips burritos, David couldn’t help but feel a little shy when you start to praise him for these actions just a little bit.

“My hero, what would I do without you?”

“You wouldn’t know what you would do without me.” David teases back.

“True..”

What is said next, takes him by surprise.

“You make me feel alive. Especially in moments like these.”

***

@theoffice-imagines

#the office imagines #the office imagine #the office x reader #the office #david wallace x reader #david wallace #michael scott #dwight schrute #andy bernard #angela #karen #kelly #erin #pam #jim halpert #request #requested #requests

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esthermitchell-author · 5 months

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This scene takes place in my GO fanfic novel, during the "block party" the Whickber Street Traders Association throws to celebrate surviving Hell's attack during the whole Second Coming incident. It's just such a powerful little scene, and I particularly loved how the end of it came out, so I thought I'd share... You enjoy (I'm back to work on more of the editing and additions for the novel). 😊

As they crossed the street to the café, Crowley caught sight of something he missed earlier. Tucked back into the alleyway alongside Marguerite's was what looked like a small shrine he was almost certain hadn't been there in the past. Curious, he detoured in that direction, coming to stand in front of what was definitely a shrine. On the wall, artistic hands had painted or chalked in renderings of what he had no doubt were someone's memories of the battle here on Earth. He flinched from the familiar sight of demons in all their war regalia, swarming through the streets of Soho. Rising in front of the terrible images was a small stone altar, with lit jar candles, surrounded by celllophane-wrapped arrangements of cut flowers, handmade cards, and little pieces of paper with prayers and memorials written on them.

His gut twisted and his eyes burned at the sight, and the simple knowledge of how strong humanity's faith in a better future always was. Regardless of the horrors they experienced, they still believed there was some great, cosmic force, some Providence, that would somehow salve all their worries, fears, and pains. They believed in God, or in many Gods, and their belief alone gave them strength to see through even the most terrifying atrocities existence could visit upon them.

"It's a memorial for the lost. We decided it was only right."

Nina's voice dragged his attention around, and he saw the sorrow and strength of humanity reflected in her expression as she came to stand beside him, looking down at the shrine. "We fared okay, here. I think that's because Whickber Street had Mr. Fell, and you. We had someplace safe to go, and people capable of giving us the means to protect ourselves. Overall, I think London fared better than anywhere else, because of Muriel. Don't know what they did, but they did something to the pipes, to the water. Made London safer."

Crowley blinked, impressed. He hadn't known the Scrivener had it in them. "Holy water. Amazing. That little Scrivener blessed all the water in London."

Nina shrugged. "Thought that might have been it. Whatever they did, London suffered a lot fewer losses than anywhere else. This memorial's for the rest of the world. A lot of people died, and I don't even know if anyone really understands why, Mr. Crowley."

A scoffing laugh slid loose from Crowley, even as a frown tugged at his face. "Not sure any of us really understands why, Nina. Just glad some of us understood why we couldn't let it happen."

"Yeah, I'll give you that one. For what it's worth," she touched a hand tentatively to his upper arm. "I'm glad Mr. Fell came back, and that the two of you worked things out. Mags and I worried about you, after he left."

Her words formed a lump in Crowley's throat. Aside from Aziraphale, he'd never had anyone worry about him, before. He had to admit, it felt kind of nice. Swallowing hard, he managed a hoarse, "Yeah. Thanks for that."

She withdrew her touch with a nod, then turned and went back to the café. Crowley stood there, staring at the proof of humanity's strength and resilience, as the sounds of the party washed over him. He was barely aware of the passage of time, except for the shifting of sound around him, and the eventual quiet -- or as quiet as a busy Soho street ever got in the daytime -- that indicated everyone had returned to their normal business.

Finally, feeling weary to his soul, he muttered a quiet "Sorry" and miracled in a single white stargazer lily, its roots sunk into the soil of a rainbow glazed clay pot. Aziraphale told him, back just before the Flood, that God created the rainbow as a never again type of promise. This seemed an appropriate time and place for another promise like that. If he ever had anything to say about it, humanity would never face this kind of horror show from Hell, again. He'd tear Hell down with his own two hands, first.

"It's lovely."

He turned at the quiet words, spoken in a soft voice as familiar as his own soul, to find Aziraphale seated on the bench across the alleyway, a small, sad smile on his angelic face and his hands folded in his lap as primly as ever.

Crowley winced. No one was supposed to see that. But, if anyone was going to, at least it was his angel. "Angel, I..."

Aziraphale rose from the bench with a small sigh and closed the distance between them, reaching out to take hold of his hand even as he rested his head lightly against Crowley's shoulder. "You don't need to explain, love. Let's just leave it at 'it's lovely'."

#Keep Calm an ❤️on. 🐍🪽❤️🏳️‍🌈#good omens #good omens fandom #aziracrow #aziraphale x crowley #ineffable husbands #azicrow #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable spouses #fanfic #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #go fanfic #go fandom

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mariana-oconnor · 8 months

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The Devil's Foot pt 2

I have been contemplating this one a bit. And so far the only person who has given us any information about this is Mortimer. We only have his word what happened that night. We only have his word that he and his siblings had resolved their financial differences. He was still living in lodgings when they had the family property, it seems.

And it seems like it was all his friend's idea to get Holmes involved.

So maybe I should be more suspicious of him.

But he did agree to come to Holmes, although it would be really difficult to say no at that point.

So absorbed was he in his thoughts, I remember, that he stumbled over the watering-pot, upset its contents, and deluged both our feet and the garden path.

Was this deliberate, or is it just flavour text? I'm not sure what he could get from spilling the watering can. Unless he thinks the water is poisoned and he wants to see what effect the spilled water has on the plants around it. Like, if they die, definitely poison.

Good thing the guy from the last story isn't around to start kissing floors and licking boots again.

Her employers had all been in excellent spirits lately, and she had never known them more cheerful and prosperous.

This absolutely sounds like them being lulled into a false sense of security. Or a reason for jealousy.

She had, when she recovered, thrown open the window to let the morning air in.

So if the poison was airborne, she would have dissipated it, then.

(It's in the candles)

Fish candles, the Discworld fan in me wants to say.

“I think, Watson, that I shall resume that course of tobacco-poisoning which you have so often and so justly condemned,” said he.

The repeated and consistent acknowledgement in these stories that smoking is bad for you kind of blows my mind every time. Even though I know.

“Let us get a firm grip of the very little which we do know, so that when fresh facts arise we may be ready to fit them into their places. I take it, in the first place, that neither of us is prepared to admit diabolical intrusions into the affairs of men."

What, no devils or demons? And I was getting my hopes up.

"That is firm ground. Now, when did this occur? Evidently, assuming his narrative to be true, it was immediately after Mr. Mortimer Tregennis had left the room."

This does rather contradict my idea of a slow-acting aerosolised poison released by the burning of the candles, certainly. Because Mortimer was in there for at least some of the evening, so you'd expect him to have had some kind of a dose, or he would have had to swap out the candles before he left and then the new poison candles would have to act very quickly.

It's more likely to not be in the candles, then. I guess.

Something only the other three imbibed or ate or touched. But even then how does it work so quickly. Maybe he pours them something to drink as a toast before he goes and laces it with something (or someone else comes and does that).

"Knowing my methods as you do, you were, of course, conscious of the somewhat clumsy water-pot expedient by which I obtained a clearer impress of his foot than might otherwise have been possible."

Ah, okay. That makes sense. No poison water.

"It is difficult to imagine, then, how an outsider could have made so terrible an impression upon the company, nor have we found any possible motive for so strange and elaborate an attempt."

Glass notoriously reflects things. How sure are you that the thing he was seeing was outside?

Perhaps the face is coming from inside the house. Or perhaps there was no face and his brother just thought of something unpleasant and then tried to cover it up.

Or perhaps this is all a mere fabrication of Mortimer's to throw people off the scent.

"Neither of us needed to be told who that visitor was. The huge body, the craggy and deeply seamed face with the fierce eyes and hawk-like nose, the grizzled hair which nearly brushed our cottage ceiling, the beard—golden at the fringes and white near the lips, save for the nicotine stain from his perpetual cigar—all these were as well known in London as in Africa, and could only be associated with the tremendous personality of Dr. Leon Sterndale, the great lion-hunter and explorer."

Whomst?

"My only claim to being taken into your confidence is that during my many residences here I have come to know this family of Tregennis very well—indeed, upon my Cornish mother's side I could call them cousins—and their strange fate has naturally been a great shock to me."

A suspect? A new suspect?

So Holmes naturally interrogates him to find out if he was in the area at the time and how he knows about any of this.

The vicar really likes to talk, it seems. Although I suppose passing on news of the death of a relative and the sudden illness? of two others might be considered reasonable.

“He is deeply interested.”

Who inherits the property now? Lion man or Mortimer?

Follow the money. If in doubt always follow the money.

"Cheer up, Watson, for I am very sure that our material has not yet all come to hand. When it does we may soon leave our difficulties behind us.” Little did I think how soon the words of Holmes would be realized, or how strange and sinister would be that new development which opened up an entirely fresh line of investigation.

So someone else is dead then. But who? Mortimer? Lion man? The Babbling Vicar? The housekeeper?

Not the vicar, clearly as he is doing his narrative duty of gossip by bringing the news.

“Mr. Mortimer Tregennis died during the night, and with exactly the same symptoms as the rest of his family.”

Alas, poor Mortimer, I'm sorry I suspected you.

My guess is that Lion man left poison candles/cards/brandy around when he visited them so he could be far away when they died and have an alibi, but he wasn't expecting to have to get Mortmer separately. (Maybe Mortimer wasn't drinking? Or maybe he just left before the effects could set in).

This might partly be due to the fact that a lamp stood flaring and smoking on the centre table.

Look, Watson keeps drawing attention to the light sources in these places. I'm not going crazy. It's in the candles and the oil lamp.

In the bedroom he made a rapid cast around and ended by throwing open the window...

And people keep opening windows. Airborne poison.

Then he rushed down the stair, out through the open window, threw himself upon his face on the lawn...

Every detective needs their allotted floor time. It is imperative.

He had bought a lamp which was the duplicate of the one which had burned in the room of Mortimer Tregennis on the morning of the tragedy.

I leave this here without further comment.

"In each case there is evidence of a poisonous atmosphere. In each case, also, there is combustion going on in the room—in the one case a fire, in the other a lamp."

I'll be over here thanking Sir Terry Pratchett for (I assume) using this as his inspiration. GNU.

"The result seems to indicate that it was so, since in the first case only the woman, who had presumably the more sensitive organism, was killed, the others exhibiting that temporary or permanent lunacy which is evidently the first effect of the drug."

✨Sensitive organism✨

...

If by that you mean she probably had a lower body mass, as women do tend to on average, and therefore the threshold for a lethal dosage was also lower? Then sure, I guess.

Sensitive organism.

Sensitive organism

Oh, I can't do my work today, I'm a sensitive organism.

And fine, it was the fire, not the candles. I was a little off on the method.

"Now, Watson, we will light our lamp; we will, however, take the precaution to open our window to avoid the premature decease of two deserving members of society, and you will seat yourself near that open window in an armchair unless, like a sensible man, you determine to have nothing to do with the affair."

Glad to have absolute acknowledgment here that Watson is Not a sensible man. We already knew this. But it's nice to have it canonised.

This can only go well. I foresee no bad effects.

Isn't Holmes out there for his health?

It was that vision which gave me an instant of sanity and of strength.

Pulled back from the edge of death by the fact that Holmes is also dying.

"Upon my word, Watson!" said Holmes at last with an unsteady voice, "I owe you both my thanks and an apology. It was an unjustifiable experiment even for one's self, and doubly so for a friend. I am really very sorry."

Got to be bad if even Holmes is admitting it was a dumb idea and apologising for it.

But yeah, be sorry. Although I've got to say, guy fully consented to this circus.

"You know," I answered with some emotion, for I have never seen so much of Holmes's heart before, "that it is my greatest joy and privilege to help you."

Such drama. Such emotion.

I mean... it's undercut a little by the fact that they only needed the drama and the emotion because they were absolute idiots.

You acknowledged yourself that it must be fast-acting Holmes, both because the first people were still sitting exactly where Mortimer left them and yet he was fine and had noticed nothing wrong, and also because of how little oil had been used in the lamp at the second crime scene.

And you didn't even just use a bit of the scrapings, you used them all... Sure you left the door and window open, but... my guy. My guy. If you had died today it would not have been undeserved. For a smart person, you can be unbearably foolish

But still, very moving. I understand why people were really excited about this one. Much shipping.

#Letters from Watson #The Devil's Foot #(which I assume is the name of the drug?)#Sherlock Holmes #long post

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