#i know it’s a joke but the thought of someone being stuck in that shed with the filth for almost 5 hours is SO fucking funny
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I cannot stop thinking about this
#ultrakill#i know it’s a joke but the thought of someone being stuck in that shed with the filth for almost 5 hours is SO fucking funny#never a thought to go upstairs#no idea what Idols are#just Filth Prime#nothing can save you from Filth Prime
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𝐬𝐮𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥
summary: you were a pogue, and now you're a kook. just like how once you were no one's, and now you're rafe cameron's.
author's note: here it is!!! imagine like s1 rafe with the s2 hair, and basically just having a former-pogue girlfriend through out the whole season. i just think rafe would actually be such a good boyf, he just needs someone to settle him down when he gets a lil crazy. follows the sequence of s1 until about 3/4ths down, where i just started making stuff up. you might read this & think no one would act like this.. and that's fine, i know they wouldn't, but this is a self indulgent story for rafe <3 part 2 of the other seasons maybe? enjoy!!
now spinning: black beauty by lana del rey (soooooo rafe coded! he just needs a hug and some pussy!)
word count: 13.5k
warnings/tags: wheeze is a toddler for no reason. reader isn't the biggest fan of the pogues at this point in time. smut: oral (f receiving), fingering, degregation, use of daddy, rafe calls reader kid because <3, lemme know if i forgot something!
“So that’s it? Really? Your mom is marrying a Kook and you’re moving across the island… just like that?” John B speaks to you as if you had any choice in the matter. You look at him sadly, but you’ve cried so much the last few days, it’s hard to find any more tears.
You want to tell him, want to explain everything. The way your mom has been so lonely for years, ever since your dad passed away. The way she would pull double-shifts every week just to make sure you had the nice, trendy shoes and hot dinner every night. The way you grew up in the cut but it never felt any different than growing up in figure eight, because she took care of you.
And now it was your turn, to take care of her. Blake Richards was rich, and he wanted to take care of your mom, which meant for the first time in a long time, she would be the one being taken care of. And you owed that to her, you owed that much.
“I-I don’t really have a choice, John B. I mean, this is my mom. And she’s getting her chance to be happy. I can’t ruin it for her.”
“Yeah, I get all that but, like, does this mean you’re gonna go full-Kook on us? Because I think that would just be disturbing,” JJ says, and you crack a smile, even as you feel a tear spill down your cheek.
“I don’t think I could ever go full-Kook.” It comes out quietly, a notch above a whisper.
“Hey, hey,” you hear John’s voice again, as he stands up to get closer to you. You feel embarrassed, the way your cheeks flush and heat up when he’s only a few inches away from you. He wipes the tear away with his thumb. “No crying, okay? Nothing has to change.”
The way he says it, you almost believe him.
“Right,” you say, still quiet. There’s a sob stuck behind your throat, and you don’t want the boys to know how upset you really are. You’ve stitched up these boys more times than you can count, set shoulders and bones and nursed bruises for them. “Nothing has to change,” you repeat, trying to convince yourself. Everything was about to change, starting with your relationship with them.
And that’s the one thing you wish could stay the same. Deep down, no matter how many times you were teased and laughed with, there was a part of you, buried away, that thought you would end up with one of these boys one day. Sweet John, funny JJ, smart Pope. Well, maybe not Pope. You’ve seen the way he stares at Kie, even when no one else notices.
But John and JJ, the possibility of being with one of them always lingered in the air. Even when they’re flirting with tourists or cracking so-called boy jokes that you just wouldn’t understand, you always thought they were your endgame.
If only you knew.
Pope and Kiara drive up, just as you’re wiping away another tear. You’re dreading repeating everything to them, shedding more tears.
౨ৎ
“Who is that?” Topper asks, eyeing some girl entering the club. Rafe was getting sick of Topper crying over every pretty girl he saw on the street when he was supposedly dating his sister. He hardly cared about Sarah, daddy’s favorite, but that was his family, and he wouldn’t tolerate disrespect to his family.
“She must be fresh meat,” Kelce says, “I’ve never seen her before.”
“Tourist?” Topper questions. Rafe downs the rest of his drink.
“Nah, man, see that guy ahead of her? That’s Blake Richards. My dad works with him, he’s a big finance guy. He’s a widower, but I guess not anymore.”
“Step-daughter? Jesus,” Topper says. “It’s like a cheesy porno. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he married her mom to tap that, I mean-”
“Enough,” Rafe snaps. “Shouldn’t you be in a fight with my sister?” Topper blanches.
“I mean, look at her Rafe. That is something special,” Kelce says, and then finally, Rafe lifts his head to look at you.
You look… confused. Your head is turning, taking in everything about the club, like you’d never been there before. A waiter comes up to your family with tall glasses of water, little pieces of cucumber and lemon floating around in them with ice cubes. Richards—your step-father—takes a glass and hands it to a woman who can only be your mother, with the same hair and complexion. Before he can take a glass to hand to you, you take it from the tray yourself, smiling and saying thank you. The waiter, some teenage Pogue, blushes at your affection.
When you start walking, continuing the tour, the waiter turns to look at you walk away, gawking like men do when they see something pretty. Rafe feels an overwhelming urge to punch the kid, and cover you up with his jacket.
You’re not in anything too immodest, compared to what he’s seeing girls at the club walking around in, but it feels like it’s too much for the leering eyes that follow you. Your jean skirt comes down a little less than half-way to your thighs. Your shirt is white, with puffy sleeves and little buttons that tighten around the chest.
He sees a glimpse of cleavage, which makes his chest tighten uncomfortably, not in the way he’s used to when he sees a pretty girl. He wants to take his shirt off his back and slide it onto you, buttoning it up all the way and making sure no one else looks at you the way he’s looking at you right now.
“Rafe?” his friend calls, and he’s not sure which one. In your glancing, you turn towards Rafe and you lock eyes for a second. You must have noticed him staring. You probably think he’s crazy, but he doesn’t seem to care much at the moment. Your mother must have beckoned you, because you turn away in a second, walking towards the older couple, trailing behind them again.
“Be right back,” he says, leaving a confused Topper and Kelce behind him at the table. He cuts through the tables near the bar, entering the walkway where your family is already, but coming out of the other end. He gets there just in time to run into Richards, who’s leading the little group.
“Hi, Mr. Richards, right?” he says, holding his hand out. “Rafe Cameron.”
“Oh, Rafe, hi,” the older man replies, shaking his hand. Rafe grips hard, making sure Richards doesn’t think he has a wimpy handshake. Otherwise he’s never gonna agree to what Rafe has in mind. “I haven’t seen you in years, I mean you were half your height last time I was over at Tannyhill.”
“Crazy, right? Well I just wanted to say hi since I ran into you. How’s, uh Benny and Brax?”
“I can’t believe you remember them, they haven’t been to Kildare in years. They’re good, yeah, Benny’s in California now, and Brax is out at law school, at Oxford.”
“Oh yeah, international law, right?”
“Yeah,” Richards says, smiling wide. “You’ve got quite a memory, son, I’ll have to tell Rafe when I see him.”
“Oh yeah, he’s around here somewhere.” Then, he makes his move. He turns his gaze to your mom first. He thinks about it briefly, but if he addresses you before her, your mom will be on guard. He knows how their minds work. “I don’t believe we’ve met before, I’m Rafe,” and he shakes your mom’s hand, but turns back to Richards for the introduction—something else in his little cheat-sheet of rules. Let dad do the talking, so he feels like he’s in control.
“Rafe, this is my wife, Anna-”
“Nice to meet you, Rafe,” your mom smiles at him sweetly, and he smiles back.
“-and my step-daughter.” You smile, and hold your hand out. He shakes your hand, gently, and looks at your face, because he can tell the smile is forced. He wonders why.
“Nice to meet you.” he says, and you smile that forced way again.
“You too, Rafe.” You let go of his hand, and it’s good, because if he held on any longer, the adults would get suspicious.
“First time here?” he questions, still looking at you.
“Yes,” your mother answers, laughing, if not a little uncomfortably. “Is it that obvious?”
“Nah, it’s a lot to take in, I remember that much.” Richards smiles at him, almost beaming. He knows Rafe has been coming here since he could walk. That means the old man appreciates him trying to comfort his new family. Another step closer.
“It is,” Anna says, looking at her daughter. She has those worried eyes, the one Ward’s new wife won’t stop looking at him with.
“Well, it’s the perfect place to be all summer. I mean, pretty much everyone our age is at the pool or the courts.” At his mention of the both of you, you look up from staring at your shoes quickly to looking right at him. He smiles. You don’t smile back.
“Really?” Richards asks, still openly friendly.
“I mean yeah, Mister R, I remember Benny on the golf course, like, everyday. And Brax, I mean he practically taught half of us how to swim.” Richards nods and laughs, continuing small talk about his sons. Rafe sneaks another glance at you, and you look back knowingly, like you can smell his intentions from a mile away.
“Honey?” your mom asks quietly. “Do you wanna go with Rafe?”
“What?” you reply quickly, surprised. You weren’t listening, and he tries hard not to laugh.
“Well, I can take you ‘round, introduce you to everyone. I’ll finish the tour if you and Mrs. Richards are heading up to the course?” He nods at the golf clothes your parents have on, that you are lacking.
“I think that sounds great, right, honey?” Anna presses, and after you lock eyes with her, you nod in agreement.
“Yeah, sure,” you say quietly. Rafe smiles again.
“Great, great, yeah. Well, it was great to see you Mister R. Missus R.”
“Thank you, Rafe. Kiddo, you can ask for the car to go home when you’re ready, okay? Your mother and I are going to get dinner here.” Anna looks up confused, probably wondering how they’ll get back.
“I’ll call someone to bring the car back, honey,” he explains, and your mom smiles.
“I can also take her back,” Rafe interjects. “Tannyhill is the same direction, and I’m headed back anyways. If you wanna leave the car here.”
“Really, Rafe, that would be great, thank you.” You look even angrier than before, but the plastic smile spread over your face doesn’t faze them.
“Right, thanks, Blake. Bye mom,” you say, and then lean over to kiss her on the cheek.
You watch them walk away, chewing your cheek and turning back to Rafe with anger splashed all over your pretty features.
“I can’t believe that worked on them,” you tell him quietly, smiling when your mom turns back to look at you before they turn the corner. Your parents were too gullible sometimes.
“Yeah, me either, kid.”
“Don’t call me that,” you reply right away. “And despite what you think, I’m not touring this place with you. I’m probably never coming back here after today.” You start walking away, in the opposite direction of your parents, when he chases behind you.
“Y’know, I don’t get you. Every girl your age lounges around here all day, and everyone else wishes they could.”
“Well, you know what they say,” you start, smiling sweetly, though he sees through it again. “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.”
“Really?” he shrugs. “Never heard that before.”
“Yeah, you wouldn’t have.”
“Come on, you’re not even giving me a chance. You don’t even know me.” You laugh at that.
“Yes, I do, Rafe, you just don’t recognize me.” You continue your brisk pace, looking for the exit and getting closer. He reaches out to grab your forearm, holding you back for a second. He guides you into the corner, between the hallway where there’s no one else around.
“Yeah, that so?” Rafe is almost caging you in. He’s so close you can smell his cologne and the scotch on his lips.
“I’m from Kildare, Rafe.” You try to break free of his grip, but it proves even harder than you thought. He holds you in place without even breaking a sweat.
“No, no, no, because I know every pretty girl in Kildare. And you’ve definitely never been here before, so-”
“Really? Even the ones from the cut?” You thought that would be enough to get him to drop your arm, but he doesn’t budge.
“Huh. So that’s why you’ve never been here. Old Man Richards married a Pogue and made her daughter into a Kook? Did I get that right?”
“I’m not a Kook,” you say, squirming, because you still don’t want to be trapped by him. His cologne smells good, your mind wanders and thinks, like ocean air and sandalwood. You snap out of it at once.
“Not yet, you’re not.”
“I’m not going to be, either. A little money isn’t going to change anything for me.”
“Yeah, yeah, kid. That’s what everyone says, ‘til it does.”
“Rafe, let go of me, I said let go-” And he does let go, quickly, and your arm falls. Faint red marks appeared when he was holding on, what can only be a bruise tomorrow. He’s marked you, and you’re not half as angry as you would have thought.
“Come on, kid, we’re finishing this tour. I promised,” he says, and the last bit is so mocking, you can’t believe mom and Blake fell for his act.
He takes you around the entire club, shows you the restaurants, the spa, the pool. At least a handful of girls stare at the two of you walking side by side, but Rafe doesn’t look back at anyone. You don’t know how to feel about that.
The oldest Cameron isn’t a mystery to anyone in Kildare, but you don’t know anything about him besides what the boys have told you. JJ hates him, naturally, John doesn’t let you look at him in passing, and even Pope can find a few bad things to say. But right now, he’s not doing any of those things you would have expected once he found out you and your mom are from the other side of the island. The crude jokes and gold-digger comments are nowhere to be heard.
But you can’t write him off completely yet. After all, this is Rafe Cameron.
He finishes the tour on the golf course, so you can wave to your parents on the course. You’re sipping on a lemonade through a little pink straw, and he finds it hard to look away when your cheeks hollow to draw up the liquid. Your mom and Blake wave back, and you smile—genuinely—for maybe the third time that morning.
“They’re good together,” Rafe comments, on the walk back to the front door, where his truck is waiting.
“Do you really think that?” you ask quietly. You’re tired, he can tell, drained from trying so hard to make sure he knows you hate him.
“Yeah, kid, I do. He’s been a widower basically my whole life. And he married your mom, so he must really love her.”
You can’t tell if he’s just saying it to get on your good side. You hope he’s not. Through all of this, all the crying and the suffering and how much you miss your old life and your friends, if your mom doesn’t at least end up happy, it’ll all have been for nothing. You feel more tears brewing.
“Thanks, Rafe,” you end up saying quietly, as you put on the seat belt in the passenger seat of his truck. His music plays softly in the background of the drive - rap, something you've heard before but can't place - back to Blake’s house. With your window down, you stare out of it and try to pay attention to the breeze in your hair rather than the entirely overwhelming scent of Rafe, which is all-consuming in his car.
Rafe turns to look at you every few minutes. You look perfectly in place in his car, leaning against the panel with your eyes closed. That means you trust him, even though every word you say makes him think otherwise.
Your eyes flutter open when he puts the car in park, outside the door to your house.
“Home sweet home, kid,” you hear his voice in your ear, but he sounds closer than he should be. When you turn to look, he’s leaning over you and so close to you, you feel the heat radiating from his body.
“What’re you doing?” you ask quickly, heartbeat picking up and rocketing off.
“M’just getting the door for you, kid.” His arm flexes, only an inch or two away from your chest, pulling the handle and swinging open the door. He leans back into his seat, smirking. “Why, what'd ya think I was gonna do?”
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in and swallow uncomfortably. Your throat feels dry and your palms are suddenly clammy.
“Nothing.”
“Sure. Whatever you say.”
You climb out of his car, shoes hitting the ground a little too hard. He strains his neck, trying to make sure you’re okay.
“Thanks for the ride,” you say, not meeting his eyes, closing the door behind you.
“Anytime, kid. I’ll be seeing you around.”
You thought he would take over the second the passenger-side door was shut, but he doesn’t. He stays and watches you fix your skirt that had ridden-up on the drive, and walk into the front door, glancing behind you, just for a second, before going inside. And then you hear the roar of the engine, only after the door was closed and you were safely inside.
౨ৎ
You didn’t take it literally, that you would be seeing him again. Rafe seems like the type to play with his toys and get bored before long, but true to his word, you see him days later. And to his luck, you were feeling even worse than the first time you met him.
The morning started like any other—showering in a bathroom that’s just yours, and no one else’s, and attached to your bedroom. You can hardly remember the years when your dad was alive, but after he passed, you and your mom moved into a tiny two-bed, one-bath with your mom’s best friend. You were there for the next five years, until she got married and moved out, and it was just the two of you. But even in all the years since, you’ve never had your own bathroom until now.
You shower as long as you want, whenever you want. Your room is in a completely different hallway than the master, where Blake and your mom sleep. You blast music at night, singing along off-tune from the bathroom, and would stay on the phone for hours with your friends. If anyone answered your calls anymore.
It’s been three weeks since you broke the news to everyone that you were moving. Two weeks since you actually moved. One week since Rafe walked you around the country club and drove you back home, like you belonged to him. In that time, you’ve driven down to the Chateau twice, walked by Kie’s house, which is now just a few blocks away, and texted multiple times—all with no responses. At first you panic, thinking something’s happened, but then you realize this was what always happened. When you’re off on an adventure, you don’t think about who’s waiting for you back at home.
That’s what’s running through your mind when you run into Rafe again that day.
You had showered without interruption, taking your time doing your hair up just because you felt like it. There was no work to be done, no chores assigned to you anymore. Breakfast was always prepared when you went downstairs, so you took your time getting ready now.
You missed a lot of things about your old life, but the limited time and constant rushing and anxiety were not among them.
Your clothes were picked out with the anticipation of seeing your best friends again, your favorite overalls from the thrift store—which had been bought when you were still two sizes too small for them, and had been baggy on you until last year, but they were such a steal your mother refused to let you put them back—and a yellow shirt to match your ratty, yellow converse. They had been washed so many times they were more brown than yellow, but it didn’t matter much.
This outfit was the old you, and it brought up feelings inside you that nothing in figure eight could change. You wore it because you wouldn’t look any different to your friends in this outfit, and for maybe a few hours, you wouldn’t be the girl in the fancy house with the country club membership anymore.
“You look nice, sweetie,” your mom says, when you head downstairs. She’s drinking her coffee at the table, your step-dad nowhere to be found. It’s eleven in the morning and she’s just woken up too, in her robe and slippers, and you smile, watching her more relaxed than you’ve seen in years.
You swing by her side of the table to give her a kiss, and steal a piece of toast from her plate. You’re relieved she doesn’t mention your clothes, not when she keeps offering to take you shopping with Blake’s money, which you keep refusing, but is getting more tempting every time you step in a puddle in these shoes.
“Thanks mom, I’m going to see the boys and Kie, I’ll be back later, don’t wait up!” and with that you’re gone, before you can discern the disapproving look in her eyes.
Your junky old car, older than you by several years and still somehow the nicest thing you own—used to own, a voice chirps in the back of your head—is hidden around several fancy cars in the driveway. It’s intentional, you’re sure, and likely your mother’s doing. Nothing embarrassed her more than you handing out constant reminders of your old life to everyone around you.
And then you’re on the way to the Chateau, windows down and no music, since there was no way to connect your phone and the radio was busted by Pope a year ago, who claims he was trying to fix it.
But it’s what happens when you get there that embarasses you the most—no one’s there, and no one will answer your call. You wait around for a half hour, trying to see if they come back, but they don’t.
And that’s when it hits you. They were off on their adventures, and you weren’t just down the street anymore, which meant you weren’t invited. You get back in your car and slam the door, humiliated, tears falling down your face and probably ruining the makeup you had done, stupidly, this morning, because you wanted to look nice for them, like your old self for them. You don’t realize until later, after you were done crying, and seen Rafe again, that your friends didn’t want to bother you while you were adjusting to your new life.
You feel betrayed, and the words that John had told you rattle through your head, because he was wrong. Everything had changed, and nothing would be the same.
You take off, heading back home. There’s a big storm brewing and your Accord gets dramatic in the rain. It’s not until you cross the border back into figure eight that you realize two things. One, that you had just thought of your new house as home for the first time. And two, that you had never felt more alone.
There’s not much to do about either of these feelings, besides stopping for the biggest bowl of ice cream you can reasonably carry back home, and eating it in your room, crying and watching You’ve Got Mail for the hundredth time.
So that’s what you do, pulling into the ice cream shop closest to home. Your car also doesn’t have the greatest functioning air conditioner, and you don’t need any more questionable stains in your seats, considering how many times JJ had borrowed it and returned it, promising you it’s nothing and that that spot in the back seat was always there!
In line, tapping your foot, calling your mom’s cell. Your eyes are puffy and your nose is red from crying. She’s not answering, but the unspoken rule of your little family is to always, always call when you’re getting ice cream in case the other wants something. You’ve only been gone something like two hours, and you can’t imagine what she’s doing that she can’t answer your phone. You dial Blake’s number, hoping he answers instead, and while it’s ringing you realize it’s your turn to order. You haven’t even looked at the menu yet.
You turn to the people behind you, telling them they can go in front, but when you look up from your phone, you almost drop it.
Of course it’s Rafe Cameron behind you. Of course. Who else would it be? Who else would keep catching you at your lowest moments? He’s with a little girl, who can’t be older than four or five, with dark hair and glasses, holding his hand patiently while staring up at you, while you stare at him and he stares back.
“Rafe, she said we can go in front,” she says, tugging on the hand she’s holding.
“Yeah, Wheeze, I heard. Let’s go order and then thank this nice girl for letting us go ahead, right?” The little girl nods, and follows him up to order. Rafe looks back at you but then your step-dad answers, so you turn away, cheeks heating up. You don’t want him to see.
“Hi, what’s going on?” you hear his voice through the phone, sort of staticky and jumbled.
“Hi, Blake, I just wanted to ask if you and mom wanted ice cream? I’m at the place… yeah, the one near the house.”
“Oh, yes, let me ask her, one second-” You hear him put the phone down, or cover the mic, and then, “Honey! Kiddo’s asking if you want ice cream.”
You feel yourself soften a little bit at the nickname. And then you hear your mom and Blake talking back and forth, for what feels like ages. The girl behind the counter looks at you with a glare and you try to look back at her with an apologetic smile, but you’re a little fed-up from the emotional turmoil you’ve just endured.
“Hi, sweetie, I’m okay, I had some at the club with lunch and twice in a day is just not a good idea-”
“Just get it, who cares? We can have it later tonight too-”
“What if the power goes out? It’ll melt, and then it’s just a waste of money-” Crap. You hadn’t thought of that.
“We have generators for that.” Blake picks up the phone again. “Hey, kiddo, get your mom her usual and make sure you use the card I gave you, okay?”
You hang up the phone, smiling, and then order. It feels weird, being oddly comforted by someone other than your mom or your friends for once. In your distraction, you don’t see Rafe and the little girl hovering near the freezer window that showcases all the ice cream they offer. When you’re reaching for the shiny black Amex, you hear him again.
“I got it, kid,” Rafe says, pressing his matching card against the reader and pushing your wrist down and away. He does it so easily, without trying, just like he did in the country club. You look up at him stupidly, brain not registering what he just did and why he did it, and you don’t move for a moment. You don’t move until he leans down a little, close enough to smell that enticing cologne again but not nearly close enough.
“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you’. And you should probably get out of the way.” You blink back up at him, and he’s smirking again. You feel kind of stupid, the way he’s talking to you, but you also don’t mind as much as you thought you would. The girl behind the counter yells out Next! and that’s when Rafe takes you by the arm, just above where he had bruised you, and moves you away himself.
“You okay, kid?” he asks, and you feel yourself melt like ice cream left in your car for too long. You don’t know if he really means it, or if he really cares, but you do know Rafe Cameron needs to stop talking to you like he likes you, or you’re going to be in trouble.
“Fine, yeah. Thanks, uh, thanks for the ice cream.” You’re still blinking slowly, stupidly, stuck in a daze. You should really get it together around him. It’s a little pathetic if a strong grip and a couple of nice actions gets you acting like this. That’s a problem for another day right now.
“Is she okay, Rafe?” the little girl asks quietly from beside him.
“No idea, Wheezie. Why don’t you sit and eat your ice cream?” he replies, and she sits down a few tables away, beginning to shovel chocolate ice cream with a tiny wooden spoon.
“Hey,” he says, and you begin to snap out of it. It’s raining outside now. You hear the pitter-patter of the drops on the roof. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yes. I am. I just had a bad morning. Sorry.” But you don’t know what you’re apologizing for.
“Well, are you gonna talk about it and shit? ‘Cause I don’t know you that well yet but you’re kinda freaking me out right now.”
“I-I…I just-”
“You, you, you just?” he mocks, and then when tears fill your pretty eyes and he sees one slip down your face, his own eyes panic briefly. “Hey, hey, I was just joking, kid-” He pulls out a colorful chair for you, and sits you down next to Wheezie, who is still eating ice cream at an alarming rate. Your ice cream is ready at the counter, and he brings it down next to you, holding his own strawberry cone in his hand.
“Hold this for me Wheeze,” he says, not really asking, and the little girl shakes her head right away.
“How’m I gonna eat mine then?”
“Wheezie,” Rafe says, in a voice that you haven’t heard him use before—and then you realize how stupid you sound. You’ve talked with him twice, you don’t know anything about the voices he uses or how he sounds when he’s talking to this girl who can only be his little sister.
“Can I have some?” Wheezie propositions back, and Rafe nods. “Okay!” she says, taking a bite of the scoop with her front teeth.
“So, y’gonna tell me what’s going on or am I gonna have to guess everything?”
“My friends, I just keep missing them, or they keep missing me, maybe. I just wanted to see them. It’s really lonely here, that’s all.” You’re staring into his eyes, his really, really blue eyes that are currently a little alarmed and concerned, and the fact that they’re that way for you is making you a little dizzy.
“Yeah, I get that. Sorry, kid, that’s the lay of the land, right? Not a Pogue anymore, are you?”
“I don’t know what I am.” You feel silly and embarrassed for pouring your heart out over ice cream with Rafe Cameron. He doesn’t know you, and he never will.
“Well, right now you have a choice. You can sit here and eat ice cream with us, or you can go home and cry about it alone. But if you choose the second one, Richards and Anna will see you, or hear you, and ask about it. And I’m not gonna keep asking if you don’t wanna talk. So pick one before this shi-stuff melts, okay?”
You nod dumbly again. You’d like to turn your brain off and let Rafe decide for you.
“I need a spoon.” He smiles, not smirks, for a second, before getting up to get you a spoon.
A few things float through your mind while you eat ice cream with the Camerons. First, Rafe remembers your mom’s name. Second, Rafe doesn’t swear in front of his kid sister. And third, and most important of all, Rafe Cameron cares about you.
“That’s a lot of ice cream,” Wheeze, or rather—as you’ve just learned—Wheezie, comments.
“I was feeling really sad,” you reply, shoving another spoonful into your mouth, watching the little girl eye your peanut and chocolate ice cream inquisitively. “You’ll understand someday.”
“Boy problems?” she asks, and you can’t help but crack a smile. Rafe looks up from his phone momentarily
“Not really, but a good guess. This would also apply to that situation.”
“My sister’s always got boy problems.”
“Really?” you ask, and then look up Rafe. “You have another sister?”
“Yes,” he says, in between licks of strawberry ice cream. You should really look away when he does that, because your heart rate is picking up. “And she’s even more annoying than this one.”
You laugh while Wheezie frowns.
“If I’m so annoying, why do you always take me for ice cream, huh?”
“She’s got you there, Rafe,” and you resist the urge to look at him, even when you can feel his eyes on you.
“Because you wouldn’t stop asking, dork, that’s why.” Wheezie shrugs in reply.
“I’m not gonna finish all of this. You want some, Wheezie?” you ask, offering her your spoon. She looks back at you smiling, and then at Rafe for permission, who nods.
She digs into the pile left, while you finally give into the urge to look up at her brother again. He takes another lick of his ice cream and you look away within a second.
“Been eating that for a while, haven’t you, Rafe?”
“Yeah.”
Somewhere in between Wheezie eating so much of the ice cream so quickly that she gets a brain freeze, and Rafe finally tossing his half-eaten cone into the trash, it’s time to go home. And as much as you hate to admit it, you don’t want to leave. The rain is coming down hard outside, a preview of the impending hurricane.
“Drive here, kid?” he asks, as your feet hesitate by the door.
“No,” Wheezie answers, “I came here with you, dork.”
“Not talking to you, kid,” he replies, rustling the top of her hair with his hand, getting an ugh, Rafe, in response.
“Yeah. Yes, I drove here. But my car doesn’t do so good in the rain.”
“Huh?” he questions.
“It’s old, okay. Junky. The AC is broken. And the radio. Sometimes she just stops, y’know?” You gesture to your blue car parked out front, the rusty, tiny sedan two spots down from his shiny truck.
“No, I don’t know. Richards lets you drive around in that thing?”
“She.”
“It’s a car. Barely, at that.”
“She has a name, okay. HoHo. That’s her name.”
“Alright, well, you’re gonna have to ditch the hoe, because I can’t let you drive home in a hurricane in… that.” You turn to glare at him. “Her, sorry.”
That’s how you end up soaking wet in the passenger seat of Rafe’s truck, Wheezie secured in her booster seat and Rafe even wetter than you are. He drops you home and says the two of you can go pick up your car tomorrow—if it’s still there, he adds at the end, leaning over you again to open your door. You stare at him dumbly again, which has now become a bad habit, and it’s not until Wheezie says you’re getting her wet in the back that you finally climb out and close the door. You stand behind the front door with your mom’s melted ice cream in one hand, and your phone with Rafe’s contact saved in the other, wondering what exactly just happened.
౨ৎ
The next few weeks pass through as quickly as they came. Your car—to your chagrin and your mother’s joy—does not survive the hurricane. Blake gives you a fancy, luxury car to drive around in that he just had laying around, which you don’t believe for one second. But, your mom is pleased when you actually start driving it, and you can actually listen to music from your phone and enjoy air conditioning and the most luxurious of luxuries—a backup camera.
The night of the ice cream shop incident, Rafe texts you. You were completely ready to wallow in bed, waiting for the text from him that never comes, drowning your sorrow in more ice cream, but he does text you. First and right away.
R: Is it wrong if I hope hoho drowns tonight?
that’s so mean. she never did anything to you.
R: She’s kinda ugly. And what was that about no ac?
so she deserves death????
R: The impound lot at the very least
if she dies, it’ll be because YOU manifested it
R: Never thought I’d believe in that manifesting shit, but here we are
did Wheezie eat dinner after how much ice cream you let her inhale?
R: No.
R: Ur fault. You gave her yours
you gave her yours too
and btw, I offered her a bite. she ate the rest. not my fault
R: She’s five, genius
R: I’ll come around noon tomorrow. Sleep tight kid
౨ৎ
Somewhere in between picking up your car—which entailed no less than stopping for lunch, even more ice cream that you can’t stand to watch him eat, and driving through town to see how bad the damage from hurricane Agatha was, and altogether three hours together ending with a wet, heated kiss in his truck with the windows fogged up—and today, you’ve been with Rafe more times than you can count.
And you try hard to suppress the thought that it’s just because he’s available, that the availability is the reason for your attraction. And then you catch yourself trying to justify why you want to see Rafe so much, this guy that you had just been assuming was bad because your friends told you he was bad, without much in the way of an explanation.
But Rafe is the furthest thing from bad. He’s so sweet to you it makes you delirious. He picks you up all the time, even when you tell him you’re just at home, and your car is right there. He pays for everything, he opens every door, the gentle but teasing way he is with Wheezie makes you even more head over heels.
But most important of all, he calls you first. He texts you first. He makes you feel wanted, and you definitely, definitely, want him, so you don’t think twice before saying yes to accompanying him to Midsummers.
You actually don’t know what it really is, besides for a big party. It was always one of the worst nights at the hospital—litters of teens with alcohol poisoning and from car accidents— so your mom would be working. When you turned eighteen, your mom paid for classes to become a junior nurse, and so busy nights like the one of Midsummers usually was, you would get called in too. So before this week, you’d never spent Midsummers doing anything other than cleaning wounds and fetching suture kits.
You tell Rafe this and he looks at you strangely, another of his looks you hadn’t seen before, with furrowed brows, and you flush and apologize, regretting even opening your mouth.
You know you’re deeper than you thought when he takes your head between his hands and kisses you—messy, with tongue and spit left glimmering over your mouth, so much so that he wipes the corner of your mouth with his thumb when he’s done.
“Go get yourself a pretty dress, and we’ll have fun, yeah?” You nod stupidly again, the way you’re prone to doing around him. He must have realized you get a kick out being told what to do by him, what to worry about and what to focus on.
You finally take your mom up on the offer to go shopping. Her and your step-dad are going to this thing anyways, but you can tell she wasn’t completely sure you’d go to something so Kook-y, maybe not just yet, and she doesn’t want to push it since your mood finally seems to have picked up. But then you tell her Rafe asked you to go with him, and the two of you smile and jump around the living room, laughing like kids. She’s happy for you and you’re happy that the two of you are happy at the same time.
Rafe sends you money for a dress—enough money to pay for a month’s rent at your old place. Your mom says your step-dad insists on paying. You feel like things are coming together for the first time.
You wander the stores, trying on different dresses and feeling like a scene out of a movie until you finally find the perfect blue dress. Blue for Rafe’s eyes and his suit jacket, because you’re not embarrassed to admit to him that you want to match for Midsummers. It’s patterned with little flowers, ruffles and lace moving in the wind when you twirl, and for once, you stop feeling like you need to pick a side to be on—Pogue or Kook—and you decide just to be Rafe’s for now.
The night of the party, Rafe offers to pick you up, but you tell him you’ll come with your parents. They’re both wearing shades of peach and salmon, the three of you together look like you’re headed to a baby shower, which you and your mom laugh about in the car ride there.
You text Rafe to let him know you’re there, and tell your parents you’re going to walk around to find him. When you glance back, they’re talking with some of Blake’s friends, people he had invited to the wedding.
You see, what you can only think, is a glimpse of Pope, in his usual waiter get up, but he disappears before you can see where he was. His father is still there, though, and you make your way through the crowd to get near him.
“Hi, Mr. Heyward,” you say, smiling and unsure if he’ll recognize you. You don’t think he’s ever seen you in anything but your overalls or scrubs.
“How can I help yo-wait, is that you, well I’ll be damned. You’re blending right in, aren’t ya?”
“Well, it took long enough.” You suddenly feel embarrassed, because he knows the old you, the one who wouldn’t be here in a million years. “Do you know where Pope is? I thought I saw him, I just wanted to say hi.”
“He just went off that way, but if you see him, tell him I still need his help over here, just like I did before he walked away—”
“Can I help with anything?” you ask quickly, but he shakes his head and tells you the direction Pope went in.
You follow it generally, trying to see where he could have gone in such a short time. But then you see all of them, and you can’t stop your feet from running over. Kie, JJ, and Pope, all standing and talking about something, but you don’t really care about interrupting. Kie’s all dressed up too, and you suddenly don’t feel so embarrassed.
“You guys,” you feel yourself gushing. “It’s been so long,” and you go in for a hug with each of them.
“Wow, god, you look so pretty,” Kie says, and you hug her again. You don’t realize how much you missed her.
“You too, Kie,” your smile is so wide it starts to hurt. “Isn’t this so weird, all of us here at this party? Where’s John B?” you ask, looking around.
“So weird,” JJ says, and you notice the bruise around his right eye because he’s turning to look at Kie again.
“JJ, what the hell happened to your face?” JJ doesn’t answer, he actually doesn’t say anything at all, which should have been your first sign that something was wrong. You look at him quizzically, before turning to Pope.
“Pope, your dad’s looking for you, I just went over to say hi-”
“Oh crap,” he says, heading back in the direction you just came from. “Sorry, be right back.”
“W-what the hell is going on?” you question Kie and JJ, searching for any answer, desperately hoping that it isn’t we don’t wanna tell you. Your phone goes off, twice, and you pick it up. The look on your face must have been beyond palpable to your friends.
R🧸ྀི: Come inside the house
R🧸ྀི: Got a surprise for you
“I-I gotta go inside,” you say, looking at the confused faces of your friends.
“What’s inside? I thought-”
“No, nothing, I don’t know, Rafe just asked me to go inside, and I haven’t even seen him yet-”
“Rafe? What, Rafe Cameron?”
“Y-yeah?”
“What are you, with him, or something?” JJ asks, and you feel your heart fall into your stomach.
“I-I yeah, maybe. I’m here with him tonight, he-” Your phone goes off again. “I’m sorry, I have to go find him, but I’ll come find you guys right after, okay?”
You leave the two of them there, looking at each other confused, looking at you like they don’t recognize you. And it stings, for a moment, until you get inside the mansion and find Rafe hanging out by the entrance, nursing a glass of scotch and eyes lighting up when they see you.
Everything with him is like that scene from that movie. Lights go dim, you walk in slow-motion, the room goes quiet. He watches you walk up to him and his eyes take in everything—your pretty hair, your dolled up face, the way your dress moves when you walk, and most of all, that you’re here with him. He reaches his hand out to grab you by the waist to bring you in for a kiss. It’s not like the others, it’s chaste and soft and romantic.
“Hi,” you breathe out, resting your forehead against his.
“Hi, kid. You look fantastic,” and he presses another sweet kiss to your temple.
“We’re matching,” you say with a smile, taking in his blue suit jacket and the way you feel dizzy right now, and you feel his grip tighten around your waist.
“Yeah, we are. Now get in line with me, we’re walking out together.” Your eyes are big like coins, because you understood that you were coming here together, but this is his family’s big night, if everything your mom and Blake told you was to be taken seriously.
You don’t have time to say anything, because Rafe’s nice parents line up ahead of you, and his two sisters behind you. Wheezie tugs on your dress and you turn to greet her and Sarah quickly, because then the doors open and you’re walking out, following Rafe’s lead, lots and lots of eyes on you, but only one pair of blue ones you really care about.
You almost want to cry, the whole thing is so magical. You have a flute of champagne and a sip of Rafe’s scotch, and you are deliciously tipsy for the next two hours. Your parents come over to talk to you and Rafe, and you can see how happy your mom is in her eyes. You and Rafe dance until your feet hurt, and it’s only then, when he leaves your sight, that things seem to get back down to how they normally are.
You can’t find Wheezie’s parents or Sarah anywhere. The little girl spilled ice cream on her dress and is crying quietly, fat tears rolling down her chubby cheeks. You want to get her parents, because you think they can help, but you end up taking her to the bathroom yourself. With a damp paper towel, you wipe as much as you can, and you promise to get her another ice cream if she stops crying.
“It’s just a stain, honey, don’t worry.” You toss the dirty tissue and grab another one, wiping the tears and then letting her blow her nose. “It’ll come out when you wash it. And no one will notice because it’s so dark now, right?” She nods in agreement. “Do you wanna go find your big brother?” Another sad nod. “Let’s go honey,” and you take her hand and lead her back out.
You’re not entirely sure what you missed in the last fifteen minutes. Everyone’s gone quiet, staring at what you hope is a trick of your eyes—all of your friends running from the party, hooting and hollering. Kiara’s parents look hopelessly upset, Mr. Heyward downright disappointed, and your mom scanning the crowd, trying to see where you are, until she spots you and Wheezie.
Her and Mrs. Cameron come running over, and you instinctively flinch, thinking the giant headpiece she’s wearing will poke you. You hand off Wheezie and turn to look at your friends, and you think, for a second, they’re waiting for you. They are, you realize slowly, waiting for you.
And you almost take off right then and there, until you feel Rafe’s warm hand on your shoulder, and you look up to see him bleeding.
At that moment, you turn right back around and head inside to the nearest room, sitting Rafe down on the bed and scrambling to find something to clean his wound with, and something cold to help the swelling, and in your panic, you don’t realize you’re rambling.
“I mean, what the hell was all of that? I turn around for two seconds and everyone’s running from the party like there’s a fire, and destroying things and throwing punches, I mean, I get they hate the whole Kook thing, but it was never like this before, even when I didn’t know you yet, and I-” you drop the frozen bag of peas onto the floor in your sudden realization. “I just let them leave. They waited for me. I didn’t go with them.” Your eyes fill with years. That’s a betrayal, not all the stupid stuff you thought was happening before tonight. They waited for you, and you turned right back around to go inside with Rafe.
“Hey, hey hey,” Rafe says quietly, taking your head in his hands again. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay.”
“You’re bleeding, Rafe,” you say, voice trembling. Your tears are ruining your makeup.
“I’m gonna be fine. You know why?” he asks, and you feel more tears rush down. “Hey, hey, no crying.” Rafe wipes away the tears with his hand, then he brings his hands to your back and rubs soothingly. “You know why, kid?”
“Why?” it comes out a whisper.
“Because you chose me. We’re gonna be fine, okay?”
The way he says it you believe him.
You spend the next two days at Tannyhill with Rafe, wearing nothing but his t-shirts and doing nothing but rolling around in bed. It’s been a month, maybe a little bit more, and you haven’t even had the talk yet—the sex talk. There’s no doubt in your mind that he’s not ready for it, but you’re not ready for it, not yet. You’re working on it. He doesn’t make it easy for you, either. You’ve spent hours now, making out in his lap, grinding against each other until you make a mess all over his shorts and his hair is sticking up in every direction, and working your way up to telling him what you want.
You’re almost there. You’re waiting for the perfect time. Which was almost right now.
“You like that? Shit-” he breathes into your ear, pressing a kiss to the tender skin of your neck right underneath. It makes you moan again, louder, until he clamps a hand—the one not three fingers deep inside your leaking pussy—over your mouth, barricading the noise from leaving. “Gotta be quiet, kid, you want the whole house hearin’ what a little slut you are?”
His blue eyes, lustful and blown, stare into your own. You shake your head softly underneath the tight grip of his palm. You’re always obedient with him, but he really likes you like this.
“Yeah? You gonna do whatever daddy tells you? Just so I keep my fingers in this tight pussy?” You nod compliantly, head falling back on to the pillow. His fingers are thick, and the cool of his ring rubs against your clit in the best way, in ways you didn’t even realize it could feel.
He keeps fucking three fingers in and out of you, moans muffled by his hand but not completely silenced. You must be making a mess, because it’s what he keeps talking about, rambling about your messy cunt, greedy and sucking him in, and how you’ve been cumming for him like a little princess for the last two days, but it’s never enough for you.
It’s when he removes his hand and kisses you hard instead, tongue deep inside you mouth, the metal of his chain dangling on your chin, and you feel the similarly cool metal of his ring on you, you finish again, exploding around your boyfriend’s fingers and moaning into his mouth. He hears you, repeating his name over and over again, not Rafe, but rather daddy, and he swallows your chants into his mouth. When you calm down, he makes a show of licking his fingers off while locking eyes, and then you get flustered and bury your head into his neck.
He laughs, because it’s so cute, but only for a minute. Then you two shower together and he makes another show, but this time out of you, kneeling on the floor of his tub while he paints your face with his cum, making sure to cover the necklace you’ve been wearing recently too, the silver, loopy little R hanging between your collarbone.
Then you get dressed—a little pink dress that’s been his favorite recently, with buttons down the front and a pretty bow where your tits sit— and the two of you have lunch with his family like nothing ever happened.
Rafe drops you back at home later that day, gives you a kiss where he grabs the back of your head to bring you in, and then waves bye to your parents as he unlatches the door for you, in his usual way.
౨ৎ
A week later, he does the same thing. Drops you off, drives away once you’re inside, and you’re starstruck walking back, so much so, you don’t realize there’s someone waiting for you.
It’s Kie, and Rafe’s sister, Sarah. You’re a little confused since you thought the two of them didn’t get
along, but they look like they’re fine now.
“Hey, listen, we need you to help us. Can you come down to the Chateau later tonight, after sunset?” Kie asks, and you must look as confused as you feel, because Sarah speaks right away, before you can get a word out.
“You cannot tell my brother. Promise us you won’t.”
“Why are you asking me that? Why can’t I tell him?” Sarah and Kie exchange a look, and it’s clear to you that you are missing several pieces of the puzzle. “Guys! Come on, you-you can’t expect me to just be on board with lying to my boyfriend and showing up to help you guys without knowing what it even is, right? What’s going on?”
“We will explain everything, just please promise us that you’ll come,” Kie implores and you nod hesitantly.
“And you won’t tell Rafe?” Sarah asks again.
“Come on. Pogues for life, right?” Kie says, and you get a flashback to your life two months
ago—doing anything for your friends and dreaming of how you’d end up with one of the boys someday. It all seems like a million years ago.
“Yes, yeah, yeah, I’ll be there. I won’t tell him.”
You guess that God was on your side today.
R🧸ྀི: Hey kid. Busy with my dad today. Dinner tomorrow okay?
sounds perfect!! don’t work too hard! i'm gonna watch a movie with my mom and blake and stay in tn
R🧸ྀི: You got mail again?
you know me so well
R🧸ྀི: Have fun princess.
You set down your phone on your dresser, feeling like you could throw up your dinner. It’s just starting to get dark outside, and you’ve just lied to Rafe for the first time since you’ve met him. It feels terrible, like something’s gnawing inside you, begging you to come clean and confess, or not to go out at all. You think about it for a moment, maybe if he knows you’re with some of your old friends, it won’t be like a real lie.
Then you remember your old friends are the ones who punched him. You tell your mom you’re going to Rafe’s, and then you get in your fancy car that Rafe helped you christen the other day—in the backseat, specifically—and drive to your old life.
You park next to the Twinkie and get out, stepping into a slush of mud. Your shoes are new, and were clean, and you cringe internally at how much you started caring about these things. You don’t want Rafe to see you with dirty shoes.
The boys and Kie are sitting on the logs near the fire pit. Sarah is sitting right next to John B, looking at him how you look at Rafe, and then you realize the magnitude of just how much you’ve missed.
“Hey,” Kie says, looking up first, smiling. “You came.”
“Yeah.” You’re at a loss for words. Everyone looks the same. Everything feels so different.
A part of you wants to sink down between Pope and JJ, crack a beer, and laugh at jokes you think you would still understand. Another part wants to get into the fancy car and drive to Tannyhill. You opt for neither, standing a few yards away and letting the light from the fire cast its hazy glow over you and all your old friends.
“Did you tell him?” Sarah asks. She means it well, not in a rude way, but that’s how you feel.
“No, no, I didn’t. He, he thinks I’m at home. With my mom and Blake.”
“Alright,” JJ says, tossing his empty beer can. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
“Listen,” John B says, getting up and sounding too sincere for your liking. “We all appreciate you coming. Because we need a favor from you, and it might not be easy.”
“I mean, I think it’s gonna be pretty easy. Unless Rafe is like, really, really crazy, like even crazier than we already know he is-” JJ says, but stops when Kie and Pope shake their heads. “What? She knows, she’s the one dating him.”
“Know what? I don’t even know what you want from me-”
“We need a distraction. For Rafe, okay?” John B starts.
“An hour, okay, that’s all we need, right guys?” Sarah asks, looking back at everyone. They nod, trying to convince you, except Jayj.
“Well, like, maybe a couple of hours. If he’s up to that, y’know, I don’t wanna assume shit ‘bout stamina and all that-”
“JJ,” Pope says, shoving the blond’s arm. “You’re not helping.”
“What?” you breathe out, even more confused than before. You start to get what they’re asking, you just don’t want to admit it.
“We need to distract Rafe, for an hour, or like two hours, and we figured you’re our best bet.” John B says, and you look at them with your mouth falling open a little.
“You want me to…sleep with my boyfriend, to distract him, so you guys can do something that you won’t tell me about?”
“Kind of, yeah. Pretty much.”
“And is, is this thing going to hurt him in the long run? Is he going to be upset? When he finds out what happened?”
“My Kook feelings radar is a little off, right now, but who knows, I mean hell, he might not ever find out,” JJ says, and you want to sit down, because your knees feel weak, but the ground is muddy and the logs are occupied. “If we do our job right, he won’t know for a long, long time, right guys?” A chorus of right, right rings around the fire.
“And you’re not gonna tell me what this is about at all?”
“Well, it might not be a good idea. Because, you’re dating him, and listen, we just need like an hour, and he never has to know you were a part of this, okay? I will never tell him, none of us will,” Sarah says, and you do believe her. But you can’t believe that they’re asking you to do this.
“And if he finds out, and he breaks up with me, then what?”
“Yeah, I, uh, knew this was a bad idea. She’s not gonna do it, guys, so let’s just reformulate-”
“Oh, you knew I was gonna say no, JJ? Lying to my boyfriend? For the people who hurt him?”
“He hurt us too, y’know,” Pope says, and you feel your heart begin to race.
“No, I don’t know, because no one tells me anything! No one answers their phone and no one’s here when I drive down. Kie, you live two streets away from me now. The first time I saw you all month was at Midsummers and then, today. Asking me to come here to lie to Rafe, to sleep with him to distract him.”
“No, no, we shouldn’t have asked you, because I knew you would say no, I told them-” and you can’t believe the words coming from your friend's mouth. “Look at you, you went total Kook on us.”
And then you feel like they’re taking it all in. The R around your neck, the jewelry that sparkles in the light of the fire, all yellow citrine, for Rafe’s birth month. The pink dress that’s his favorite—you put it on this morning in case you ended up back at Tannyhill tonight. And worst of all, his white button up hanging from your shoulders, smelling like ocean and sandalwood and Rafe Cameron.
“It’s like you belong to him now.” You feel a tear sliding down, but you wipe it away.
“Maybe that’s because he was actually there for me, when I needed it. And I get it, maybe I should have tried harder. But you guys should have too.”
The group of you stand there in silence for a moment. Your phone goes off. You know it’s Rafe. They know it is too. It starts with Kie, and then a course of apologies from everyone. John B wipes away your tears like nothing has changed. JJ scratches his head, and then hugs you tighter than he ever has before. Pope tells you how much he’s missed you, how he had to start bandaging wounds in your absence.
“I’ll distract him. An hour, that’s all you get. I’m not sleeping with him because you guys want me to, okay? So if he leaves, he leaves.”
You take off for Tannyhill, leaving your old life behind and risking your new one all at once.
౨ৎ
Rafe’s phone goes off again, and he lets out a short, tight breath.
Princess: are you still busy at home? i need you
Princess: please rafey
“I’ll be back,” he tells Ward, and before he can even respond, he’s out of the room, calling you. The line rings twice, and then you answer.
“Rafey?” you sound quiet, like you’ve been crying.
“Hey, hey kid. What’s going on? I told you I was working tonight,” and then he runs a hand through his hair, because he knows he’s fucked, if you’re crying and you need him, then he’s going.
“I know, Rafe, I just really need you, I had a really bad night-”
“Woah, wait, I thought you were just with your parents?”
“I was, it just got really bad, I-I’m outside Tannyhill because I had to leave, and then I got lost and I was scared so I just came straight here.”
“Lost? Jeez, kid, it’s, like, down the street.”
“But I didn’t wanna bother you, ‘cause you were busy-” and then he hears a hiccup, and then a sob.
“Okay, okay, stay there, I’m gonna come get you,” and he hangs up the call. He darts outside, spotting your navy car and you inside, still in the same clothes from this morning, just wearing his shirt over it, like a jacket. He gets close and you climb out of the car yourself, jumping into his arms and burying your face into his neck, like you always do when you get like this. He can feel the way your body shakes under his arms, the wetness of your tears on his black polo.
“Okay, it’s okay now, come on, let’s go inside.” You make it up the stairs to his bedroom, when Rafe guides you inside and pulls his blinds, so no one peeks inside.
He sits you up on the edge of his bed, squatting before you, hands in yours, arms resting on your knees.
“You gonna tell me what happened?” You shake your head, another tear falling. You wish you could say you were pretending, but the tears find their own way when you think about the encounter you just had. You’re lying when you tell him it’s between you and your parents, but his reaction makes you regret it instantly. “Did they say somethin’ to you? Did they try something? I’ll go over there and sort it all out, okay, kid, don’t worry about a thing.” He stands up, running another hand through his messy hair, letting it fall in the moppy way it always does, over his forehead. “Stay here, okay, princess, I’ll be back.”
Then you realize he’s gonna go over there and talk to your perfectly happy, clueless parents, so you stand up and turn him back around.
“No, no, Rafe, don’t leave,” and then you melt into a hug, taking in everything about it. Rafe rests his chin on the top of your head, his arms tight around your back. He smells so good, and the way he’s taking care of you makes you realize a couple things. “Will you just…make me forget?”
Your boyfriend looks down at you, and you don’t shy away from his gaze like you often, when you get flustered.
“Make you forget?” he questions.
“I just don’t wanna think about anything else,” you start, undoing the bow of your dress, more cleavage revealing itself. “I just wanna think about you,” and then your fingers undo the buttons trailing down the front of your dress. It falls off your shoulders, and you stand before him, naked, certainly not for the first time but what feels like the most intimate it’s ever been.
There’s a pretty lingerie set hidden in the back of your closet, what you had actually put aside for this moment, but you had no time to run home and get it, so you opted for the next best thing, taking your bra and panties off in the car ride here, shoving them into your purse, and hoping that Rafe was as tempted as you were.
“Just about me?” he questions, and you take his hand into yours, leaning in to press a soft kiss against his lips.
“Just you, Rafe. I’m ready, Rafey, I want you to fuck me,” and it seems like that’s all it takes. Rafe crushes his lips against yours, kissing you how he always does, tongue in your mouth and spit everywhere. He holds you by the back of your head and your hands run through his hair. You want him closer, even closer than he already is, than he possibly could be.
His hands leave your head and go down to your ass, grabbing both cheeks roughly and wrapping your legs around his waist. He drops you on his bed, head hitting the pillow, and you pull away for a second, to catch your breath. Rafe doesn’t let it happen, gripping your cheeks between his hand and bringing you back in for another kiss. You’re naked, and he’s still completely dressed, but you don’t miss the obvious way his hardened dick presses against your bare cunt.
You can’t breathe, and all your senses are overpowered by Rafe, but you also don’t really care. You keep kissing, moaning into each other’s mouths and gripping hair and skin that’s sure to leave a bruise tomorrow, until you feel him finally pull away for a second. You catch your breath, open-mouthed and heaving, eyes locked.
“‘M only gonna ask this once, kid,” he breathes, leaving another hot kiss on your neck, which makes you spread your legs further open with instinct. “Y’sure you want this? ‘Cause there’s no going back.”
You nod in that way you always have with him, telling him everything with no words at all.
“That’s my girl,” he breathes against your neck, and you feel him bite down into the soft skin of the flesh there. You yell out, but it turns into a moan when Rafe licks his tongue over the wound. “That’s just so you can remember this night, okay baby?” You look back up at him, wet eyes, swollen lips, and flushed, sweaty skin.
“Thank you, daddy.” He smiles, because you’re in for it now.
“You’re welcome, kid. Shit,” he breathes out, “I knew you’d like it, little freak.” He starts with more hot kisses, all the way down your neck, down your sternum, and stopping to press a kiss to each side of your ribs, before continuing down to your stomach. You whine from your position below him, one huge hand holding your hip in place and the other tracing the pattern of the kisses down, until he finally reaches where you want him to be.
“Gotta be quiet, kid, everyone’s home. You gonna let them all hear how much of a whore you are for me? Huh?” he mocks, and you shake your head fervently. “Good girl. You’re being so good, you’re gonna get a treat, okay?” You nod stupidly.
His breath catches for a second, when he gets down to your glistening cunt. He looks up at you from his position there, your chest heaving, tits bouncing with how much you’re squirming, how much you want him to do something. He moves his hands, one resting on your breast, pinching the nipple with his finger, and the other running a line down your pussy. Your whole body twitches up when he runs the metal of his ring over your clit, because he knows you really like it.
“Rafe, please,” you cry, sounding stupid and fucked out, even though he hasn’t started yet. “Please, please,” and your hips jerk up. He pushes them down.
“Be patient, kid. Gotta admire this virgin pussy for the last time before I ruin it, ‘kay?” You feel your walls tighten at his words, and you hope he missed the way everything just clenched, but it’s Rafe, and he didn’t miss a thing. “Like that, huh? You like being my little slut?”
You shake your head, trying to deny it, but the damage is done.
Rafe dives in, and you let out a moan that you didn’t realize you were capable of producing. You clamp your own hand over your mouth, because you know he’ll stop if you get too loud. His tongue licks you up and down, and true to what you had always thought, he does know what he’s doing.
The hand pinching your nipples doesn’t relent, and the weight of his arm holds you down when you buck up as he pushes two fingers inside you, scissoring them to stretch your walls out. It hurts, in the best way, and before you know it, he’s added a third.
His mouth stays focused on your clit, and your legs tremble, even though it’s barely been a few minutes. It’s all of it, all at once. Being naked in Rafe’s bed, his hand groping your tits, the way he holds you down without trying, the smell of his cologne and his skin and his sweat, making you lightheaded.
His fingers push in and out, and when he hits that sweet spot inside you, the one your own fingers have never been able to reach but somehow, Rafe’s have become well acquainted with, you can’t help the noises you make.
You repeat his name over and over again, and you think you’ve felt the height of this pleasure, that nothing could surpass this feeling, until your stomach tightens in an entirely new way. Your fucked out brain gets it together for a minute, to feel the overwhelming, ecstatic pressure of Rafe’s tongue on your clit, spelling out his own name. Your stomach tightens, unbearably so, that coil winding up, but before he even finishes the F, it snaps all at once.
You let out a scream—which you think is so stupid of you. But it feels so good, there was no way around it. Rafe reacts instantly, grabbing your hand that’s pulling his hair and using it to snap over your mouth, all while he rides you through it.
His nose presses against your clit while he slides his fingers out, your pussy walls clamping around nothing, missing him already. He laps up the mess you just made with his tongue, the noise being so overwhelming, you want to scream again.
You use your other hand to yank his hair, pulling him up to look at you, because you know you want to see this. Rafe, your Rafe, your boyfriend, with blown, wide eyes and the entire lower half of his face glistening with your juices, with the mess you just made, and then you collapse back down onto the bed.
Your breathing is heavy. You aren’t sure it’ll ever go back to normal.
Rafe pulls his shirt off by grabbing it from the back, yanking it over his head. Your hand floats up to
touch his chest, to make sure he’s still real and not just a vivid sex dream, but he slaps it out of the way.
“What did I say, hm?” he asks, leaning over you. His face is just an inch too far to kiss. Your limbs feel numb, and you can’t pull him down yourself. You want to cry, because you want to kiss him so badly. “I said you had to be quiet, or everyone’s gonna know what a little whore you are.”
“I tried, daddy, I did-”
“I don’t think you tried at all, kid.”
“No, I did, I swear-”
“You’re lucky that I-” and before he finishes his sentence, you pull him down into another kiss. He tastes like you and scotch, and the combination is so intoxicating, you can’t pull away. “Hey, hey,” he breathes. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?” and the soothing way he says it, you believe him.
“I’m lucky that you what?” you ask, unbuckling his belt and snaking it off the loops.
“That I love you, and I’m not gonna punish you tonight for not listening to me.” You drop the belt over your stomach, the melt part hitting with a little clink. You look back up at him, your eyes wide, you imagine, your cheeks flushed.
“You love me?” you ask, quietly. You can barely hear yourself over the thud of your heart pounding in your chest.
“I do,” Rafe replies, running his hand to smooth over your hair, which you’re sure is a mess now. “Enough that I’m gonna fuck you now, but I had to say it first, because I’m gonna fuck you until you break.”
You’re speechless, watching Rafe unbutton his pants and kick them off, boxers going with them. He strokes himself once, twice, and you’re still staring up at his face, even though normally you would get distracted.
He looks up again.
“You ready, kid?”
“I love you, Rafey,” you say, twisting your hands around to the back of his neck, pushing him into yet another kiss. You can’t pull away, even if you want to, you want him so close that you forget everything else in the world for now. While you’re kissing, he lines himself up with your leaking pussy, which has probably ruined these sheets, and pushes in the tip.
You pull back from the kiss, just to moan, but Rafe silences you with his mouth again. He pushes in more, and more, until you’re sure he’s bottomed out. Your cunt is so, so stretched, you can’t fathom this is what you’ve been missing out on, and it feels so good, like nothing has ever felt before, not his fingers, not his tongue, not any other part of him.
“That’s halfway, kid, you doin’ okay?” and your eyes jolt up to his in a second.
“H-half?” you breathe out. “I can’t, I can’t take any more, s’not gonna fit Rafe, not gonna fit-”
“Hey,” he repeats, which always has that calming effect on you. “You let me worry about that, okay? Just relax this pussy f’me, okay?” and the way he says it, you do, because you have no other choice. He pushes in again, fast, hard, and then pulls all the way out. You’re too scared to look anywhere but his eyes, so you stay locked in on them, until he pushes all the way in again, and your eyes clasp shut.
“Oh, oh my god, Rafe-” And you don’t care who hears you this time. He pulls out again, just his lip still inside you.
“Look, princess, look down,” he urges, and you follow his instructions, because you always do. “Look where we’re connected, yeah?” He fucks in and out of you, slowly but then faster, and you do look, entranced at the way your pussy sucks him in, the way your cum is coating his dick, at the brutal pace he’s set.
You look until you can’t anymore, leaning back against the pillow and watching Rafe above you, his face twisted in pleasure, eyebrows furrowed, mouth panting. He buries his face into your neck, and you grip the top of his shoulders, nails digging in, because you just need to hold onto something.
He told the truth, you think, in your fucked out, blissful state, that he was going to fuck you like he hated you, battering into your sore pussy over and over again.
You repeat his name—daddy, not Rafe—until he shuts you up with a kiss, and he watches the strings of spit connecting your mouths when he pulls away.
“Just needed this dick, didn’ya princess? Just needed daddy to think for ya?” You moan in reply. “You got it then, kid, because m’never gonna stop fucking you. Y’never gonna think about anything else again.”
And then he finally does you in, because he presses down, right below your stomach, while he slams in, and you feel something inside you break, like a flood breaking through a dam. It washes out to every part of you, from your ears to your fingers to your toes. White hot pleasure runs its course through your body, cunt tightening and shaking, eyes rolling back, your spine arching forward. Through all of it, Rafe pins you down, and fucks you through it. And finally, deliriously, you open your fucked-out eyes, looking up at him.
“I love you, daddy,” and he cums before he can even pull out, messy rivulets shooting inside you, leaking out onto his expensive sheets. He moans into your neck, and his entire body slumps forward, and you giggle under the weight.
A few minutes pass by.
“Rafey, you’re gonna crush me,” you say quietly, sing-songy. You’re so happy, you’ve forgotten everything else that’s happened.
Rafe presses a kiss to your forehead and rolls off, slumping next to you. Your head lands on his chest not a second later, his arm around your shoulder and another kiss to your hair.
“Feel better, kid?”
“So much better, Rafey.”
You don’t know when you fall asleep, only that you woke up to the sound of your phone going on. You pick it up, trying to turn down the light so Rafe doesn’t wake up too. There’s one message.
JJ: I thought you said you weren’t gonna sleep with him?
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Will knows who it is at the first light brush on his shoulders.
He tips his head back back, bumping his boyfriend’s hip, leaning into the hand on his trapezius, his scapula, the base of his neck.
“Hi,” he says, grinning.
“Hi,” Nico says, leaning down to press his smile onto Will’s forehead. His hair tickles his cheeks, and he smells like woodsmoke and citrus, and Will slides his hand across his jaw and tugs him closer.
“Errand done?”
“Yep.”
“Lord Hades pleased?”
“As much as he ever is.” Nico shifts, kissing the corner of his mouth, the curve of his chin, the shape of his jaw. “My ears are ringing from five days of quiet. Even the echoing sound of lost souls cannot compete with your constant blabbing; I hardly knew what to do with myself.”
“Oh, shut up. You love my chatterin’.” He smacks the side of Nico’s head, but it’s hard to play mad when he’s smiling, shameless, wide enough that his teeth nick Will’s cheekbones, that his snickers are muffled into his skin.
“If I wanted to be stuck with someone who yaps nonstop I would’ve stayed down with Cerebus. In fact he might shed less, and he doesn’t drool when he sleeps.”
“…I do not shed.”
Nico plants both hands next to Will’s head, heaving himself up, and scans his camp shirt. Within three seconds, he locates a strand of hair, pinches it off, and flicks it at Will’s face.
“Uh-huh.”
“Oh, for the love of — get over here,” Will demands. Laughing, Nico goes where Will tugs him, curling up next to him on the bench. “You’re such a shit. Normal people are much kinder to the significant annoyances they leave behind for five days, you know.”
“Are they.”
Nico lifts his arm in offering and Will accepts with relish, tucking himself under it and making certain to drag his curls down Nico’s face in the process.
“Yep. In fact I was expecting hand-written letters by day two, honestly, telling me how much you missed me and how the distance was physically painful, et cetera, et cetera. Maybe a sonnet or two. Italian, preferably, Elizabethan are not my favourite.”
“You’re very picky.”
Will sniffs haughtily. “Well, I’m a catch. You have lots of competition, you know. I was fighting them off while you were away but now that you come back and insult me upon reunion, I shall reevaluate my options.”
He feels more than hears the quiet laughter Nico presses in his hair, thumb brushing his collar, dipping onto bare skin.
“Is that so.”
“Indeed. My suitors have even offered a dowry quite handsome. I’m worth twenty-seven goats, didn’t you know.”
“Oh, well then. I might as well return what I brought for you, since I’m not sure I can outshine two dozen goats.”
The cool thing about being a son of Apollo is that Will has range. His dad is the god of arts, generally, up to and especially the dramatic ones. Will knows how to school his face into the perfect mask, how to smile on command and cry as desired, how to deliver a line and bow with a flourish. Playing a part comes as naturally as breathing, as naturally as healing.
“A present?” he asks, checking his nails as if the mere thought bores him. “That’s interesting, I guess.”
Nico doesn’t even bother to indulge him.
“Here, you massive dweeb,” he snorts. He hands over a small paper box, hand-folded and thin. “I can practically feel you vibrating.”
There is only one thing in this world, quite possibly, that Will likes more than proving Nico wrong, and that is letting his boyfriend spoil him. In all honesty it’s a real challenge sometimes, because Nico is really very good at being everything Will has ever wanted even if he has wrong opinions on most movies. Truly Will’s life is a joke at which the gods must howl with laughter.
Eagerly taking the box, he holds it up to his face, carefully inspecting every corner. The paper is regular printer paper, slightly waterlogged (from the Big House printer, then, ‘cause Will was carrying a giant bag of saline in from storage when he was eleven years old and tripped on the shipment of office supplies that someone had left, for some reason, in the middle of the fucking hallway, and the bag had exploded on impact all over four boxes of printer paper holding one thousand pages each) and carefully bent into shape. He recognises Nico’s handiwork from the dozens of origami paper sculptures he’s been gifted over the past few months.
“Open it.”
“What is it?”
Nico rolls his eyes. “What did I just say.”
“No, I mean — it’s not my birthday or anything.”
“So?”
“So you’ve wrapped me up a present! I want to know why before I open it.”
“Just because,” Nico mumbles, pressing a kiss to his temples. “Not everything needs a reason, nosey.”
“If nothing had reason then we would still be premordial soup,” Will mutters, but pops open the lid anyway.
He gasps.
“Oh my gods, Nico, you —”
Nico’s smiling smugly, but Will barely notices. Inside the box is a black chain darker than shadow, so dark it doesn’t even glint in the heavy sun, and dozens of little charms, from polished obsidian to a ball of slowly flickering flame.
“You like?”
“It’s gorgeous!”
He makes a triumphant nose, pumping his fist, and says, “Fuck those suitors, I fucking win,” and the funniest part is that he’s damn serious. There’s a glint in his eye identical to when he wins a sword fight, to when Connor loses a bet to him, to when twenty-odd bets are stacked against him and he’s got a full house. Something dangerous and wild and superior and Will is not an enabler, okay, he is not, but he is only so strong and there is only so much he can do when pretty boys wrap their arms around him and smirk at him and bring him bracelets they made in the Underworld. He’d like to meet someone who wouldn’t fold, actually.
“There were no suitors, you loser,” he says, but he’s flushed, pleased smile stretched wide across his face, and Nico’s grinning that too-wide grin and tilting Will’s face closer with the edge of his thumb, like he barely had to try. And there’s always a little bit of shadow leeching off him when he comes back from a quest, an aura surrounding him like he’s squaring off to the sun, and of course the wild churning in Will’s stomach has nothing to do with that but what’s he to do, really? What is a warm-blooded person with eyes that can see to do when faced with such a look?
“Of course there aren’t. They know I would reap their actual souls.”
“Possessive, much.”
“You’re literally going red.”
“Shut up.”
And he does, but only because Will makes him.
Although judging by the hand he shoves in his hair, he doesn’t seem to mind.
#i just think!! nico has game okay#pjo#percy jackson and the olympians#hoo#heroes of olympus#pjo hoo toa#solangelo#nico di angelo#will solace#nico di angelo/will solace#nico/will#will/nico#whipped will solace#whipped nico di angelo#flirting#bad flirting#100 ways#100 ways to say i love you#establisbed relationship#establisbed solangelo#my writing#fic#longpost
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(｡•̀ᴗ-)✧﹐txt﹕🎤﹒ʬʬ DEJA VU ERA HIGHLIGHTS
𐙚 synopsis 𐙚 - little Joohyung highlights that stuck with moas during the promotion period of ‘Deja Vu’ along with Joohyung’s styling during the promotions.
𐙚 author’s note 𐙚 - I plan on writing for the little fan meetings they have after music banks and fansigns/fancalls. Hope you enjoy :3
𐙚 Deja Vu 𐙚
𐙚 I’ll See You There Tomorrow 𐙚
✧ let’s start with some negative things that happened during the promotion period. The number one thing was that knetizens didn’t like how much skin Joohyung was showing with all of her stage outfits
✧ Joohyung didn’t have a safety undergarment for her chest area. Knetizens were saying how inappropriate it was and that her stylist “should’ve known better”. Joohyung shut those knetizens up by posting many photos of herself in those “revealing” outfits with the caption ‘I love being me🥰’
✧ another controversy was Joohyung’s tattoos and how their staff didn’t cover them up with tape. As everyone knows when idols have tattoos and they go on music shows they have to cover them up with body tape, but for Joohyung she didn’t want to and the staff just let it slide plus the music bank staff didn’t mind it either
✧ how many lines Joohyung got for txt’s title track ‘Deja Vu’. Even though Joohyung wrote the song and mostly produced the song she got one second lines, only ad-lids, and the only time you fully hear Joohyung’s line is towards the end of the song. This cause a division online with some moas. One side was mad at bighit for only giving their genius idol so little lines for the title track even though she created the masterpiece. The another side was fine with the little lines because Joohyung gets the dance break and the iconic kick
✧ the final thing is Joohyung got no solo variety show appearances. Throughout all of txt’s career Joohyung hasn’t gotten any solo variety shows appearances. This is also a debate if Joohyung even wants to go by herself or just rather stick with going with her members instead
✧ aside from all the negativity there was a lot of good things that happened during the promotional time. Even thought some people didn’t like the styling for dumb reasons many actually really liked all of Joohyung’s outfits. Many started recreating and posing tiktoks about getting the ‘Joohyung look’
✧ Joohyung’s stylist wasn’t the only one getting praise Joohyung’s makeup artist was getting praise for using gems and glitter as tears (ex: 1, 2, 3) since the song is a more emotional and the makeup artist want to emulate pretty tears in her art
✧ Joohyung’s stage presence and acting during every single performance shocked everyone. Joohyung expressed the sad emotions of the song beautifully that it even got the locals talking about how they never seen someone acting so well, while singing and dancing not looking tried or missing a beat. Because of all the big twitter accounts talking about Joohyung and sharing her fancams along with trending, Hybe did get some exciting emails from movie/shows production teams
✧ speaking of singing, Joohyung vocals were a big topic online. Joohyung was praised for her raw vocals even though she had little lines she made sure to sing them along with her ad-lids. Moas that went in person to the music shows said that ‘Joohyung unnie was always louder than the back track!’. During the encore stages Joohyung would give extra ad-lids and little highs notes that were considered but not made into the final production of ‘Deja Vu’
✧ another viral moment while performing their title track was towards the end of the inkigayo stage after the dance break/kick Joohyung was able to shed a tear while singing passionately. The camera man deserves a rise because he zoomed in just in time to capture the viral moment. Online many moas in ‘awe’ and rightfully so bragging about their idol, and the other moas were making jokes;
‘ why is she singing like she just got divorced and got separated from her kids😭’
‘ did members not want to cuddle backstage 💀’
‘ she just wiped her tear, smiled, and wave then just walked off stage like nothing happened she was like 😢😐🤗🚶🏻♀️’
✧ the two members who constantly don’t think they’re cute have been proved wrong again. Both Joohyung and Taehyun had sharp eyes during their end pose, and once the staff yelled ‘cut’ their eyes instantly went big and sparkling. Once again proving everyone right, they are the cutest
✧ Joohyung performing’ISYTT’ just causing heart attacks because of her mischievous and flirty actions towards the camera
✧ articles having the headlines saying ‘Gen Z ‘it’ siblings strike again with a new trend’ the article was talking about how Yeonjun and Joohyung kept on showing the top of underwear (ex) especially in the ‘ISYTT’ performances
✧ during this era Joohyung was more on the quiet side, but she was very unintentionally cute. There was many clips of Joohyung just being in her own world zoning out, members taking care of her, and treating her like the maknae 


#div cr yu-nari#txt 6th member#txt additional member#kpop added member#kpop additional member#kpop female addition#txt female member#txt female addition#kpop female oc
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My Heart Stands Still~ E.M
Angst
Summary: Eddie is dealing with your death.
Summary : I'm sorry this is short, but I needed to write this as I am dealing with losing someone.
The feeling of losing someone you love is an indescribable pain that cuts deep into your heart. It's a pain that consumes you, leaving you with a heavy weight on your chest and tears constantly streaming down your face.
The thought of never being able to see or talk to them again is unbearable. You find yourself crying at the smallest reminder of them - a familiar scent, a song that you used to listen to together, or even a simple memory. Every little thing seems to trigger a wave of emotions and tears.
That is how Eddie felt as he stood standing with everyone else that knew you. That loved you. That cared deeply for you. Your friends and your loved once. But they didn't know the feeling like Eddie.
He loved you.
He feels like a part of him has been taken away, a part of him that he would never get back. The sadness and the grief seems never ending and he wondered when will he ever move on. Will he move on?
The realization that he will never hear your voice or feel your touch again is like a knife to his heart. His mind is flooded with regrets and what ifs, and he starts to question every moment that he had with you.
He wished he could turn back time and cherish every second, but it's too late. The pain of losing you, the person he love is not just emotional, it's psychical too. It's a constant ache in his chest that makes it hard for him to breathe.
It feels like he is suffocating, drowning in his own tears.
The world around him seems to continue on, but he feels stuck in never ending cycle of grief.
He tried finding comfort in his memories, his friends, his band, talking to Wayne, but they only brought him more tears. More anger too.
It's a rollercoaster of emotions, from anger and disbelief to sadness and numbness. He couldn't feel anything close to what he felt when you were here. It's the thought of facing life without you is daunting and overwhelming. How was he suppose to graduate? How was he suppose to get his first gig? His first dance? Without you. It seems impossible.
But through all the tears and pain, he holds onto the love you two shared. He holds onto the moments that made him laugh and the memories that brought him joy.
The first smile you gave him. The first sparkle in your eye when he said your name. The first time he made you laugh. The first lame joke he shared with you. The first time you came over. The first kiss. The first hug. The first hand holding. The first time you told him you loved him.
He holds onto every note you have given him. It's stored underneath his bed.
But then there was anger. Eddie couldn't help but go back to it.
The anger that he felt in the situation had been all consuming, as he struggled to make sense to why this happened. He found himself asking, " Why her? Why now? We were happy. Why did she leave me?'These questions may have never been answered, leaving him frustrated.
He felt anger at himself, too.
He wasn't able to protect you at your final moments. You didn't listen to him. You didn't stay.
You chose your own path with danger staring right at you.
" Eddie? Are you in here?" he heard banging on his bedroom door. His head turns, glancing at it and rolls his eyes knowing that Dustin is the one that would keep bugging him on where he was. He just want to wallow in his own tears.
They didn't know what's like. Dustin had Suzy. El had Mike. Robin had Vicky. Max had Lucas. Nancy had Jonathan. Steve had someone. Blah.
" We're worried about you, Eddie" he heard Robin's voice this time. They all had ears to the door hoping to hear some sort of life behind the door.
Eddie laid on his unmade bed, with a photo of you two on his chest as he holds it to himself. He has no more tears to shed and he doesn't remember the last time he took a shower as piles of clothes lay on the floor, his back pack is opened with his notes all over the floor.
He hasn't worked on a new campaign in months, even. He hasn't been going to band practice either.
Everyone was better off without Eddie. That's what he thought.
It felt like everyone else moved on from you, only Eddie was the one to have his world stopped. Because you died and he couldn't save you. He wasn't there.
It wasn't fair.
" We're here for you, bud" he hears the sound of Steve's voice. " You're not going through this alone" he adds. Eddie rolls his eyes.
Yeah, like Steve knew what he was going through.
" Please" he hears Max say. " I know your in there, it's all going to be okay" she adds with a broken voice, he can hear her trying to hold it together.
" She was our friend, she was our best friend. Eddie..." Nancy says.
They sighed when they saw that the door was not going to be opened. They all waited and waited, sitting outside in hopes that Eddie would walk through the door.
It wasn't until about midnight when the door finally opened. Heads shot up and feet scrambled off the ground as they all looked towards the door.
He finally stepped out. He looked like he hasn't slept in days. There wasn't much color to his face. His hair was ragged and looked like some butter ran through on top of his hair.
Eddie held a picture frame in his arms and he was dressed in one of your hoodies that you had given to him.
It doesn't smell like you anymore, sadly. But you wore it for him many times before you were gone.
Eddie's lips quivered and tears ran down his cheeks as he collapses to the ground in a harsh cry.
Arms wrap around him as they hold him up. He leans onto them like they were going to vanish into the air. Max is holding Eddie, as she hold him tight showing him she wasn't going anywhere. He sobs into her shirt, soaking it with tears.
" Why her.... why..." Eddie keeps repeating through his sobs. Eddie couldn't see everyone's faces as they cried along with him, missing you and wishing you were still here.
It wasn't fair that you were the one to be taken away from them. To deal with this pain.
You didn't deserve it.
Steve wiped his tears with the back of his hands as he catches Robin's eye. They shared a look upon one another that understood the other what it meant.
They weren't going to let you disappear. You left a mark on their lives.
You were their friend.
There was so many memories made.
Your death wasn't going to be forgotten.
The sniffling coming from Eddie has stopped as he rose his head from Max and looks down at the picture he's holding. His fingers brush over your face, your happy and smiling face and his raises his head up as he stared at his friends.
" I want revenge"
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#stranger things x reader#Eddie Munson angst
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Cat/Mouse/Den: Pt. 4, Mus Urbanus
Fatal attraction is one thing but stuck on a stakeout, a certain little mouse decides to push her luck with the cat who's been chasing her... just how far is too far, and how much more can they take?
CW: Obsession, stalking, canon typical violence, intrusive thoughts, unsanitary wound care
Authors Note: Hahaha, remember how I said I was going to do shorter updates? Yeah well, I felt really bad for missing the previous week but I did have a lot of terrible IRL shit happen, so working through that was a priority. That being said, going back through all the amazing comments and everything everyone has written has been absolutely keeping me afloat! Thank you all so so so so so much, you will never know how much it all means to me.
There are a couple of Hannibal references in this part that, hopefully, will start to make sense by the last part of the story (which was, coincidentally, the first part written!) Not going to lie, I am just glad to publish this so I never have to think about this damned part again as I have been stuck on in for literal months. Also sorry if Soap's accent sucks, the only experience I have with anything remotely Scottish in the way of language tendency is my grandmother whose father was a Scottish immigrant and that's it.
Anyways, I hope you like agnst and interrogation scenes, because next week, König loses his faith in god and in mouse while tied to a chair! See you there!
❣️Cura ut Veleas ~ Caedis 🥀
PREV | Pt. 4 Mus Urbanus | 4.2k words | Mouse POV | NEXT
“Mouse?” A voice from in front of her calls out, but only after she deliberately drags her feet into the threshold of the neutral ground, alerting him of her presence.
“Quiet as a.” She utters her usual response, stepping into the little flat in Buenos Aries, Argentina. She hears the smile as Soap sucks in a breath at her little joke. Her callback should be old by now, shouldn’t make him smile anymore, but he does anyway. He’s easy to get along with, something hard to come by in war.
She crosses the minimal space between the two and takes stock of his little setup.
For a mission, it’s luxurious. He’s sitting, in a chair might she add, with a scope poking barely out of an antique window on the 7th floor of an apartment building, looking into a busy market square. His arms rest on a table littered with little signs of life, a map of the area adorned with notes and coordinates in inexpensive ink, no less than 7 pens whose caps are chewed through (everyone’s got bad habits but this little sin of his drives poor Price up and down the goddamn wall), two disposable cups with sediment rings denoting how much instant coffee was drunk from them at a time before they returned to their places besides their drinker. Most notably, however, are two radios in a strange moment of near fornication– backs ripped open and wires crossed in an almost pornographic display of field ingenuity.
Damn demolition specialists, she hears the echo of Gaz say in her head and she absentmindedly rubs the scabbed over cut on her left hand where the shrapnel of a certain someone’s frag grenade got her two weeks ago. She wants to be mad but-
“Hear any good ones, lately?” Soap turns to her, he’s disengaging from his post, changing his guard for her to take his spot, just as command ordered. He’s been in this little nest for about 6 hours and she can feel his desire to scuttle and tinker about radiating off of him. As he takes apart his gun, already aware and familiar that she refuses to use anyone’s but her own, his eyes shine to life. The color of sky blue permafrost, yet they radiate a certain lived-in warmth impossible to distance yourself from. Eyes almost like-
She bites her tongue at the thought. Bad time to be thinking about König… she mourns.
But, speaking of the man.
“Yes, but it’s bad,” she offers, in fake warning as she sheds her outer jacket before moving to unhook the case that stands between her and the assembly of her gun. She knows the warning will only intrigue the poor pyrotechnic more.
His smile is nothing short of sadistic as he raises an eyebrow.
“No, like, really bad,” she emphasizes, throwing a pleading look his way. His grin gets even more shit-eating-er if that sort of thing were even possible. “I mean it, MacTavish. Pass it along to your long-suffering Lieutenant, and you will be picking teeth out of your shit.”
“I’m sure I’ve done worse to Ghost,” he supplies, rolling his shoulders. Yeah, I’m sure you have, she thinks but is much too self-preserving to say, especially aware that the Frankenstien’s monster of a radio he’s resurrected from two dead circuit boards is likely not secure enough to promise any real privacy. She would rather not alert Simon Riley that she’s become a dealer in his and Soap’s arm’s race of terrible jokes. He does not take prisoners, after all…
“Alright, alright, just don’t tell him it’s from me,” she smiles, putting her hands up defensively in a quick jest. “Okay, play along with me now,” he nods along as he steps away from the perch and lets her take his spot at the table.
“So, what's the difference between a piano, a fish, and a gluestick?”
“I know about two-thirds o’ this one.”
Mouse trap baited. She smiles.
“Give it a go, then.” She wiggles in the chair, pressing her cheek to the crux of the sight and its metal holder. She sighs into the familiar feeling of control that settles into her bones as she hunches over.
“Can tuna piano but’cha can’t tuna fish?” He supplies, half teasing her already.
“Yep, but you’re forgetting something.” She sighs and goes to fiddle with the red-light optics extension, Command is confident enough in her abilities that she was specifically told to take it off for this one. She hears Soap whisper a quiet ‘oh shite’ behind her when he realizes he probably forgot to himself and she laughs a little.
“What about the glue?”
Mouse trap set. Poor Soap, always getting himself into ambushes…
She smiles wide and hums remembering how excited her kitty-cat was to tell her this part.
“See, I knew you’d get stuck on that one.”
Mouse trap sprung. A moment of silence.
“Oh fuck me, that one is bad.” Soap chokes out a hearty laugh as he collects his discarded coffee cups from her side.
“No thanks,” she purrs as she finally sets herself into position. “Use it at your discretion, soldier.”
“Aye, that I will.”
Soap goes to rummage through the kitchenette to her right and she takes the moment she lacks supervision to indulge herself. She does not move her sights to alert the man with her of the wandering of her eyes, instead, she scans windows and alleys without visual aid. The stale air threatens to choke her as she rakes over the golden-hued morning scene with desperate efficiency.
After what feels like an eternity of stolen glances switching between her targeted area and anywhere he may be, she sees him.
Technically, she has no way to know for certain that it’s König, she doesn’t have his usual wave or cheeky grin (affectionately referred to as a Cheshire Cat Smile in her own belabored heart) to alert her to his presence. That being considered, there is a masculine figure barely peeking out of a window into an alleyway who is just shy of 7 feet tall and his face is covered. Yeah, probably König. She smiles despite herself and her company. She wonders if he has radio access to her little hideout.
(She remembers the seemingly endless weeks of his arrival to her perch. The early morning light hits the streets the same way it had hit the forest ground that day. Like a fairy tale prince, beseeching a princess on hand and knee, he would always somehow appear in her sights, nearly as though it was just meant to be!
His form stands out tall and proud from its surroundings and she recounts every single reason he should not be here. By the third time their eyes caught she’d decided he was doing it on purpose, but she never let him get away with it without some acknowledgment on her side. She can only imagine that if she’s getting hunted for sport, her calling out his position will, at least temporarily, halt his advance.
But by this rate, she’ll be in his mouth by the end of the year.
His eyes are cold and bloodshot red. Painted tears lick their way down the hood she’s never seen him without, possibly a feeble attempt at impersonality? Maybe if he looks enough like a monster people will just trust their first assumption and leave him alone. But she’s never been one to judge a book by its cover…
“I see you, König.” She warns out to him. He stills among the foliage, bathed in sweet-honey-like warmth from the rising sun. He does not shy away from his imminent death on the business end of her rifle, of course not! Instead, he raises his chest proudly, seemingly aware that the loneliness in her yields to whatever greater magnetism the loneliness in him commands. He’s an enigma, it bothers her that of all the people to put the effort into finding her, it has to be him. Mostly she curses herself for promising him a next time all those encounters ago, if she’d known what sort of a game it would inspire in the predator stalking her like prey despite her flipping sniper rifle, she never would have said a thing.
He may be in her scope, but he’s got her under a finer microscope to seek her out so faithfully. She wishes she got this sort of dizzying devotion from someone, anyone else.
It is the third day this week he has found her.
What she expects to happen is what has happened for weeks now, 1) he hears her transmission, 2) he smiles at her as a predator smiles at pray, his eyes find hers and her hackles rise in utter terror, and 3) he hums to himself and turns away, self-satisfied enough to have won hide-and-seek for the time being.
That does not happen.
Instead, König sits down, right where he is, and pulls out that monster of a knife he keeps strapped to himself. He throws it up and catches it without looking at it, instead his eyes are laser-focused on Mouse. This is, of course, despite the fact he should have no earthly idea where she is. He plays with his knife idly for what must be an hour, but she does not- no, can not- look away from him.
She remembers her trigger finger twitching with sinful power, she remembers choking back the insistence at killing another lonely person, devoid of their autonomy on a basic level when they signed up for a mercenary-issued ticket to hell.
She remembers hopelessness. She remembers refusal. She remembers the smile reaching his eyes when she played along with his joke.
“Why don’t rats like cats?” Her radio labors out.
She half forgot what his voice sounded like, surprisingly excitable and shrill for a man of his stature. Her brain stutters around the implication of the only words she’s heard him say to her since the fateful ravine that gained Mouse her own personal 6’10” shadow.
She blinks a few times in surprise, genuinely pondering if her long hours hiking through the woods have made her susceptible to hallucination and general hysteria. She is not thinking when she timidly responds-
“Why?”
“Because they are weapons of maus-destruction.” Konig replies like it’s not the stupidest thing she’s ever heard in her goddamn life.
Perhaps it's pity at the memory of his discomfort around his comrades. Of the thought of the way he tries to make his body so small when around others (truly an impossible task he routinely fails.) Maybe it’s irrational fear, twofold and buried in her instinct to shoot despite the clear disadvantage on his behalf and her insistence that she does not do her damn job, or fear of the inhuman man in front of her stalking her through the woods. Or it could be discomfort, no one ever prepared her for dealing with whatever the fuck this is in basic training or field school.
In the end, it doesn’t really matter what it is.
In the sparkling, decadent light of a sunrise, her heart hammers in her throat at the first joke he’d told her, in some strange and desperate attempt to fill the meters of silence between them.
She laughs.
And he hears it.
And with his wide stance, his ghastly executioner’s hood in the place of a crown, and his knife back in its holster- his beautiful eyes seem to smile. Suddenly, his eyes look lived in, like someone has just put up new curtains in an abandoned house. His whole affect changes hinging on what was an irresponsible outburst on her behalf at best.
And for the first time, she does not fear a monster hunting her through the woods, silent and purposeful in his pursuit of prey.
Instead, she wants to understand a man, whose eyes have lit up like a princess has just laughed when he kissed her hand.)
Soap wanders back into her small perch with two cups of coffee and sets one down next to her. She takes a quick glance and hums with appreciation. He takes another sip out of his and she remembers that they’re supposed to share shift for about an hour before his rotation ends.
“You treat all your girls to coffee in the morning?” She quips.
“Only the pretty ones,” he returns with an effortless charisma and her breath catches.
Not because of Soap, but because in that alleyway, where she really shouldn’t be looking, she sees the uneasy rise of two massive shoulders and-
Oh my god, did König just… get jealous?
The next idea she has is downright evil, really this is not the place or the time or any of that but-
Fuck it. She’s already flirting with the enemy, what more could this do? She’s already told the poor mountain of a man something dangerously adjacent to “God I really missed you when we didn’t talk to each other for three weeks like a horny teenager and by the way I love you desperately and think about you when I’ve got my hands down my pants,” and she probably imagined him tensing up, anyways. No harm, no foul.
Maybe, it's dangerous, to wave a steak in front of a mountain lion, but what if she wants to get mauled?
“Hey Soap, what page are you on?” She says, putting her terrible plan into action. She sees him look up from his report, or more likely an idle sketch, on her periphery.
“Ah, only the second chapter, did'ya move my bookmark?”
“Nope, the book’s in the leftmost pocket in my duffle.”
“Thank ya,” He says and moves from his spot to go fetch the book from it. She takes a quick sip of her coffee, delighted to realize he’s made it to her specifications as far as milk and sugar go, as he rummages around in her bag.
The impromptu book club started nearly eight months ago when Nova passed her copy of Emma by Jane Austen off to Gromsko to help him with his English. That turned into Mouse recommending the book Jane Eyre to Nova on the pure suspicion that she would hate it, which she did. Gromsko still needed to practice and enjoyed the spirited discussions so he joined the blossoming group with an English copy of The Doll by Aleksander Głowacki after he finished Jane Eyre. Never one to be left out, and surprisingly well-read when he wanted to be, Soap had pitched the idea of The Lord of the Flies (because to quote “Fucking Brits,” and he wanted to subject others to his high-school reading list.) If she remembered correctly, Farah and Reyes had also started sharing copies of books they enjoyed occasionally.
“Can’t believe it was Gromsko that put it in rotation.” Soap says, pulling out a well-worn copy of The Silence of the Lambs from the bag.
“He said he picked it up years ago in Polish thinking it was a cooking field guide.” She offers, as the man next to her idly thumbs through pages.
“Yer shitting me, yeah?”
She just shakes her head and smiles into her scope. Soap laughs and removes his homemade bookmark, a pencil sketch of a stake-out view somewhere in Mexico scribbled onto scrap paper. He keeps his thumb on the page and flips through to where hers is, much further along.
“Yer a right romantic, ain’cha Bonnie?” Soap laughs somewhere between the pages and somewhere behind her.
“Hmm?”
“This part, that’ya highlighted,” she hears a well-meaning sneer in his words. “The one you put the hearts by and everything…”
Mouse’s mouth tethers itself into a terse line and she attempts her best noncommittal shrug.
Somewhere in her line of sight, a mountain shrugs himself chuckling lightly. She wonders what it would feel like, to lay on his broad, muscled chest as he laughs, how closely he would hold her, how she could rest entirely on top of his chest and not touch the ground beneath them and-
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” She lies through her teeth. Soap’s laugh behind her is loud and proud. Suddenly, his casual sadism isn’t so amusing when turned around on her.
“Do you think it's because I like to look at you and think about eating you up—“ he reads from the book, voice dripping in mock chivalry and breathless romanticism. “About how you would taste?"
She feels her cheeks and ears heat up as Soap loudly proclaims her funeral to all those who may care, and she doesn’t miss the way König leans a little too close to his radio as he goes about mocking her. His stance shifts as if he hangs on the very words like he’s found a secret buried deep in her subconscious. Technically, she has no way of knowing, but Mouse knows in her heart that König is smiling. At least someone is having fun.
Once Soap comes down from his laughing fit he puts her bookmark back to its spot and talks at the back of her head.
“With your pressed flower bookmark and everything. Oh, it would be sweet if he wasn’t Hannibal the Cannibal.” Soap hisses out. “I always figured you were…” he pauses searching for the right word, “adventurous from how Gromsko talks bout ya, but seriously cannibalism?”
If she’s not mistaken, König’s hand grips ever so slightly tighter on the radio attached to the best. Maybe the battle plan has to change, but she’s still got some ideas.
Soap is completely oblivious to the electricity licking up the air between her perch and one man on the ground. He looks around frantically, seemingly desperate to find her, and look in her eyes. Mouse is a sniper, she really should hate the attention, but something fatalistic descends into her smile as she lets Soap continue his little outburst.
“I swear. You and him, yer sure there’s nothing there? He’s even given you special field medicine lessons, no one gets treatment like that from Gromsko.”
“His name is Sobieslaw.” Notably, it is not a denial. Technically, everything that’s just been said is the truth.
König’s shoulders rise.
He looks right down her site.
She smiles.
Come and get me, kitty-cat.
“See! That’s what I’m talking about. You’re the only person who calls him by his first name.”
“Because you never put in the effort to learn it.”
“That don’t mean a thing since I don’t have tits.”
“You do, just not as good as mine.”
“Aye, off it. Gromsko is into you.” She can hear from the way Soap’s voice carries haphazardly around the room that he is pacing and talking with his hands. She doesn’t turn her back, gaze still fixated on the looming shadow in her sights.
Soap continues, entirely unaware of the exact type of beast he is tempting.
“He swaggers around you, never even bothers to fucking ask to pick up your boxes, he just does it. His voice gets all soft around ya, too, like he’s cooing at a goddamn pet animal or something. He nearly got into an actual pissing contest with Ghost the other day when he bitched about you beating him in poker. Face the facts, Bonnie, he wants you.”
König’s eyes have focused with the ferocity of an apex predator and his chest labors out concentrated and sharp inhales and exhales. He resembles a recently sharpened knife, desperate for some carnage after a particular kind of attention. His body is crumpled in on itself not unlike a cat getting ready to pounce. His heels dig desperately into the cobblestones beneath his feet. His hand flicks out his beloved Glock field knife with all the reverence of a praying man.
In short, he looks every part like he does in immediate battle. He looks like he did the split second before he started sprinting for her in the snowy woods, the scene that occupies her lonely nights when she tries in complete vanity to recreate the feel of his hands cradling her sides.
Mouse should be scared of König.
Instead, she sees before her a scene of complete and hopeless adoration focused so intently on her alone that she should be afraid of. Realistically, she recognizes the clear and present danger of the moment. Is König upset at her? At Soap? At a potential adversarial suitor by way of Gromsko? She doesn’t quite know, but after a career of intentionally hiding like a coward, she basks infatuated by the calamitous captivation he exhibits.
He looks like he wants to maul something to death.
As keen as she is on getting him close enough to try to get over to her (and ideally, throw her under him,) in her infinite mercy, Mouse decides the teasing has gone on long enough.
“I like Gromsko just fine, but not like that.” Soap audibly scoffs and König’s entire form relaxes. Both men mutter something to themselves before an encore of gunfire breaks out. Mouse’s heart stutters to a stop when her radio comes in.
“Visual on Gaz, he’s hit!” Nova calls out, clearly alarmed. Soap grabs for the radio right next to Mouse and brings it to his face, holding onto a few loose wires as he does to ensure the amalgamation does not fall apart in his fingers.
“Where is he?”
“Two blocks from south from you, Gromsko is a click out.”
Soap looks at Mouse with his heart bobbing in his throat. The pain and worry on his face is palpable.
“Go.” She says. Soap looks around frantically at their supplies, seemingly taking a split second worth of inventory, making as many life-or-death decisions as he can in such little time.
“Soap, listen to me,” Mouse soothes. “I keep overwatch, you take my TAC vest and stabilize him until he can get a medic.”
“Mouse, I can’t just leave you-”
“You can, and you will. Go.” She says with all the finality of a door slamming shut. Soap doesn’t look at her again as he gathers her supplies and nearly sprints downstairs.
Soap leaves. Quickly. Quietly. He never looks back.
Her stomach settles into discomfort and she looks through the door he closed with the same sad nostalgia she looked through falling snow and monumentous trees. She can’t help but think she would not get the same priority in Gaz’s situation. Like some terrible premonition, she imagines bleeding out on the ground as Soap turns away, never once looking back.
Would König come for me? She ponders, before she smothers the paranoia-induced delusion with the memory of his large hands on her sides. She looks down at her shoelace, where she carved a cylindrical hole through his effigy to attach it. The birchwood mouse carving that sleeps at her right toe gives a silent reassurance: he never really left you, did he?
By the time she looks back into her scope, in between the all-too-familiar white noise of war that’s broken out around her, she sees a shadow dart out from the alleyway one down from where König is. The figure is cloaked in the specific type of military fatigue denoting his affiliation, one that is unluckily for him, kill on sight. It ducks behind the building to the right, where König is. It stalks out, lining itself up behind the hooded man, brandishing a drawn pistol.
König doesn’t have the time to react to the blood spray that litters across his back from the other man’s head once Mouse pulls the trigger on her gun, silently thankful (as awful as it is,) that Gaz getting hurt allowed her to take the shot without Soap inquiring into her actions. (But maybe it’s her fault in the first place that König was distracted enough to allow someone to get the drop on him…)
König looks back towards her and his head lulls to the side like a heavy flower bloom weighed down by morning dew. His eyes, somehow the softest she’s ever seen, are also carving a large chunk of her soul like a knife cuts through soft wood. When he lifts his hood to blow a kiss to her, she knows she will never get her traitorous heart back.
“Danke, mein Engel,” the radio on her table whispers in his voice.
“It’s only fair. I did owe you, after all.” She responds, all together unconcerned with whether or not he can hear her. She smiles, thankful she can see those bright eyes another day.
When he turns away, she feels her entire heart walk away with him. With every step of his fleeting form, she feels less and less herself, as though someone had separated her shadow from where it meets her feet. Something has changed in the air between them, a sad resignation settles into her trigger finger when she releases it.
For the first time, she does not feel as though she wouldn’t run if he took her, but rather that some integral part of her is with him as he leaves.
All is fair in love and war, but she’s not sure just how much longer she can stand to play cat and mouse.
taglist!
@kneelingshadowsalome @sprout-fics @bucca2 @dead-cipher @gallowsjoker @lostagoodcigar @berryjuicyy @haisebo @crowbird
And special thanks to @bucca2 and @ivymarquis for finally kicking my ass into gear to write this. Can't wait to read yall's WIPs!
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Chaeri as the 8th and youngest member of BTS.
Chaeri's Masterlist
Take it too far
❒ words: 1.1k+
❒ summary: In which Namjoon is concerned about Chaeri's health
❒ prompts requested: 29 "When was the last time you ate something?"
❒ warnings: Weight loss; neglecting
Early 2021
Chaeri stepped off the scale, pleased with her results. She had never been fixated on being very thin; she had always eaten healthily and exercised often to achieve a body that she was proud of. But due to her role as the lead in the TV series 'My Name,' producers asked her to lose a few pounds. 'Our leading character neglects herself and is obsessed with revenge. Her physical appearance should reflect this idea' they said. Chaeri thought it was fair; actors frequently take drastic measures to best portray their characters, such as shaving their heads, gaining weight, slimming down or growing beards. Shedding some pounds wouldn't hurt her.
But as the filming began, she realized that losing weight wasn't the only thing she had to sacrifice for the role. Long hours on set coupled with her busy schedule as an idol left her with little time to eat. She often forgot to have meals or skipped them altogether, and it wasn't long before she started feeling the effects of it.
Yet, she refused to acknowledge the impacts of her actions as if ignoring them would make them go away.
She had lost count of the number of times they had rehearsed Butter's choreography, but it didn't matter because they still weren't perfect. Sweat poured down her face and stuck to her neck as she took a swig from her water bottle in the corner of the practice room. She couldn't believe how tired she was, and they hadn't even been there for two hours yet.
"Let's break for lunch and then try again" Hobi suggested as he picked up his gym bag from the floor and grabbed a towel to wipe the sweat from his face.
Chaeri nodded, her stomach growling as if in agreement. At that moment she would've eaten anything.
"I just hope all this sweat doesn't fall into the bowl" she joked, taking a playful swipe at Taehyung, who was walking past her.
Taehyung playfully dodged Chaeri's swipe, laughing. "Don't worry, we'll get you a bib" he said, grinning.
As they made their way to the cafeteria, Namjoon walked up beside Chaeri. "Hey, you okay?" he asked, noticing the tiredness in her eyes and the way her hand rested protectively over her stomach.
Chaeri offered him a smile "Yeah, just a little hungry."
Namjoon raised an eyebrow, "That's all?" he asked skeptically, knowing that there was more to Chaeri's exhaustion than just hunger "You have been working very hard lately. Don't tire yourself out"
"I'm fine, really. Just need some food and I'll be good to go"
Namjoon didn't look convinced, but he didn't push her further. Instead, he decided to keep a closer eye on her from then on.
By then, Chaeri’s meals were often interrupted by someone from the staff reminding her of her obligations. She would apologize to everyone at the table for having to leave, insist they save her plate, only for it to be thrown away the next day. This became a frequent occurrence, as did being woken up at all hours by her manager since most of her TV series filming started before sunrise due to her grueling idol schedule that kept her active until late into the night.
"How long have I been asleep?" he had heard her say sleepily to her manager.
"Forty minutes sweetie. I'm so sorry to wake you up, but we have to go."
"Don't worry, just give me a couple of minutes."
Namjoon watched as Chaeri struggled to keep up with the demands of her busy schedule. He noticed how she had lost weight since filming began, and her energy levels seemed to be at an all-time low. He had to help her.
As they rehearsed their routine, Chaeri stumbled and nearly tumbled to the ground. Namjoon caught her in time, and her frame leaned into his body. "I'm sorry," she spoke weakly. As he clasped her arm to hold her upright, Namjoon felt a deep sensation in his gut upon feeling how light she was.
"Let's take a break, ok?"
Chaeri nodded, following him as everyone dispersed to make the most of those minutes of break time.
She sat on the floor, resting her back against the huge mirrors in the room, her breathing laboured. Namjoon crouched beside her, his hand resting on her leg. "Chaeri, have you been eating well?" he asked gently. "Because if you're only eating what I see, I'd say you're really not"
Chaeri bit her lip and nodded slowly, her eyes cast downward. "I have been trying to," she admitted in a voice barely above a whisper, "but it's hard with everything going on."
"When was the last time you ate something?" he asked gently
Chaeri furrowed her brows, trying to remember. "I had half a sandwich yesterday morning" she said after a few moments.
Namjoon frowned, concern etched into his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself as he watched Chaeri’s fatigue deepen with each passing moment. In that moment, he knew what he had to do "That's not enough" he began, squeezing her leg reassuringly "You need to take care of yourself, Chaeri. You can't keep going like this"
Chaeri sighed, leaning her head back against the mirror. "I know, but it's difficult. I don't always have time to sit down and eat a full meal. And when I do, it's usually something quick and easy, like a protein bar or cup noodles."
Namjoon took a deep breath, watching as Chaeri's eyes began to droop and her body grew even more tired. He knew he had to do something to help her before things got worse.
“I’m going to make sure you’re eating better, okay? I’ll bring you food and make sure you have time to eat properly. You can't keep going like this. It's not good for you." He spoke with a firmness that belied the warmth of his gaze as he made his way towards the door. "I'll bring you something to eat right now," he promised, "and after we finish rehearsing, we'll sit down and have a proper meal together."
Right as Namjoon was about to leave the room, a man from Chaeri's staff came barging in. Without skipping a beat, Namjoon turned and pointed his finger at him, "Don't you dare try and bother her. She's on a break."
The man seemed startled at first, but then regained his composure. "I apologize, Namjoon-ssi, however we must speak with Chaeri urgently."
Namjoon's eyes narrowed as he took a step closer to the man. "Whatever it is, it can wait. Chaeri needs some time to rest and eat."
The man hesitated for a moment, but then nodded reluctantly before leaving the room.
Namjoon slowly shifted his gaze to Chaeri. Her face was tired, her eyes were rimmed in a deep red, and there was a look of deep appreciation in her expression. "Thank you, Namjoon," she said softly. "I'm not sure what I would do without you."
He smiled reassuringly at her "You won't ever have to find out, I'm here for you now and always"
taglist @alixnsuperstxr | @bts-dream | @ycuvi
#bts 8th member#bts imagines#namjoon imagine#namjoon drabble#bts scenarios#bts drabble#namjoon#namjoon x reader#kpop female member#bts female member#bts eighth member#kpop female oc#bts female addition#bts x reader#bts addition#bts
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i saw rqs are open and im curious if you’d write more yan joker? i dont have any specific ideas in mind, i just rlly love how you write him ^^
I hope this is to your liking! ^^
Can be any Joker but I leaned a bit towards Arkhamverse!Joker
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Moonlight poured in through the barred window of Joker's cell like how sight managed to slip through shaky fingers covering one's face. Joker had huddled himself into the corner closest to his bed where the most light was shed. He made swift, smooth motions with his arms, fingers flecked with red chalk dust.
He wasn't sure who had originally smuggled it in, not that it really mattered, but it had changed hands enough for The Joker to borrow (read: steal) it from Jervis. His cell was far too drab and colorless! He was sure ol' Jervy would understand. Being in this place really could make one go mad.
With a groan, the Clown Prince of Crime straightened up his back. It gave a few loud cracks and the man heaved a heavy sigh. This cell was far too cramped! It was an outrage! An outrage, he said! Two feet wide, and even then the bed took up most of the space, and what? Just barely over seven feet? Hell, his own bed was barely enough to fit him.
Not that he exactly had room to complain. He knew full well that, in the eyes of many, what he's done - and will continue to do - was beyond redemption. But, they still stuck him in this place to 'help' him. No space to move, barely any time outside, shitty food… So much for humane treatment.
It was funny. A smile rose to his lips. It was so, so funny. You'd laugh about it, he was sure. You always got the joke.
He turned his attention back to his drawings. Big, gaping smiles, batmen made of blobs of red, harlequins with big hammers.
Joker's heart gave a twinge. He wondered how Harley was doing. It had been a long time since they allowed them to stay in the same cell block, so his nights had become a lot more quiet. A lot lonelier.
But among the other drawings that decorated his walls was a more consistent figure, consistent name. Doodled with hearts around them or drawings of clowns with heart eyes to the side.
More than he wished for a bigger cell or Harley or Bats or a sudden explosion that caused hundreds of inmates to pour out and wreak havoc upon Gotham, Joker wished for you.
Joker sat back against his bed, knees tucked against his chest and back against the hard, rough walls of his cell. He slipped the chalk underneath his pillow and wiped the remaining red on his jumpsuit.
Looking up, he watched as a cloud stretched over the sky, suffocating the moon and blotting out the sky, plunging his cell into darkness. A nervous, shaky feeling filled the Clown's chest. It was so quiet and so dark. Nothing for him to see, hear, nothing for his mind to clutch onto and distract him.
And most importantly, no you. Light of his life, treasure of his soul, oh, how awful they were for separating you from him. Not that that would stop him in the long run, of course, but it still hurt! Oh, where was he without you? And more importantly, where were you without him? Sure, he had his men observe you from the shadows, but they were idiots! They didn't know you like he did!
... Suddenly, a thought flitted into his mind and another smile graced his lips. It'd been some time since he last graced Arkham with a serenade.
"This song goes out to a special someone out there," The Joker giggled to himself. Laying his head against the wall of his cell, he began to croon, "Where, oh where, has my darling gone? Where, oh, where could they be?"
Memories of you flashed through his mind, making his grin grow and grow until his lips were near splitting from how happy you made them.
Green eyes twinkled with delight as the clouds passed overhead, light once again shining down on him. "We make such a great pair, when they laugh without a care…"
You really were magic, weren't you?
"With them, I'm a happier me…" He trailed off, voice soft and expression content.
Filled with warmth at the thought of you , granting him a bit of peace, The Joker laid down and allowed himself some rest. And he hoped that if he dreamed, it'd be of you.
#yandere x reader#yandere drabble#yandere dc#yandere joker#the joker x reader#joker x reader#yandere imagines#yandere imagine#dc x Reader#yandere dc x reader#yandere arkhamverse#yandere btas#yandere tnba#yandere the batman#btas x Reader#tnba x Reader#arkhamverse x Reader#i hate arkham asylum (the place) so much its unreal#yandere
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(Hey! This was a request on my wattpad so here ya go!)
EKKO, VI, CAITLYN & VIKTORS S/O HAVING AMNESIA
EKKO
he doesn't know how it happened or why
He just gets angry though
Not at you, at himself and the universe
How could this happen to you?
And why you out of everyone?
He loved you and I think he somehow blames himself
He'll try to hell and back to get your memories back
He's heartbroken when you woke up and asked the dreaded question
"Who are you?"
He felt like his entire heart cracked and his stomach just dropped
It was you but not you at the same time
You didn't remember him or anything
He tries to help you or be around you without being sad but its hard
He'll help you around and help you with things you struggle with
Eventually when you get better at things he'll be happy
Still sad though
One way he tried to help you regain your memories would be showing you places and things
He would tell you stories from when you guys were kids, how you met
How you got together, about your family
Anything really, just hoping you would remember
Hell, he told you about Powder, your childhood best friend he never spoke of
Benzo, Vander, Vi, Mylo, Claggor, anyone he tries to help you remember them
It hurt though more than anything when he showed you a picture of y'all on your first date
He told the whole story, getting so in detail and deep into it
But when he looked up, you looked sad, confused and apolgised because...you just couldn't recall anything
He felt his heart crack even more, if possible
He starts losing some hope but refuses to fully give up
And one day he just finds you and you look so happy
He was confused until you told him you remembered everything
It was after you found a gift he had given you when you guys were kids
It was accompanied by a photo of you two as kids
It felt like everything snapped into place
He swore he felt like he was about to pass out
He hugged you so tight you felt like you were about to pass out
Shed some tears shamelessly
He was so happy he had you back
Please never scare him like that again
VI
She was extremely confused
When you woke up and asked her
"Who are you?"
She thought it was a joke
Kept telling you
"I'm Vi, you're girlfriend?"
She felt like her world crashed down
She only had you left, you couldn't just lose your memory just like that
When she found out for sure you had amnesia, she had no clue what to do
One thing she wanted to do was comfort you
But you didn't know who she was
And that crushed her, you had been stuck by the hip since you were young
Everything felt wrong without having you by her side
She helps you with things, doesn't want you to get worse
She gets to know you as you are now
It's painful more than comforting
You don't remember her, how you met, your friends or anything
She feels like something is always missing
She subconsciously does things that remind her of you or sometimes forgets you have amnesia
And when she remembers it feels like she heard that dreaded question over and over in her head
And one day she was just sitting around and you came running over
You then hugged her, she of course hugged you back but she was confused
Until you told her you were you again
She froze for a second before practically picking you off your feet entirely
She felt like crying out of relief
She had you back
And you in whole
She felt whole again, please, never ever do that again
CAITLYN
She's shocked
She's scared at the same time
Could you get worse? Could something else happen to you?
"Who are you?"
Her smile slowly faded from her face as she held your hand after you had woken up
She had waited hours or even days or weeks for you to wake up
She thought she would feel over the moon but you looked at her confused
Like you had never met her before
And it rocked her to her core
As the doctor explained you had amnesia she had to leave the room for a bit
Not gonna lie, she cried
It felt like you had died and someone had replaced you
She wanted to hug you but was afraid you would be uncomfortable
When she helped you, she reminded you of things you used to do or things you guys loved doing together
She then would look at your face as you just looked confused
It felt like her world went quiet all over again
You didn't remember things you always used to do
Or places you went or dates
It felt like someone was in your body or your memory haunted her
It overwhelmed her
And it wasn't on purpose, but she ended up avoiding you entirely
Felt guilty when she realized it but it was to painful
One day you were somewhere you guys loved
Maybe the park, a cafe you frequented or a library
It felt like everything snapped in and the memories flooded in
You went running to her and when you found her you cried
She thought you were hurt and forgot about the amnesia for a minute
You kept blurting out random things but she just got that you remembered
And she remembered the amnesia, but you remembered now
She felt so relieved
She almost cried right there and then
She did cry
She was probably on the job
But who cares?
She hugged you back so tight
She made a promise to herself never to lose you again
And to protect you so that it never happened again
VIKTOR
He didn't want to believe it
He had health issues himself
But for you to have this happen to you?
No
You didn't deserve that
Wanted to crawl into a hole right there and then when you woke up
"Who are you?"
Your question rang in his ear every second of every day after it happened
He avoided you, he didn't even know it though
he spent all his time in the lab once again
You never really saw him after that day when the doctor told you both you had amnesia
He grew more determined over time to maybe find something to help you remember
He wanted you back
It was like you were a shell of yourself
You weren't you, the person he loved and the one that helped him through everything
He was so fucking desperate to get you back
He even resorted to finding Singed once again
Eventually he was in the lab one day and you came barreling in the door
He jumped as you hugged him
You blurted out you remembered
He froze and stood still, even when he began to cry
You even checked on him to see if he was okay
He didn't answer, he just hugged you back and cried silently into your shoulder
He had you back
You weren't gone forever
He didn't lose you
#arcane#arcane ekko#ekko arcane#arcane violet#vi arcane#arcane caitlyn#arcane x reader#vi x reader#caitlyn x reader#ekko x reader#arcane viktor#viktor x reader#vi x y/n#viktor x y/n#ekko x y/n#caitlyn x you
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Ekko, Vi, Caitlyn & Viktor x S/o with Amnesia
EKKO
he doesn't know how it happened or why
He just gets angry though
Not at you, at himself and the universe
How could this happen to you
And why you out of everyone?
He loved you and I think he somehow blames himself
He'll try to hell and back to get your memories back
He's heartbroken when you woke up and asked the dreaded question
"Who are you?"
He felt like his entire heart cracked and his stomach just dropped
It was you but not you at the same time
You didn't remember him or anything
He tries to help you or be around you without being sad but its hard
He'll help you around and help you with things you struggle with
Eventually when you get better at things he'll be happy
Still sad though
After sometime he starts losing some hope but refuses to fully give up
And one day he just finds you and you look so happy
He was confused until you told him you remembered everything
It was after you found a gift he had given you when you guys were kids
It was accompanied by a photo of you two as kids
It felt like everything snapped into place
He swore he felt like he was about to pass out
He hugged you so tight you felt like you were about to pass out
Shed some tears shamelessly
He was so happy he had you back
Please never scare him like that again
VI
She was extremely confused
When you woke up and asked her
"Who are you?"
She thought it was a joke
Kept telling you
"I'm Vi, you're girlfriend?"
She felt like her world crashed down
She only had you left, you couldn't just lose your memory just like that
When she found out for sure you had amnesia, she had no clue what to do
One thing she wanted to do was comfort you
But you didn't know who she was
And that crushed her, you had been stuck by the hip since you were young
Everything felt wrong without having you by her side
She helps you with things, doesn't want you to get worse
She gets to know you as you are now
It's painful more than comforting
You don't remember her, how you met, your friends or anything
She feels like something is always missing
She subconsciously does things that remind her of you or sometimes forgets you have amnesia
And when she remembers it feels like she heard that dreaded question over and over in her head
And one day she was just sitting around and you came running over
You then hugged her, you of course hugged her back but she was confused
Until you told her you were you again
She froze for a second before practically picking you off your feet entirely
She felt like crying out of relief
She had you back
And you in whole
She felt whole again, please, never ever do that again
CAITLYN
She's shocked
She's scared at the same time
Could you get worse? Could something else happen to you?
"Who are you?"
Her smile slowly faded from her face as she held your hand after you had woken up
She had waited hours or even days or weeks for you to wake up
She thought she would feel over the moon but you looked at her confused
Like you had never met her before
And it rocked her to her core
As the doctor explained you had amnesia she had to leave the room for a bit
Not gonna lie, she cried
It felt like you had died and someone had replaced you
She wanted to hug you but was afraid you would be uncomfortable
When she helped you, she reminded you of things you used to do or things you guys loved doing together
She then would look at your face as you just looked confused
It felt like her world went quiet all over again
You didn't remember things you always used to do
Or places you went or dates
It felt like someone was in your body or your memory haunted her
It overwhelmed her
And it wasn't on purpose, but she ended up avoiding you entirely
Felt guilty when she realized it but it was to painful
One day you were somewhere you guys loved
Maybe the part, a cafe you frequented or a library
It felt like everything snapped in and the memories flooded in
You went running to her and when you found her you cried
She thought you were hurt and forgot about the amnesia
You kept blurting out random things but she just got that you remembered
And she remembered the amnesia, but you remembered now
She felt so relieved
She almost cried right there and then
She was probably on the job
But who cares?
She hugged you back so tight
She made a promise to herself never to lose you
And to protect you so that it never happened again
VIKTOR
He didn't want to believe it
He had health issues himself
But for you to have this happen to you?
No
You didn't deserve that
Wanted to crawl into a hole right there and then when you woke up
"Who are you?"
Your question rang in his ear every second of every day after it happened
He avoided you, he didn't even know it though
he spent all his time in the lab once again
You never really saw him after that day when the doctor told you both you had amnesia
He grew more determined over time to maybe find something to help you remember
He wanted you back
It was like you were a shell of yourself
You weren't you, the person he loved and the one that helped him through everything
He was so fucking desperate to get you back
He even resorted to finding Singed once again
Eventually he was in the lab one day and you came barreling in the door
He jumped as you hugged him
You blurted out you remembered
He froze and stood still, even when he began to cry
You even checked on him to see if he was okay
He didn't answer, he just hugged you back and cried silently into your shoulder
He had you back
You weren't gone forever
He didn't lose you
#arcane x reader#arcane viktor x you#arcane vi x reader#arcane viktor#arcane viktor x reader#viktor arcane x you#viktor arcane x reader#vi arcane x reader#vi arcane#caitlyn arcane#arcane caitlyn x reader#caitlyn x you#caitlyn x reader#arcane caitlyn#arcane ekko x you#arcane ekko x reader#arcane ekko#ekko x you#ekko x reader#ekko arcane#arcane
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what the dog doin???
more about him below break!!! :]
this is my stupid dog he's a workaholic and plays bonescape on the job at HQ
art is a bit old, ham looks kinda different than i draw him now, and i wanna change the spider logo on his back, but dogg..
he and ham have that coworker love-hate-but-usually-hate dynamic because i say so‼️
stupidly long dog infodump incoming vv
-his entire dimension is populated by silly dogs !!
-chased a frisbee thrown by his Uncle Bernard during a game of fetch into a bush with a spiderweb in it. this is when he was bit by his spider
-hes a medical journalist/intern at the Daily Beagle in his dimension. he got a veterinary degree since he wanted to learn more about his abilities on that level, and had always been interested in the concept, but ended up being stuck with an internship instead of a vet job. he uses his Spider-Hound battles to get photos of rare injuries and the like.
-speaking of the Daily Beagle, Spider-Ham physically attacked him once, accusing him of plagiarism.
-he juggles his internship with also being the head of the medical wing at HQ. most work he does is logging information about the various Spider-People that come and go, so he and anyone else there can more easily treat them in the future. he's gained a lot of dumb jokes and weird looks when a dog steps out to treat wounds, though, and every time he does he's gotten used to saying 'i don't shed' before anything else.
-he will sleep in his office under his desk on a dog bed a lot, just so he can go right back to work easily the next day.
-while his world has a somewhat cartoony appearance, toon force is a lot less significant than in universes such as Ham's.
-he has heightened hearing and smell because he's a dog, but it was heightened further after the spider bite. he often wears earplugs, only taking them out when in his office, so he can hear when someone walks into his wing.
-organic webbing, but it usually doesn't hold well since he's always exhausted.
-he can run on all fours, able to outrun most Spider-People like this.
-he's weaker than other Spider-People, and while the toon force's resilience provides some protection, he still struggles to physically fight your usual, non-dog villains.
-he hates any kind of smoke.
-he is 100% the guy to tell you to sleep and drink water and then stay awake for 5 days straight only drinking room temperature pepsi.
-he made a translation collar for hq so that he could talk to others. otherwise, he just makes huffs, gruffs, and woofs. (100% inspired by dug)
-he can be understood by standard quardopedal dogs without the collar on, and can understand them regardless. they don't usually have much to say that anyone would find interesting. food! squirrel!
-if someone is rude to him about being a dog and their ailment is minor, he'll refuse care until they own up to their actions. he's been reprimanded for this before, but knows he won't get fired.
-he's kind of on Miguel's side, but only because he's put his entire life into HQ and wouldn't risk losing it. once he's attached to something, he's locked down, loving like a dog.
-he loves great pyrenese (his gwen was one, named gizmo)
-when miguel came to recruit him, he had to write down 'give me a dictionary and come back in 48 hours' on a notepad, and made his translation collar within that time. miguel was a bit impressed by his dedication, which helped him get his position.
canon events: vv
-a rabid dog broke into his home, still somewhat conscious of decisions and continuing his life of crime in his haze. Pawter had let the man go earlier that day, before the furious rabies had set in, and Pawter had thought the guy was just a bit strange. the rabid dog bit his Uncle Bernard, leaving him to not die then and there, but slowly, with nothing to do to help. this both encouraged him to become Spider-Hound, and encouraged his medical interest onwards.
-lost Gizmo Stacy and Harry Pawsborn in a similar way to the classic 616 Peter Parker
-when his Aunt May's health began to deteriorate, after he'd lost his uncle and closest friends, he began to work at HQ more than back at home, ashamed of it, but too scared to watch as his aunt faded away too.
#i love him sm#spiderverse#spidersona#spiderman oc#itsv#atsv#peter porker#spiderham#into the spider verse#across the spiderverse#8-bitsart#itsv:btl
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whats ur opinion on jean vicquemare? like. his relationship w harry n whatnot
ohhh jean is such a fascinating and complex character........ likewise with his relationship with harry. i am gonna put my thoughts under the cut so i don't annoy anyone too much with a long rant lol
i think jean, much like many other characters in disco elysium, is a shitty person but not without good intentions. he's got a pretty abrasive and callous personality at times, and we do get hints that he's harmed and mistreated people through his role at the rcm. but regardless of that, he's still a deeply fascinating character. in himself, he can be relatable and pitiable and unintentionally hilarious to me at times. but a lot of my interest in him comes from his dynamic with harry.
to me ive always interpreted his relationship with harry as a platonic but nonetheless deeply close and codependent one, at least before martinaise......... i think that maybe jean once looked up to harry, and even when he realises what harry is actually like, he still admires his can-opening abilities and tenacity. over the years they would have had to have a deep understanding of one another to solve so many cases together. jean does seem to genuinely care abt harry.
jean has clearly grown burnt out and tired with dealing with harry over all of these years. but i also think that at least harry's dumpster fire of a life/personality was something that was familiar to him, something he understood. throughout the game, the player has the potential to make harry "better", to lead him to choices which are better for himself and others.
it's clear that jean believes harry's behaviour in-game is a passing phase/completely fake, which is interesting. obviously it's probably a logical inference based on things he's seen harry do before, he knows that harry will go through phases of trying to get better only to crash and burn, and he knows that harry is capable of being manipulative. but i think it's also a form of wishful thinking.
a drunk, unhinged harrier is something jean knows very well, and it's the "version" of harry that he's always seen. this "new" harry, while still being the same person, is also very different. he doesn't recognise jean, he doesn't laugh at his jokes, he doesn't react as intended to jean's insults or jabs at him. he's also doing better (although this depends on how you play the game ofc).
i can't help but wonder how that makes jean feel. probably a bit left behind. harry gets to completely shed his old life, to move on and become something better, while jean is stuck dealing with all of the bullshit and emotional baggage the old harry left him with. i doubt that it feels very fair from his perspective. it probably feels like harry ditched him, left him holding the bag and bounced.
i also think that there's an aspect of mourning to their relationship now. the old harry was shitty, sure, but he was jean's friend and they understood each other very deeply. now that harry is just. gone. he's basically dead. but also harry is still there right in front of him, and he's different now, he's better, and yet jean can't help but miss the old harry, feel like he lost him. he's mourning someone who's still alive. someone who's right there in front of him. the old harry, and all of their memories together, are gone forever, and yet he can't rlly process it properly because harry is still there. fucked up.
those are basically my thoughts abt their relationship. i think it was deeply unhealthy for both of them and it's probably better for jean's mental health to have a less toxically codependent friendship with harry. but nonetheless there was a strong friendship there which is gone now........... sorry these thoughts aren't very well collected or articulated lol i hope you enjoyed reading them anyways
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Honestly, I can’t complain about what we got, because it’s more VegasPete than I expected. I anticipated barely anything, but then they came swinging. Pete with them boxing hands, Vegas with the “if I die today…” and then by the pool. Plus, how I didn’t know how much I needed that whole scene of Pete resigning until I had it? Shedding some of those bodyguard clothes. Shedding a part of that mask. Don’t get me started on “I’m hungry.” About it being about real food and being a metaphorical hunger that only Vegas can fulfill. Whatever it’s fine.
Also, joke is on me, because I wallowed in that scene of a crying, anguished Pete holding onto a maybe dead Vegas…me who doesn’t watch post credit anything. So, I open tumblr and right there is a screenshot of this mysterious motherflippin scene…what the hell? Then I go watch it and my soul returns to my body and all is (sort of) well. I felt content. Like I’d be okay with this ending, because ultimately what mattered was Vegas and Pete choosing each other? The same goes for Kinn and Porsche…
However, I’m a bit muddled on the whole thing. What exactly happened there? The only thing and recount we should trust is Porsche’s unlocked childhood trauma repressed memory. Right? We inherently want to trust Porsche in this matter, but even his head is going what the fuck? And even more so with two recounts that change the story in their favors? Though, someone on here had pointed out that Gun’s story matched with Porsche’s memory. The words he heard or something…
Really, I am still stuck in a Vegas and Pete vacuum, that I might’ve glazed over details…but Vegas and Pete be giving me Dean and Cas (Destiel), Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian (WangXian) feels? Plus, I’ve always thought about Patroclus and Achilles? Hades and Persphone does work too as some people have pointed out…but Patroclus and Achilles in the sense that Patroclus was taken by Ares the God of War (a god bent on death, violence and destruction). Then a fire is lit underneath Achilles (the goddess of Love, Aphrodite stoking that with some charm) and still a war is waged to avenge the death of a loved one. Simply jampacked in one scene with the rage and anguish that fuels Pete to not even hesitate to pull that trigger. Do think I might have it backwards as to the fictional juicy things surrounding Patroclus and Achilles? (An aside: some of my use with the Gods might come from the video game Hades and how they portrayed Patroclus' and Achilles' association with the Gods). Achilles might’ve also been fueled by Ares too, but it’s that just the balance thing, a symbiotic thing. Patroclus and Achilles fulfilled each other in a way they only understood. Funny enough, I’ve also thought of Vegas and Pete as the Gods themselves. What is one capable if Aphrodite weaponizes love? What lengths would a human go? They very well could create what Ares feeds on: death, violence and destruction. And yes, Vegas creates that path of destruction Ares would be proud of, while Pete weaponizes love. In the end, both start sharing this path that only has one ending. They choose each other.
And in other words is VegasPete representative of sheer gut-wrenching Greek Tragedy and Shakespearean Tragedy? Yes, it is. That’s part of the allure. The soul ache of it all.
Ps. I still have no idea what happened overall and if anything was answered. They did say at the beginning that she’s a foster sister…but now I’m like what if…then I’m like no, we deviated right? We’ve deviated, but I’m kind of wondering why the fuck you’d want that family ring anyway? Sure, ooh it’d be nice to have some power for once…but it all feels ominous? Because I’ll be honest, the couple I thought that could hightail it out of this business would be Kinn and Porsche. Vegas and Pete be super addicted (like the God of War Ares) to this death, destruction, violence, danger and so I suspect they’d be bored trying to integrate back into society? Also didn’t think that KP would integrate too much into society, because a beach bar can be somewhat off the grid, but enough on the grid to make a business out of it?
Please, if you have a bullet point of details about what exactly happened with Porsche’s mom and all of that? Do give it to me, besides it’d be better off to try and understand that than remain inside the dark (yet BRIGHTLY soul transcending) VegasPete vacuum because that soul aching really does damage a psyche.
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Submission about whether to leave a friendship or not
I've been struggling with this for awhile. Im 26& my best friend is 27. We been friends since we were 11&12. My best friend has never been open&honest. She's always hiding things or lying. I'm very open to her. I don't feel a need to lie or make up things.
I grew up living paycheck to paycheck. We never did family vacations/trips. We couldn't afford a lot of things. I had hand me downs from my brother&cousins..... My best friend always had name brand/expensive clothes. She had her own computer/TV. She always went away every year to France or Canada for a month. She always had lots of money when we'd go out. Shed honestly joke about me being broke/poor. But expect me to pay for things so she didnt use her money. Messed up I know...
As we got older we changed. I couldn't afford to go away for college. She went away to 2 top notch schools. I used to get jealous because I knew I could never afford that. I hated how she expected people to look up to her since she went away. I went through a lot of traumatic experiences that changed me. I also became an addict at 16 (I'm recovered).
Fast forward: She never worked/used her degrees. But now at age 27 her parents want her to work. She now has no time for me/our friendship. Back in July 2021 I went through a life changing situation&ever since then she rubs it in that she would have done things different if she was in my shoes. She's becoming someone I don't know. She judges me for everything. It's hard. She doesn't drive but gets mad that I won't meet up (3hr round trip). Sometimes all she brings up is the past. The wrongs I've done or the trauma i went thru. She sometimes acts like she's perfect and like a queen.
Before you say to talk things thru... I have many times. I explain that I'm hurt or that something feels wrong or distant. She always blames things on me or doesn't take responsibility for her actions. Makes up excuses for everything possible. Says she'll work on communication but after a week it's back to normal. I'm at a point where I dont know if I should just walk away. I look at the pros and cons. I explained things to my mom who thinks I should just leave. Especially for how she treats me. But I give people a million chances. She always was my childhood friend that I wanted to grow up with thru life. What's your advice or thoughts? I'm open to whatever.
Tag if possible friends or best friends.
Hey there,
This sounds like it is a really difficult situation to be in. On one hand you don’t want to walk away from this friendship with your friend as you want to be life long friends and give people heaps of chances to change their ways, but then on the other hand you feel like it may be best to just walk away from her. It sounds as though you are feeling pretty stuck in what to do but I give you credit for trying to talk to your friend already and for even writing a pro’s con’s list about all of this!
In my honest opinion (and no this is not telling you what to do as only you can decide this and what is best for you to do) I would feel like it would be best to leave the friendship. I suggest this because it sounds as though the friendship has become quite toxic for you and consequently isn’t the best for your overall mental health. But if you were to leave the friendship, how would this make you feel? Would you feel bad or guilty? What would you feel is best for you to do personally though if you were to take all feelings out of the equation?
This, I know is a really difficult decision to make and I know that no matter what anyone says or suggests, you have to do what is best for you and your mental health. This is why you can’t let others decide what to do for you as it is you who will have to live with the decision you make and not them if that makes sense?
I really hope this has helped somewhat or at the very least given you some things to think about when making this very difficult decision. Please also do let us know if we can help to support you in any other way!
I’m thinking of you and hope that you are going well!
Take care,
Lauren
#mha-lauren#advice#advice blog#mental health advice#anonymous#friend#best friend#leaving friendship#staying in friendship#feeling stuck
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The big 3-0
There's always been a sort of stigma around turning 30, especially in our society, for obvious reasons. So many specific statuses are expected to be reached, whether marital, financial, or societal, in order to define one's success. "A life well lived". It's all about what you would've gained by that point, but what they don't tell you enough is how much you shed.
To begin with, I was never in a rush to grow up. Not in fear of growing old, per se. But I just never understood why anyone would want to rush the now which is already so fleeting. The happiness is felt now, the sadness is felt now, the living is happening now! Pace yourself, Mai, for someday you'll be clawing at the remnants of days refusing to last.
I'm more humble than to claim I've stumbled upon some great wisdom billions before me hadn't already reached. But I revisited my memories and discovered some nuggets from my experiences and revelations that I wish someone could have bestowed upon me on my rocky road to 30. So here’s a letter I want to send to myself in the past…
Finally leaving our 20s is a blessing! Yes, my body aches in places I never thought could, and the sun goes down and I can't think of something cozier than snuggling up on a couch with my cup of coffee and a good movie, and I miss the days I felt immortal and like the streets had a magic binding me from going home. Just like Cinderella, you feel as if the clock would tick 12 and the fairytale would wear off, right?
Our parents did try to warn us a lot about the turbulent 20s and we didn't necessarily think they were lying, but we assumed they came from a time completely irrelevant to our then-current reality. "They couldn't possibly understand", we said. The things I can confirm from their imparted wisdom are these two…
First, the best friends we'll most likely ever make are the ones we met in school or college. The bonds we’ll have created just by being these two clumsy earthlings in each other's lives trying to figure out what kind of persons we want to be is priceless. It means we’ll have been in some of our rawest and purest versions of ourselves together, before we decided to try out an emo phase or a partying phase, or whatever we thought we needed to do to fit in or find ourselves.
Second, we'll realize we wasted so much thought and effort trying to reinvent ourselves from year to year out of regular bouts of identity crises just to impress others or feel less like an alien. Honey, we're all aliens in our 20s. And it's true that everyone's too busy recalling that one stupid joke they wish they hadn't said earlier today to even focus on that famous song only we didn't know. We're all stuck in our internal trivial battles and we aren't even full human beings to have earned the spot to judge anyone, let alone ourselves.
Now on to some things I wish they had given us a head's up about…"Bad influence" friends aren't only those our mom warned us about in school, they exist everywhere, even well into our young adult years. We can so easily start to become like the handful of people we spend most of our time with, and that can either drown our potential or morph us into something we can't be proud of. And God forbid you aren't proud of yourself in your 20s! You don't need to be adding any more insecurities, really.
So I now know to keep people whose life values I share or at least can understand or respect. You gotta meet on the same grounds somehow because you'll now have little energy to give anyway.
Marie Kondo, the Japanese organizing consultant, keeps advising to retain only belongings that "spark joy". I've learned this applies to people too, even places and activities, but let's elaborate on the people part.
Energy does deplete, and so does the capacity to trust, open up, and even love. We'll regret reaching the finish line of our 20s feeling too spent, wondering if we have anything left to give. Surprise – we weren't invincible after all!
So prepare yourself to find out that friends will become few and far between. They may not grow in numbers, but if you've got your head screwed on right - AKA have put in efforts to better understand who you are and what you need - I can promise you that they will grow in quality. It will get lonelier when we start becoming selective of the kinds of people we keep around, but we'll feel there's a lot less "noise". And that calm will be a blessing at times we're too busy becoming more responsible and accountable for ourselves and our loved ones.
To touch up further on the topic of invincibility, I cannot stress this enough: you're a feeble human being in your 20s. Stop pretending to be so strong, 'cause that one person (or two…or three) will come along, and do great damage to our foundation. It'll become increasingly harder to find a big enough treasure trunk in our mind to tuck and lock away that baggage, trust me.
Okay, let's talk about some perks - where that "invincible" power you thought you had seems to truly come to fruition. Your power is you. You’ll realize you can dream things and work towards their realization, all on your own, believe it or not. Without mommy or daddy's help.
And this piece of advice needs to be stripped of any descriptions or superlatives: Patience. Patience. Patience. You heard me.
And all those things we learned - time to unlearn them! Yep, we can learn all the wrong things too. Education isn't always positive.
Finally, we'll experience this nearing 30, after spending some time with those born a decade or two after us, I guarantee you won't be able to knock off that endearing and grateful smile off our face at some point when you realize how far we’ve gone, how many lives it feels like we’ve lived, and how many stories we’re surprised we have, stories that can fill a trilogy of books. And guess what, we're only just getting started.
-Mai E.
#spilled ink#writers on tumblr#writeblr#personal writing#birthday#original writing#growing up#growing old#pursuitofhappiness
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for many christmases, you’ve had my heart (j.s.)
summary ⇾ it takes being trapped in a tiny toolshed in the woods for johnny to confess his feelings for you.
details ⇾ 2,798 words / johnny storm x reader / 🌸 fluff / friends-to-lovers / reader calls johnny ‘jon’ :-)
notes ⇾ this is for @stargazingfangirl18 + @navybrat817 + @drabblewithfrannybarnes happy hoelidays challenge! ✨
recipe ingredients ⇾ johnny storm + snowstorm + friends to lovers + prompt: Person A: “How long?” / Person B: “I dunno... Not long.” / Person A: “How long, (character name)?” / Person B: “Years...” / Person A: *choking* “You’ve loved me for years?”
[!] smol indication of things leading to sex but nothing explicit!
this... was not how you intended to spend your christmas eve. well, not that what you had in mind was anything grand but you’d definitely choose to be in the comfort of your home. a pint of ice cream and a hot cup of tea in front of the television, basking in the presence of yourself and not–“is being stuck in here with me really all that bad?”
you look over your shoulder to what seems to be your company for the next unforeseeable hours. swallowing, you shift back your gaze out the small window; clouded with snow to the point it’s a death wish if you tried to leave this tiny toolshed oh-so-conveniently next to your cabin. (yes, in the woods, because sue thought it would be nice to have a holiday getaway)
no one had expected for a snowstorm to take a toll on the night that leaves you stuck with someone you call jon... who decided to pay a visit to your cabin. only to find that you’re not there and made a move to look for you. bursting into the shed, half-joking to lock the door so he’d have you to himself and... cue the snowstorm trapping you with the menace that is johnny storm.
“plus, if you need someone to keep you warm, i can definitely keep you warm.”
you roll your eyes and settle down onto the wooden floor, sitting cross-legged as johnny gets comfortable opposite you. not too far away, but he could extend his leg and kick you if he wanted.
“still the same old jon,” you scoff a laugh, folding your arms in efforts to keep warm and shaking your head, “still an insatiable horn dog.”
“hey, that’s not true,” he pouts, mimicking your body language to cross his arms, puffing his chest out. one raised brow from you and he sinks his shoulders, “fine. maybe a little, but who’s to say a christmas miracle can’t change that?”
you laugh. actually laugh. the kind of laughter that leaves johnny gaping because his heart stops at the sight of you being so happy; the kind of joy he wants to wake up to every morning. the way your lips curl up and that beautiful melody leaving your mouth... johnny can’t quite describe what it does to him. he wants to smile, maybe he is (he can’t feel his face) but guessing by the look of your smile slowly fading, it must’ve indicated he hadn’t been.
it grows eerily quiet when the seriousness hangs heavy in the air. johnny’s just staring at you, deep in thought. if your gut is right, you know what johnny’s gonna say next. (and you don’t know if you’re ready for it.)
((heck, he doesn’t know if he’s ready for it))
“so... are we gonna talk about what happened last night?”
oh... well...
you attempt to sway away from the topic, “what’d you mean?”
“c’mon,” he catches your bluff almost immediately. scoffing a laugh, he shakes his head, shifting forward as he hunches over his folded legs, elbows resting on his knees, “don’t play dumb with me. i’ve known you longer than you could count on all of your fingers. i think i know when you know something.”
“can i just say, thank fuck you’re no longer tied to that useless piece of shit!” johnny jolts mid-way of his lull to slumber, sprawled out on the bed with a loose grip on the bottle of vodka. you carefully pull it away from him, setting it down to a nearby bedside table and watch as he giggles up to you when your eyes meet.
“jon, you’re gonna get yourself hurt. lay down–”
"because how could anyone think of not being with you?”
for a moment, your heart stops. the sincerity in johnny’s voice is one you know by heart. past the way he’s able to tell a white lie to get off a mission or out of a ticket, this wasn’t one of those times. his voice trembles a little, his eyes hooded as he maintains eye contact but when he starts to gag, you find yourself about to laugh–but your heart takes over to care for his well-being first.
reaching for a bottle of water by his bedside table, johnny instead reaches for your hand. he grips onto your wrist, making you gasp as you turn your attention back to him. he doesn’t look like he’s about to empty his insides but instead there’s... this look of solemn on his face.
“i know i have,” he murmurs slowly, eyes blinking incredibly slow; in a daze as if he’s about to lose consciousness (he is). “...always have.”
before you can respond, johnny’s eyes roll back and he’s gone for the night.
“hey, sweet cheeks. you still there?”
you visibly blink back to the present, now aware that you had been–"i mean, i don’t have a problem with you staring if i get to know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”
carefully, you shift your folded arms, straightening your back as you eye him, “jon,”
he loves hearing you call him. “finally,”
“you don’t mean it... do you?”
he does this face whenever you question something he feels doesn’t need questioning (something you do quite often but he’s never tired of it). his brows furrow, almost as if his whole face scrunches up in distaste. “why? you don’t believe me?”
you shake your head with a small pout, “no, not really...”
after a beat with your cluelessness still lingering on your features, johnny’s smile disappears. he knows you have no malice behind your words but it’s the fact you look genuine that scares him. how... you didn’t believe him. not when he’s drunk, not when he’s sober. he loves you so much with his entire being to the point he’s about to explode and you don’t even know. before he can say anything, you beat him to it.
“you’ve slept with so many people i can barely keep count of it all with my fingers and toes combined.”
okay, not quite the confession he thought this was gonna go. then again, you always do surprise him.
“ouch. takin’ a jab at my weaknesses now, huh?”
“jon, what i meant to say is that–”johnny’s quick to intercept with: “could do very well without that low blow,”–you continue ignoring him“–if you meant what you said last night then why are you doing the things you’re doing?”
that puts a pause to johnny’s train of thought.
“what?”
it’s like he still doesn’t get it. instead of getting frustrated, you let out a soft sigh and uncross your arms. your eyes gaze to your hands on your lap as you fiddle with your thumbs, voice soft as you ask: “if you truly love me then why didn’t you tell me?”
it seems like you’ve hit a stump when johnny grows quiet. the kind of quiet you hadn’t experienced since the day you told him you were dating someone from work. someone johnny thought was just another tool–it’s okay, maybe after this guy... i’ll finally tell her and i won’t die with this stupid feeling–until he was proven wrong when that tool stayed around for a good couple of years and johnny actually thought you’d get married to him.
he remembers the feeling all too well; simmering in his bones, brewing in his heart after countless nights trying to get over you but to no avail. you peek up to see how sad johnny’s face has gotten. it makes you gape at him, about to reach out with a soft are you okay? but this time, johnny’s beaten you to it.
“because i didn’t know how much i loved you until it was too late,” his eyes meet yours briefly before it’s too much to bear. it still hurts, a deep cut in his heart he didn’t think he could feel. he lowers his head as if he’s speaking to the ground.
“and i learned the hard way of watching someone else love you, do all the things i’ve wanted to do with you for the longest time since i–”johnny stops himself before he reveals too much, his breath hitches and you could tell he’s surprised with how much he’s unravelling. the speed he’s falling; rapidly, recklessly, no safety net to hold him back like he usually does to stop himself from hurting because... johnny storm doesn’t do feelings.
‘cause if he doesn’t, he can’t get hurt.
“jon...” you call for him softly, he refuses to look at you.
“johnny,” the full name irks him but it triggers him to snap his head up.
“how long?”
his eyes shift away and back to you a couple of times before he admits: “i dunno,” he shrugs, “not long.”
it’s a silent plea; the tiniest of cracking in your voice tears his walls down completely.
“please, jon. how long?”
you watch as johnny debates if he should be truthful. he’s come all this way to bear his heart out, might as well go all the way, no? his jaw tightens initially, refusing to reveal any more information that could possibly spread himself too thin, but one look at your pleading eyes easily brings out the side of him no one has ever seen–no one has seen johnny storm the way you do.
“years...” he murmurs, letting out an exhale, “maybe a couple even before you met that other guy.”
“...why didn’t you tell me?”
“i couldn’t just tell you.” he almost raises his voice. not because he’s mad at you but at himself. he felt... pathetic. "i didn’t wanna lose you.”
he moves to pull his knees up, hugging it to his chest, “and i thought... someone like you shouldn’t be with someone like me.” you feel your heart squeezing at the pain lacing johnny’s words. it’s almost as if he believes the words he’s saying and it shows.
“jon,” you scoot closer, placing a hand on top of his folded arms as he hides his face away in the space between his kneecaps and chest. it’s... cute. he looks like a defeated puppy, so whiny and soft. if only he knew what was going on in your mind, behind the smile you’re trying to hide, the one he can’t even see.
“...if you’re gonna say ‘i’m sorry’, i really don’t wanna hear it.”
he had it coming. it was almost too easy.
“i’m sorry–”johnny immediately groans and tries to cower away from you, refusing to admit his embarrassment flooding him like wildfire”–that it took us this long to admit it to each other.”
you watch as your words sink into johnny’s brain, like cogwheels spinning slowly... then quicker as he looks up, gaping. you pull your hand back from him, only to have him unfold his arms to reach for it before you can lean away. he’s stunned, but he gazes down to his hand holding onto yours. he doesn’t know what it means but he feels his heart burning.
“maybe i was hoping for a christmas miracle.”
you allow as much as a soft chuckle to escape your lips at your own attempt to lighten the mood but it seems like johnny still needs more time to process it. his eyes are wide as they could be, his jaw hangs open. he looks like he doesn’t believe it but when he analyses the look on your face... he can’t describe the feeling stirring from within.
“...if you’re saying what i think you’re saying and this turns out to be some sick joke you’re pulling on me with sue, i will burn your favorite pair of shoes.”
you snort, folding your arms once more, “guess my shoes are safe, then.”
deep down, you were still waiting for a response. he hasn’t quite responded directly to your confession to his confession and it was biting your nerves. one, two, three beats of an inhale and exhale and things are happening too quick for you to catch your breath. it’s making your head spin, the gush of wind that stirs and shifts your position to be closer to johnny, warmer as he has you on his lap.
the new position makes your cheeks warm as you straddle him, hands squeezing his shoulders in surprise. you take in the flash of happiness on johnny’s face, stretching out handsomely onto his features. the fire that actually sparks in his irises as he grins up to you; reflecting your shy smile as you lean your forehead on his and johnny would die a happy man seeing this everyday up-close.
“this is a bit forward but i... i’ve been thinking about this for the longest time and i–”johnny can’t get the rest of his words when your hands frame his face, leaning down to kiss him. he shivers lightly at your cold fingertips meeting his flesh but they soon warm against him. before he can respond to the kiss, you pull back with your lips in a thin line, visibly embarrassed.
johnny keeps one hand on your waist, the other reaching up to cup your cheek with his thumb on your chin to tug your lips back into their original position so he can kiss them. he kisses you; long and hard, as if he wants to imbue all the emotions he’s been feeling for you and you feel them. each stroke of his tongue, the movement of his lips, the way he holds you down on him as he keeps you close; you have never felt a love burning like the one johnny has for you and to be able to reciprocate them as the timeline aligns for you both felt god-sent.
despite the euphoric lull making you content, it was getting a bit hard to breathe with his eagerness. it takes for your hands to lightly squeeze his cheeks and pull back for him to stop. groaning, he leans back, heavily breathing with you but loving every second of it.
“easy there, it’s hard to breathe in here.”
he smirks, pressing a quick peck before suggesting: “how about i get us out here?”
narrowing your eyes at him, you squish his cheeks a bit harder together, “you could’ve done that from the start, didn’t you?”
“hey,” he huffs, grabbing both of your wrists to stop the onslaught of face squishing, “if i did, this–”he motions with his head between your bodies”–wouldn’t have happened.”
you shake your hands from his grasp, “fairs...”
that handsome, shit-eating grin appears on his face when he manages to wrap his arms around you, craning his neck up to you with those blue eyes that could promise you the endless sea of love.
“fine. let’s get out of here. you sure you can keep us warm back to the cabin?”
“honey, i have no problems with that at all. only problem is what’s in it for me?”
it was your turn to smirk, hands snaking up his arms until you’re squeezing his shoulders. your hips intentionally pressing down on him as you tilt your head at him with a coy smile, “i have my ways of warming you up in return later.”
johnny has never broken out of a toolshed so fast in his life. granted, he almost combusted and nearly gave you third degree burns but johnny’s more careful with your life than his own. he makes it back to your cabin with ease while being able to keep you warm all the way.
and when you’re in bed with johnny, let’s just say, the deed of repaying him for keeping you warm was paid off and well-received.
((“oh, thank goodness you’re okay! i was worried if anything happened and–”sue stops herself from rambling, now noticing how oddly close you’re standing to johnny. the two of you had arrived at the christmas party together (something that wasn’t out of the ordinary) but it’s not until johnny makes the move of revealing your interlocked hands that sue lunges for you, nearly suffocating you in a bear hug.
“finally! this is just–”she pulls back, holding your face in her hands, “this is all so exciting. tell me everything!” she uses her powers to detach your hand with johnny, stealing you for herself.
“as long as i get her back, alright?!” johnny yells, to which sue waves a hand while you blow him a kiss as sue drags you deeper away from him.
johnny plans on heading to the drinks area to grab a drink for you and himself but gets stopped by–”so, the wild johnny storm is finally tamed.”
he looks over his shoulder, immediately rolling his eyes at who he sees.
“alright, lay off me gramps.” johnny flicks ben’s shoulder (lightly, because that man is... hard as a rock, no pun intended).
despite their constant banter, the look in ben’s eyes as they meet johnny tells another story. johnny knows of how ben treats you like a sister; someone who he cared for and even if ben wouldn’t admit it, he cares for johnny just the same. so it was... nice. this was nice.
“take care of her, alright?” ben starts off with a smile... that morphs into a sneer, “or i’m gonna smash you so deep into the ground you can’t burn your way up.”
“okay, okay. nothing to worry about here,” johnny nudges ben away by the shoulder, looking at the direction of where you had left with sue. ben follows his gaze and watches over the archway of you chatting animatedly with sue. upon noticing looks on you, you turn the cheek and offer them a wave. ben watches how johnny smiles at you, that small look of endearment on his face and that... that was the only thing ben won’t poke fun of because it was so pure.
“i’d set the world on fire if anyone dares to hurt her.”))
#happyhoelidays2021#johnny storm#johnny storm x y/n#johnny storm x reader#fantastic four#johnny storm fanfiction#johnny storm fics
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