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talesofesther · 5 months

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what once was mine | ch 6

Loki x Reader

Series Summary: When watching what once was supposed to be the rest of his life, in an empty room in the TVA, Loki sees someone he can't recognize; a girl who's all tenderness and loose smiles, and most importantly, she was smiling at him.

A/N: This chapter might just be my favorite.

Masterlist | Read ch 5 here

It's been a few days since Loki had convinced you to share that cup of tea with him, and things have been… pleasant. You were still guarded and sometimes on the defensive when around Loki, but you were not actively avoiding him anymore, he may even go as far as saying you might be enjoying his company at times.

There were also moments where those same defenses dulled down, moments where Loki would have glimpses of that same girl he had seen on TVA's time teather when he'd first arrived. And the more he spent time with you, the more he understood why he would've fallen for you in his future. And why he was falling for you now.

"Please, Mobius," you made a show of clasping your hands together right under your chin, "I just need a moment to breathe."

Loki and Mobius were sitting at the latter's desk, mindlessly chatting, and you had popped out of nowhere a few minutes ago, making yourself comfortable on top of his desk.

"There's air all around you, breathe away," Mobius gestured widely.

You rolled your eyes, but a smile lingered on your features. Loki subconsciously found himself mimicking it as he looked at you.

"You know what I mean," you said quieter, avoiding his eyes and swinging your feet back and forth softly. You briefly looked at Loki, gaze roaming over the slope of his nose and the lines of his jaw, before focusing back on Mobius; "Please?" You asked more genuinely.

Mobius sighed loudly, clearly already giving in to your pleading. He cursed under his breath and fished out his tempad from his pocket, giving it to you. "If you get caught, I'm pretending I don't know you and that you stole it from me."

The grin that painted your features was big and bright, "You know I'm not getting caught," you gave him a wink, and then added softly; "Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah," Mobius waved you off, but he was smiling too.

Loki watched the exchange quietly until you left and were out of earshot. He turned to Mobius, one elbow resting on the desk. "You never gave me the tempad when I asked."

Mobius side-eyed him, "That's because she's responsible, and you're not."

A deep frown appeared on Loki's face, he straightened his posture. "That's absurd, I'm way more responsible than she is." He spoke matter of factly, gesturing to the general direction you had scurried off to, "Have you seen her desk? I don't know how she even works in the middle of that mess."

Mobius chuckled, he was enjoying this. "I stand by my point."

─── ·❆· ───

Your clothes were clinging to your body, your hair stuck to your forehead, there were droplets on your eyelashes, and pools of water appeared on the floor from your dripping clothes with each step you took.

The TVA was mostly dark and empty, with only a few dim lights here and there, as it was already late. You smiled and chuckled to yourself as you walked past the library and headed to the elevator, feeling alive.

The doors of the elevator slowly slid open only to reveal Loki. He had a small pack of Skittles in one hand that you were certain you had seen on Mobius' desk earlier. His other hand stopped midair before it reached his mouth as soon as he laid eyes on you.

For the first time, your smile grew just a tad wider upon seeing him.

Loki had a confused crease on his eyebrows, his lips hung open for a second more as his gaze roamed up and down your body before settling on your face. "You're soaked." He stated, as if you didn't know.

"Yes," You beamed.

Loki's mouth opened and closed a few times. "Why?"

You took a single step closer to him, tilting your head to the side softly, watching as he visibly gulped at your closeness. "Don't you miss it?" You asked, voice quiet. "The rain, the wind, the sunlight, the smell of grass and trees?"

His bright eyes softened then, he glanced away and his expression turned melancholic for a moment, as if your question had reminded him of the feeling; "Yes, I suppose I do."

You pursed your lips, holding onto Mobius' tempad in your jacket pocket. A part of you had alarms blaring inside your head, the other, was begging you to not think and just do it. The weight of Loki's presence was familiar and foreign all the same. Dangerous territory, as you tiptoed the blurred lines of what he had started to mean to you, and the memories from before that still haunted your nightmares. Despite what you had so adamantly told yourself as soon as you laid eyes on Loki… you'd gone soft. Having him around seemed to ease the parts of your heart that still ached, even when you didn't want it to, even when you were still scared and confused.

Only today, you told yourself. Only today would be okay. Because the ocean that was his bright eyes held that same sadness that had drawn you to him for the first time all those years ago, after all. Denying it was becoming a fool's game.

You took the tempad from your pocket and hit a few buttons until a smoked-glass doorway popped open behind you. Glancing up at Loki, you said; "Come on," and turned around, walking into the doorway.

Loki hesitated for only a beat before discarding the pack of Skittles and following after you.

The first thing he felt was the heavy raindrops hitting his cheeks and soaking his clothes. Loki blinked a few times, narrowing his eyes so he could see past the storm. It was a deserted street, the worn roadway stretched far beyond what he could see, surrounded by green fields with no houses in sight; the sky was mostly cloudy, but on a far corner a few faint stripes of a setting sun could be spotted; the rain falling down was heavy and constant, pattering loudly against the asphalt and the tall grass beside it.

You stood a few feet ahead of him, with your head tilted up to the sky and your eyes closed. The rain cascaded down your skin, kissing your lips and trailing a path down your neck that Loki couldn't help but follow. It soaked your clothes and hair, just as it did his. And yet you looked absolutely ethereal.

Loki found himself glued to the ground as he simply took in the sight before him. The rain glistened on your skin as it was shaped by the rogue bouts of sunlight, a small blissed-out smile lingered on your lips as you took in the feeling of being under the earth's elements. Straight out of a dream.

Finally turning your attention to him, you stretched your arms to the side, speaking louder so he could hear you over the rain; "doesn't it make you feel alive?"

"That's certainly one way of putting it," Loki told you, taking half a step closer to you as he put his wet hair behind his ears.

You rolled your eyes but your smile remained, "Come on, Loki. The rain washes your soul, it's freeing, it's-" You looked up at the sky again, breathing in deeply, "It shows you can still feel."

Words failed Loki, he tried not to dwell too much on the fact that this was the first time you had called him by his name.

When he didn't answer, you looked at him for a beat, hesitating and worrying your lower lip between your teeth before you extended both hands towards him.

The rain somehow grew heavier, paired with a cold wind that made your hair flow. Loki switched his gaze between your eyes and your outstretched hands. Confused, asking for permission. When you simply wiggled your fingers, he took one of your hands, delicately, almost as if afraid to touch you.

You grasped him tightly with the reassurance he needed and reached for his other hand. You pulled him forward as you took a step backward to get him moving, and then started circling him, making him copy your movements until you fell into a messy dance. A genuine laugh escaped you, "Don't you feel it?"

Loki's smile followed yours, and if his eyes were suddenly pooling with happy tears, the rain would hide it. "I'm starting to," he said quietly, his gaze never leaving yours.

The grin on your lips remained as you closed your eyes and craned your neck up again, you leaned back and allowed Loki's hands to support half of your weight, with the safety that he'd hold you up.

And if he had any say in it, he'd never let go either.

After a few minutes under the rain, you told Loki you had another place you liked to escape to sometimes. Another smoked-glass doorway opened then, and it led to a clear night sky; under it was a small forest with a clearing up ahead, and a lonely bench in the middle of the low grass that had been faintly covered with bits of snow. A thousand stars danced in this sky, with no other light or cloud in sight to outshine their beauty. The lonely bench overlooked a view from up a mountain, making everything seem small and distant. Just like the roadway before, this place was also deserted.

You walked ahead, the only sound on the eery night being your boots crushing the grass and snow underneath. Loki followed, and with a flick of his wrist, his magic had the two of you dry and warm again.

You turned to him with a small, knowing smile and took a seat on the bench, "Thanks."

He simply smiled back, making himself comfortable beside you and looking up at the stars.

This place had always been your favorite, the first one you found after coming to the TVA, and the one you inevitably always came back to.

Feeling the weight of Loki's presence beside you, you weren't sure what you were doing. Only a few weeks ago you said you wanted nothing to do with him, yet here you are. You closed your eyes, pushing the thoughts away for now.

"I usually come here for the stars," you whispered into the night, your breath coming in white puffs of air.

Loki hummed, his gaze roaming over the constellations in the sky, "It is beautiful, but Midgard's skies-"

"Don't compare to Asgard's skies," you finished for him and shot a glance his way before focusing back on the sky, "yeah, I've been told."

A small chuckle escaped Loki, he nodded his head softly and looked down at his hands, his thumb scratching the skin of his other palm.

"One of the few good things about the TVA is this," you hugged your jacket closer to your body, "being able to be anywhere, anytime."

"Are you not worried about disrupting their so-called sacred timeline?" Loki asked.

You smirked, watching him from the side of your eye. "With time, you learn a few tricks on how to not create a branch right away. Such as avoiding people, not disrupting the place," you shrugged, "it gives you a few minutes at least."

Loki kept silent as he took in the new information, he looked from the starry sky to the low grass around his shoes. It would all stay the same when he left.

"It's almost as if we don't exist," you told him quietly.

Suddenly, a different flash of color caught your eyes, and your heartbeat sped up. You held onto your breath, feeling strangely giddy. "There it is," you pointed at the sky.

Loki looked at where you were pointing and his lips parted in silent wonder. It started on one side and soon flowed all around the stars above your heads; flashes of bright green, blue, and pink. Lights dancing in the sky.

A shaky sigh escaped you, "This is the other reason why I like to come here," you kept your voice low, as if the moment was a well-kept secret. The colors of the aurora were reflecting against your eyes. "It's so… enchanting."

Loki kept silent for a few beats, simply watching the show amidst the starry night. He then turned to you, taking in the way those same dancing colors shaped your profile. "It is," he breathed.

You didn't have to look at him to know he was looking at you. You could feel it. It wrapped your heart in a tight grip and blurred the sight of the colorful sky. You pursed your lips, lowering your head and curling in on yourself. "Please don't do that," your words broke in the middle.

Loki gulped the sudden lump in his throat, he felt as if he'd just ruined the moment yet he didn't know how. "I-"

"Don't look at me…" your voice got stuck. You glanced up at the sky, breathing in sharply to chase away the rogue tears. "Like that." It was nothing but a breath past your lips, you softly raised your eyebrows to accentuate the last word.

Don't look at me the way you used to when you were mine.

In the same heartbeat, Loki's gaze shifted to his shoes. An apology already lingered on his lips, but before he could say it, you spoke;

"We should go." You got up, reaching for the tempad in your pocket, "or we'll create a branch soon and this place will be crawling with minutemen." You didn't wait for his answer before walking a few steps away, needing a bit of space.

You heard as Loki followed you, but he kept his distance as he waited for you to open the doorway. You didn't like that distance.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Read ch 7 here

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

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Loki’s taglist: @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @justaproudslytherpuff @justanotherkpopstanlol @chronicallybubbly @chaoticqueen33 @7minutes-tomidnight @uncle-eggy @oliviaewl @dd122004dd @tani725 @innebulae @mochminnie @mayemperess @alyeskathewave @buginktsworld @cremebruleequeen @wyvernthekriger @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson @avengersfan25 @mischief2sarawr @yokolesbianism @arunabrak @athenasproverbs @h-l-vlovesvintage

@princess-ofthe-pages @daisy-the-quake @talesofadragon @rainbowsocks @alexandra-001 @mary-jinx @stevenknightmarc @falconxsoldier @ladymercury8 @shirukitsune @ladymischief11 @starkzdaughter @navs-bhat @creat0r-cat @cinnamonbambii @anundyingfidelity @creationcitystreet-em @or-was-it-just-a-dream @agustdpeach @agent-tempest @spidermantaylorsversion @127djarin @imthedoctorlove @lokidokieokie @cookieeecutter @anuncalledbridge

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki imagine #loki #marvel #loki series #loki x you #marvel x reader #loki x female reader #imagine #fanfic #angst #fluff #what once was mine #loki fanfic #my story #loki laufeyson x reader

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iisasarcasticlittleshite · 1 year

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An Innocent Mistake (Finale)

"Has Barbatos brought MC back yet?" Mammon demanded. "I got the pictures in from the photoshoot we did!"

"Oooh, lemme see!" Asmodeus chirped, clamouring for the envelope as Mammon held it out of reach. "Gimme!"

"Hell nah! I promised MC we'd look at 'em together! Get yer hands offa me!"

"We kept their outfits, right?" Belphie asked, half asleep on the sofa, legs resting across Beel's thighs as the gluttonous demon ate popcorn beside him. "They looked really cute in that blue silk one."

"What about the armour! Like a mini warrior dragon!" Spewed Levi, cheeks growing pink at the memory. He has his own collection of pictures taken of little dragon MC in all sorts of different outfits. One of his favourites was when he draped thin chains of gold around their horns and wings, making them look like almost godly.

The house of Lamentation has gotten used to many an odd occasion, from curses to video games, and their human inhabitant turning draconic has been no different.

Over the month they've been in this form, MC has grown from the size of a housecat to the size of a medium-large dog, and the brothers have found ways to accomodate.

Satan reads his notes to them so they can't fall behind on classes, Asmodeus paints their claws the same way he'd paint their fingernails, Beel feeds them off his own plate most of the time and Belphie is more then happy to use them as a pillow with or without scales.

Still, they miss MC's voice. As cute as chirping and growling is, it just isn't the same.

The brothers all look up at once at the sound of the front door opening, only to find Lucifer, with no dragon in sight.

He takes note of their disappointment, and laments adding to it.

"I've received some disturbing news. Apparently, Solomon has collected MC from the Demon Lord's Castle. He failed to inform anyone that he's found a way to attempt to turn them back."

"Attempt?" Satan muttered suspiciously.

"That's not a good word." Levi agreed with the sentiment. "What if he turns them into something else, like a-"

"There's no point speculating." The eldest put an end to the panic before the real objections could really start. "I've already contacted Simeon, Solomon isn't at Purgatory Hall, he's taken them somewhere else to reverse the spell."

"And we're just supposed to trust the crazy bastard?!" Mammon wailed.

"Not much choice is there, really." Asmo frowned, folding his arms around himself as he does on fearful occasions. "At least we know the pacts still work, so MC can tell us if things go really wrong...right?"

A heavy silence fell over the room, one nobody broke as they all quietly found perches around the living room to wait, napping, scrolling through DDD's or watching some droning nature documentary that no one really paid attention too.

Not much of anything was said for at least twenty minutes, until the sound of a fresh bag of chips cracked open the silence.

"Isn't this the same narrator who did that short series?"

"Yeah, think he started out with documentaries though." Levi replied without thinking, without realising that speaking was the very voice he's been replaying from his phone at night, the voice they've all missed to death.

It's Beel, whose sensitive nose picks up their scent, who throws himself to his feet, sending popcorn and Belphie flying when he takes off and crashed MC into his infamous bear hug.

The human barely has time to laugh at their reactions as they throw arms and legs around Beel and squeeze tight, relishing the feeling of a proper hug for the first time in weeks.

Belphie is hot on his brother's heels, ending up sandwiching MC between them, as they always do. If MC could still purr, they would have.

"Hey! What's the big idea, scarin' us all like that!" Mammon's objections fell on utterly deaf ears, as the second MC wriggled out from between the twins and hugged him, he couldn't hold onto the mask.

He buried his face in their neck to hide his smile, "reluctantly" wrapping his arms around them to pull them close. "Don't go lettin' that shady sorcerer do that to ya again, ya hear?"

"But Mammon, didn't you think I was cute as a dragon?"

"Shaddup, stupid human."

"Mammon! My turn!" Asmodeus demanded, and soon had MC happily in his arms, spinning happily as he smattered their face with kisses. "Welcome back hon!"

"No ill effects from the transformation?" Satan appeared at Asmo's side, affectionately stroking their hair while Asmo continued to rock them gently back and forth.

MC smiled happily, revelling in the rare display of affection from the Avatar of Wrath. Satan isn't a hugger on the best of days, let alone in front of his brothers.

"I'm fine, was barely disoriented. Pretty sure Solomon would rather I'd have been unconscious though..."

Satan's lips twitched into a smirk. "Something tells me you didn't just say I told you so."

MC's innocent grin said it all.

They sidled away from a reluctant Asmo to high five Levi. "Transformation achieved! I'd have so levelled up by now!"

"You are always OP, Henry!"

"Does anyone know what OP means?"

"Nope. MC does, ask them later."

Finally, the human looked to Lucifer, smiling quietly at them, holding himself back, as usual. During the weeks they'd spent as a dragon, Lucifer had been so careful, so diligent in making sure they stayed safe.

MC didn't care if he was too proud to hug them in front of his brothers, they jumped on him, happily nuzzling into his collar. "Thank you, for looking after me.

"I am...glad you're back." Relief filled his words as he muttered close to their ear. "Next time that sorcerer wants to try a new spell, you cast it on him first."

MC laughed, happily surrounded by some very relieved demons and back in their own skin. "Duly noted. But you're all still in deep shit for letting Barbatos use me as a rat catcher."

"Oh...oh shit."

@ihatecorns

#obey me #an innocent mistake #finally #obey me x mc #obey me lucifer #lucifer x mc #obey me mammon #mammon x mc #obey me leviathan #levi x mc #obey me satan #satan x mc #obey me asmodeus #asmo x mc #obey me beelzebub #beel x mc #obey me belphegor #belphie x mc #obey me solomon

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accio-victuuri · 5 months

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Sugar Rush : November CPNs

What started out as a relatively quiet month after a chaotic October, turned into something else because of a few candies. Especially the whole 11/19 fiasco that surprised us all. LOL. As usual, this is for cpn-loving turtles only. Keep an open mind but still clown responsibly. I can’t believe we only have one month left for this year!

If you wanna recap other years I have archived : 2021 ( one | two ) 2022 ( one | two ) 2023 ( one, july, august, september, october ) 2020 candies and some other sweets before I was doing round up posts may be found on my masterlist.

Let’s review the past month…

• Some side by side / parallel photos of GG ( Tod’s Milan ) and WYB ( Chanel Shenzhen ). They are both photographed with the very beautiful Liu ShiShi. Also the way they are the center of attention. KINGS! 👑

• hoping they play tennis together 🎾 ; there is also a cpn out there about yibo being fully prepared for the game cause he had lacoste shoes and bag then a jacket that he used in wuzhen. people are speculating that XZ bought stuff for him to use cause he is the one who knows more and thought of this brand. this may seem like a stretch but you never know with this fandom when a seemingly insignificant observation becomes a big candy along the way.

• 2021 vs 2023 beach photos similarities + xiamen coincidence and it’s connection to ZZ’s ideal life painting

• LHK ( Liu Haikuan ) giving clues about BJYX? + Part 2 of comments

11/7, GG was announced as Boucheron’s global brand ambassador, then people remembered that one time WYB wore stuff from the brand. So now we have an unintentional couple jewelry incidence😂😂

• the sound of an eagle 🦅

• some similarities in forwarding 119 message, yeah i know celebrities like them are sort of required to bring attention to stuff like this. however, WYB is known to support this cause and even made a VCR specifically for it. if you look at the actual post, theirs is the top 2 in terms of likes and the rest of the celebrities are not the usual ones similar to the boys’ caliber. Another clue that this is WYB’s advocacy of sorts, most, if not all top comments are from his fans. so ZZ joining in on spreading the message seems ( to me and some cpfs ) like influenced by WYB.

Next is they both filmed VCRs for "People in My Heart" - "Classic Characters" series. We just love seeing them support the same projects ^^

• NARS live drawing

• Candies from WYB’s 11/12 douyin post. Mainly the parallel about the same walls and floor.

• XZ fell asleep on WYB during the golden core scene

• Interpreting YBO’s 11/16 weibo caption

• 11/19/23 double update candies

• similar necklace??? ( cough in vain )

• the full story ( so far ) behind 11/19 📝

• Talking about this a bit late considering when the whole CPN started about this GG mural for GG. There are side by side comparisons of the eyes on the mural and Yibo’s. The CPN being they used WYB’s eyes for that mural.

I usually let people have free reign on clowning but this one isn’t for me personally. just because it’s obviously a mural commissioned by GUCCI which a big brand that couldn’t care less about the CP. Maybe it’s a coincidence how similar it is? Because there is a reference photo that should be followed. Also, this is GG’s time to shine. This mural is his & him. I think this is an example for cpfs to learn to separate the boys as individuals, especially for things that are work related and most especially their achievements. While I do believe they influence each other greatly, it’s important to not make every single thing a romantic relation.

• the mystery driver is seen again 👀

• 11/22 Yibo scenery post 🍬

• One night in Beijing Song + 11/23 XZS post

• I don’t really wanna clown with Redmi but the black and white theme from XZS and then the next day it’s Redmi. I was surprised with this cause all the promos were supposed to be related to the scifi themed ad blockbuster!

A coincidence 👀👀👀👀

• small candies form IQIYI scream night 😱

• wyb acknowledging light signs and calls us wangba

• XZ’s 11/27 Airport and Selfie Clues

• there is some talk with BXGs regarding WYB’s redmi appearance, it looks like he was bitten by the mosquito again. lol. I usually just find cpn like this funny cause there is always deniability. also hello to the mosquito who loves to bite the center of his neck.

I’m separating these next entries cause it’s not new. I just found myself revisiting bts content and clowning about it. old candy still tastes good! 💯

WYB signs 520 to GG

WYB’s small steps to GG but robe gets caught

Something is funny and XZ has to tell WYB

Flirting and Fighting? “WYB’s love you”

XZ got hurt and WYB said he is gonna kiss it better?

-END.

#yizhan #bjyx #there is no science here i’m just clowning like i always do #sugar rush #i have to say that i was meh with cpns at the start of the month cause how can you top october? lol #but as soon as 11/19 hit i was back LOL

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sammysdewysensitiveeyes · 14 days

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My Morph primer

Since X-Men 97 is drawing in a lot of new fans with varied levels of experience with the original animated series or the comics, I figured I could give a write-up of who Morph is, where they come from, and why you don’t see them in any of the movies or other media. This is also an excuse for me to write about an obsessive fave, seriously, they are all over my blog. I'm not necessarily an "authority," but I've watched TAS and read the comics, which are the basis for this write-up.

Who is Morph?

"Wolverine! Fall back!"

Morph is a shapeshifting mutant who was added to the X-Men team in the original X-Men: The Animated Series as a redshirt/sacrificial lamb, to be killed off For Real in order to show that the stakes are really high. Originally it was actually going to be Thunderbird, a short-lived X-Man who died in the comics just a few issues after he was introduced, and has remained dead for decades. But creators realized that killing off the only Native American character on a mostly white team was a bad look, and went with Morph instead. Morph proved surprisingly popular with (mostly child) viewers, and was brought back in the 2nd season as a result. Morph in TAS was originally presented as male using male pronouns, but I’m gonna use they/them for the character since they are nonbinary in X-Men 97.

(Btw, even Morph's TAS costume shows their redshirt nature, as they are basically wearing a variant of the standard X-Men uniform that different groups have worn, with the Original Five (Angel, Jean, Cyclops, Beast and Iceman) and the New Mutants all wearing something similar. There was a time in the 90's when all the X-Men were wearing this uniform to try to give them a team look, but thankfully that didn't last, the individualized looks are much better. Morph's amazing disappearing reappearing jacket are the only personalized touch in their uniform, and I hope X-Men 97 gives them a costume upgrade after everyone gets used to the new look.)

Morph doesn’t appear in many episodes of TAS, but here are the definitive ones:

Season 1:

Night of the Sentinels Parts 1 and 2: Morph seems to be an established part of the team, a wise-cracking shapeshifter who is so naively overconfident about their mission that they’ve practically got a target painted on their back. When the mission goes wrong, Morph pushes Wolverine out of the way of Sentinel lasers, and gets blasted all to hell. Morph’s supposed death (which was meant at the time to be a real death) is sensed by both Jean and Xavier. Cyclops orders a retreat because the team is getting their asses kicked, abandoning both the (dead) Morph and (alive but injured) Beast, who spends the rest of the season in jail. Morph is quickly forgotten as a character, BUT the impact of their death is felt throughout the season. We get Wolverine yelling “This one’s for you, Morph!” while slicing up a Sentinel, and Cyclops in the finale insisting, “I’m not leaving anyone behind! Not this time!”

Season 2:

Till Death Do Us Part, Parts 1 and 2: Morph returns as a villain, but a sympathetic, brainwashed villain under the control of season Big Bad Mr. Sinister. Sinister is an evil scientist who likes to fuck around with mutant genetics and is especially obsessed with getting Scott and Jean to fuck, because their child will supposedly be an extremely genetically superior mutant. After Morph’s “death,” they were taken by Sinister, who revived them and implanted a control device into Morph’s brain that he uses to literally torture Morph into compliance. Morph seems to have a kind of split personality, which Sinister exacerbates and encourages, shifting between a haggard-looking Evil Morph who wants revenge on the X-Men for abandoning them and cracks jokes while attacking the team, and a normal-looking Good Morph, who doesn’t want to hurt their friends, and is generally scared and confused and having a Bad Time. If you are wondering about Morph turning into that version of themselves with dark circles around their eyes in X-Men 97 “Fire Made Flesh,” it was a reference back to this:

Evil Morph lookin' reeeeeaal creepy.

Morph uses their shape-shifting trickery to fake marry Scott and Jean (as the priest), impersonate Xavier and turn the team against each other, until Wolverine identifies them by scent. The team then chases Morph to Sinister’s lair, where he’s captured a honey-mooning Scott and Jean. Morph has been struggling with the brainwashing the entire time, and breaks free long enough to attack Sinister, then runs off away from everyone.

Whatever It Takes: Wolverine, who has declared the Morph is “the only one who could ever make him laugh,” chases Morph down to Brazil in an attempt to drag them back to the team. Morph, still fighting their dark side and flipping back and forth between the two personalities, taunts Wolverine in Jean’s form, fights him, and eventually gains enough control to tell Logan to back off. (“I have to get through this by myself!”)

Fighting your friend in an abandoned mine shaft, a totally normal thing to do.

Wolverine reluctantly lets them go. This the B-plot, the main plot of the episode features Storm and Rogue confronting the Shadow King in Africa, and is also really good.

Reunion Parts 1 and 2: Morph leaves a message for Wolverine stating that he wants to return to the team, in what seems like an obvious set-up for a trap. Wolverine, Jean and Cyclops go to retrieve them, and find that yes, it is a trap. Morph attmpts to warn the group to leave, but they are jumped by Sinister and the Nasty Boys, and the fight ends with Jean being taken, and Morph (still struggling against Sinister’s control), going semi-willingly. The whole team winds up at Sinister’s base in the Savage Land and there are a lot of good character moments, like Gambit telling Rogue he loves her. Morph spends the whole time still fighting against the brainwashing, but throws it off completely at the end (with Xavier’s help) and turns on Sinister, helping Scott and Jean defeat him. Morph is then Put on a Bus to Muir Island so that the writers wouldn’t have to deal with the character but could hold them in reserve to use later. Xavier comments that he can remove Sinister’s mind-control chip from Morph’s brain, but that “removing the psychic damage will take longer.” So the answer to “Where’s Morph?” in later seasons will always be “Recovering on Muir Island, probably hanging out with Moira and Banshee.”

If you are a Morph fan, Season 2 is THE Morph season, they get a great character arc that fleshes them out, and establishes their close relationship with Wolverine. I’m glad they didn’t toss out Morph in X-Men 97, both because I like the character, and because Morph’s entire arc in Season 2 was about their struggle to come back to the team, and constantly reaffirms that Morph is one of them, and that they belong with the X-Men. Also, I know Tumblr love an angsty, suffering blorbo, and good God does Morph suffer in Season 2.

(Someone is having a Bad Time).

Season 4:

Courage: After getting only a couple of non-speaking background cameos in Season 3, this is Morph’s comeback episode in Season 4. Morph believes that they are fully recovered and ready to rejoin the X-Men, while both Moira and Xavier seem to think they are not ready, and warn them to slow down a little. Morph tries to jump back into their old role, makes jokes, and goes on a mission with Wolverine, but is clearly still dealing with PTSD and completely freezes up when Sentinels attack the mansion and kidnap Xavier. Morph is left at the mansion while the X-Men go to rescue Xavier, but follows them anyway, and manages to play an instrumental role in stopping the Sentinels and saving Xavier. Despite this, Morph decides that they are not ready to return and cannot be relied upon in battle (because the writers didn’t want to deal with using the character on the team), and goes back to Muir Island. It’s a standard “character fucks up at the start of the episode but saves the day in the end” superhero cartoon story, and I was a little disappointed that the episode focused entirely on Morph’s “near death trauma” from the Sentinels and not the much worse “brainwashed and tortured by Sinister to the point of developing a second personality” issue. The closest we get to addressing that is Morph pointedly walking up to Cyclops with “Scott…been a long time….” which sounds like a way of saying “We’re cool now, bro, I promise I won’t try to kill you.” Still, we get some great Morph and Wolverine moments, and Morph kicks a lot of ass at the end. After Morph spends most of the series either dead or suffering, I don’t mind an episode where they get to kick ass. This episode also establishes that Morph was suffering from serious nightmares for awhile, so consider that a canon excuse to put that in your angsty fanfic.

(Morph also gets a non-speaking cameo in Beyond Good and Evil Part 1, sitting next to Jubilee at Scott and Jean’s second wedding. I think it’s sweet that they were invited, but can also imagine Scott putting them in the front row just to ensure that there are no more “fake priest” shenanigans. “Let’s put Morph where I can see him….just in case.”)

Season 5:

Graduation Day: After Xavier is attacked, Morph returns to help calm mutants world-wide by impersonating Xavier and making a public call for peace. Morph doesn’t do much in the episode, but they get an individualized goodbye from Xavier while he is addressing the team one by one, and it is clear at the end that Morph is officially back with the team. In other words, the writers could give Morph a happy ending of coming back since the show was ending and they didn’t have to deal with it going forward. Thankfully, the X-Men 97 writers were happy to pick up that ball and continue running with it, and I love what they’ve done with Morph so far!

Were there shippy vibes between Morph and Wolverine in the original series?

I dunno friend, watch “Whatever it Takes,” and “Courage,” and you tell me. Morph shifting into Jean to taunt Wolverine definitely gives me vibes of “There’s something going on there.”

Is Morph in the comics?

(Note – I’m using he/him for all comics versions of Morph because those versions all apparently ID as male.)

The answer is yes, sort of.

Changeling:

Morph was loosely based on an obscure, long dead shape-shifting mutant from the X-Men’s original 60’s run. Changeling was a villain with a tacky costume who acted very much like a standard 60’s comic book villain, associated with a terrorist group called Factor Three. Look at this fucking dude:

At the end of the Factor Three arc, it turns out that Factor Three’s leader, Mutant Master, is an alien who wants to destroy ALL life on Earth to make way for his own people, and the mutants in the group turn on him and help the X-Men. Changeling is the first one to question Mutant Master’s motives, and that’s probably the only interesting thing he does in the whole story. Several issues later, Xavier supposedly dies while helping defeat a villain named Grotesk and save the world. This story is retconned near the end of the run, when Xavier is revealed to be alive, and explains that the dead “Xavier” was actually Changeling. Changeling had discovered that he was terminally ill, and came to Xavier seeking redemption. Xavier asked Changeling to temporarily take his place as Xavier while he shut himself up in the basement to prepare to stop an alien invasion (and no, the X-Men were not informed of this, besides Jean, and yes, that is really fucked up). So Changeling became a reformed villain and honorary X-Man who went out in a heroic sacrifice, and was almost never mentioned again. (Even now Changeling appears to still be dead in the comics, even though the current storyline has allowed ALL the dead mutants to come back. Even Thunderbird is back.)

Changeling was greatly reworked to become Morph, totally changing his personality and origins. The only similarities are the shapeshifting powers and physical appearance. You can see how this guy:

Became this not-actually-a-guy:

Or even this version:

X-Men 97 Morph got a real glow-up to their human form.

Of course, they also share the trait of being a sacrificial lamb plot device, and X-Men TAS creators were originally going to call the character “Changeling,” but changed the name to Morph because DC’s Beast Boy was called Changeling at the time.

Age of Apocalypse Morph:

In the 90’s, there was a cross-over event over all the X-Books called the Age of Apocalypse, in which a time-traveller (Xavier’s son Legion, long story) murdered Xavier in the past before Xavier formed the X-Men, and created a dystopian alternate reality in which Apocalypse had taken over and Magneto led the X-Men. This was a kind of what-if event that let writers have fun with switching up character relationships, turning good guys bad and bad guys good, and of course, killing a lot of characters off. The event only lasted about four issues before it was all undone and we returned to the main Marvel universe, so they could really go wild. In the AoA book Astonishing X-Men, Magneto’s team includes a character called Morph, a versatile shapeshifter with a pasty white made-of-clay look, and a jovial, upbeat personality that is clearly based on TAS Morph. (This change to character design is where X-Men 97 Morph’s white, featureless appearance comes from).

Just a silly little guy!

AoA Morph is also stated in the book to have been formerly Changeling, before undergoing a name-change and attitude adjustment, making him an AU variant. He explains to Sunfire at one point that he never takes anything seriously because fuck it, he’s probably gonna die anyway, he may as well die with a smile on his face. AoA Morph is pretty cool, he does great shapeshifting tricks, and has some depth and heart beneath the obnoxious jokes.

Exiles Morph:

After Age of Apocalypse, the fan-favorite character Blink (like Morph, another alternate version of a short-lived character in the main comics timeline) gets pulled out of the AoA timeline and placed on a team of time-displaced X-Men. This team, all coming from alternate realities and including some other minor neglected characters (like versions of Thunderbird and Mimic), is tasked with hopping through realities, putting things right that once went wrong, and hoping each time that the next leap will be their leap home. The team also includes a version of Morph, who is so similar to AoA Morph that Blink mistakes him initially for her old teammate. This is another AU variant of Changeling who was never Changeling, but instead was recruited into the New Mutants (a bit of an age retcon for the character, as 60’s Changeling seemed much older, while Exiles Morph is clearly much younger.) Exiles Morph was a popular hero in his reality, served as both an X-Man and an Avenger, and is an incredibly powerful shapeshifter. He also winds up being a long-running mainstay of the Exiles team, so this is really the book to read for Morph content. Exiles also fleshes out the character’s past, stating that he was born as a shapeshifting blob with X-gene already activated, and only assumed a human appearance to fit in with peers. He also lost his mother to cancer at an early age, and his obnoxious jokey personality was partially a reaction to that, an attempt to both cheer up and get some attention from his grieving father. Exiles Morph is a great character, my only complaint is that he is a bit of a sex pest, constantly making “jokes” that border on sexual harassment of his female teammates. I don’t think he’s meant to actually be a creep, he never actually does anything, and when the teammate he has a crush on reveals that she is a lesbian, he steps back and acts as a supportive friend. I think Exiles Morph just suffers from late 90’s early 2000 writing where the funny jokey character has to be all “LOL, Boobies!” all the time, just so we know he’s straight. (Funny, given how not-straight X-Men 97 Morph seems to be.)

The Other Morph: Benjamin Deeds:

Brian Michael Bendis, in his Uncanny X-Men run, introduced a new character named Benjamin Deeds who could shapeshift, and looked suspiciously similar to a teenage version of Changeling/TAS Morph. His personality was different, though (more of a sulky teen trying to deal with being a mutant than a funny guy), and the nature of his powers is different. Benjamin has what is described as “chameleon-like” shapeshifting, taking on the physical characteristics of people when he gets close to them rather than fully shifting forms. He also exudes a chemical that makes people automatically like and trust him. Emma suggests the codename “Morph,” and although Benjamin doesn’t like it, it becomes his official codename going forward. I don’t think Ben actually has any real connection to Changeling or TAS Morph, he seems more like a legacy character or winking homage, like Pyro II (Simon Lasker, who inexplicably has the same powers and looks almost exactly like original Pyro, St. John Alledyce). He’s fun character and a cute lil’ guy, though.

There are people who call TAS Morph an “original character” completely invented for the cartoon, and I don’t think they’re entirely wrong. Morph is VERY different from Changeling, But to me, it makes the most sense to consider TAS Morph another AU variant of Changeling, given all the influence back and forth between the comics and the cartoon. Morph was based on Changeling, and Morph’s popularity led to AU versions of Changeling in the comics with TAS Morph’s personality literally named “Morph,” and now X-Men 97 Morph has been redesigned to match AoA/Exiles Morph’s appearance. They are variations of the same person. And it’s not exactly the first time that a comics character has been drastically reworked in an adaptation – I’m looking at you, First Class Mystique and Evolution’s “Lance Alvers.” I wonder if people would still be calling Morph an “original character” if they’d kept the name “Changeling,” since keeping the name seems to be all it takes at times. Still, TAS Morph is kind of right on the border between OC and “adapted from the comics,” and even I tend to include them in groups of “created for the cartoon” characters like Firestar, Spyke and X-23.

Why is Morph tagged as “Kevin Sydney/Sidney”?

Because that is the character’s name, more or less. TAS Morph didn’t have a “real name” in 92, because Changeling didn’t (similarly, Rogue also didn’t have a real name because the character hadn’t been given one in the comics.) In Age of Apocalypse, characters called Morph “Sydney” or “Syd,” and Morph even referred to himself that way in a thought-balloons, but the Exiles writer apparently decided, “Nah, it’s a last name,” and officially named Morph “Kevin Sydney.” The name stuck, and the 2004 Marvel “Book of the Dead” gave Changeling that name in the entry on him. Morph’s name has never been given in the cartoon, but it’s probably safe to assume that their official “human name” is Kevin Sydney, just like TAS Rogue is probably Anna Marie (her official name in the comics.) Interestingly, even in Exiles, the book where the name originated, Morph always goes by “Morph” and never “Kevin.” Maybe Home Alone ruined the name for him. I tend to use the Kevin Sydney tags on Tumblr and A03 to differentiate from other uses of the “morph” tag. In particular, Tumblr has a lot of body modification fetish posts tagged as “morph,” and no offense to the fetishists, you all keep doing what you are doing, but that’s not the content I’m looking for. I’m sure the fetish people are probably a bit annoyed at their own tag filling up with an X-Men character, but hey, it’s their name.

How old is Morph? How long were they with the team and when did they join? Is the featureless white face their “real form”? What’s their history with Wolverine?

I don’t have answers here because we don’t know. There’s a lot we don’t know about TAS Morph, and the origins of their comics counterparts don’t really translate well into cartoon continuity. Like I can’t imagine TAS Morph ever having been a willing member of Factor Three.

Personally, I tend to assume that Morph was with the team for awhile before their “death,” given that they have an established “old friend” relationship with Wolverine and know the team extremely well. I also tend to assume that TAS Morph is a similar age to the other young adults on the team like Scott and Jean. They sometimes look older in the original series, because they were based on Changeling (who also looks older), but the voice acting and general personality of the character seem younger, plus Wolverine calls them “kid”a couple of times. And it seems like their “human form” may not be their “real face” anyway, given that they’ve now defaulted to the white blank-face look. The white blank-face look IS the real form for Exiles (and presumably AoA) Morph, so the same is probably true for TAS Morph and Changeling. But this is all just my own headcanon and speculation, based on what I’ve seen in the original cartoon and the comics. You are all free to come up with your own headcanons fleshing out the character, I’ve already seen great stuff in fanfic out there!

Edit: Actually, I thought of a bit more:

How does Morph shift their clothing? Does Morph even wear clothes? How can they create accessories like Psylocke's swords?

Honestly, I dunno, this is Rule of Cool and Morph as a vehicle for character cameos in affect here. I will say that, in the comics, many characters with shapeshifter-type powers, like Wolfsbane, wear costumes made of unstable molecules that shift with their bodies, the same may be true of Morph. Exiles Morph, when commenting on his female teammates' skimpy costumes, at one point jokes that he "wears even less," so he may just be literally making clothing out of his own body. Although I would think that would get cold, or painful with no protection against the elements.

I assume that Morph does form accessories like Psylocke's swords out of their own body, which also presumably means they can't drop them. I wonder if it would hurt Morph if one of the swords broke? Exile Morph regularly turns his own body into accessories that he can hold (but not separate from his form), so presumably X-Men 97 Morph is doing the same. This is a step-up from TAS Morph, who never did that. Exiles Morph seems to be able to turn their body into whatever they want.

Does Morph copy the powers of other mutants?

Morph seems to be able to mimic only the physical-based powers of other mutants, under the shapeshifter logic of changing their body to give themselves larger muscles, claws, etc. So Angel's wings, but not Cyclops' eye beams. Nightcrawler's tail but not teleportation. In X-Men 97, Morph takes a couple of shots from X-Cutioner after shifting into Colossus, so apparently they can do the whole metal skin thing. But in TAS, when Morph turns into Wolverine, their claws are not adamantium and Wolverine easily slices through them.

I would add that Exiles Morph is also extremely durable, and can literally be ripped to pieces and shapeshift himself back together. This doesn't seem to be the case of "died from Sentinel lasers" TAS Morph, but maybe they just aren't there with their power levels yet. Exiles Morph IS especially susceptible to burns or laser blasts, and almost dies when Hyperion hits him with a beam at close range.

That’s it, hopefully this is helpful for people completely new to the character who got into X-Men 97. Mostly I just love writing about Morph. I encourage you to go back and watch the original series, or at least the Morph episodes. It’s a good show, if a bit 90’s corny, and will let you fully appreciate X-Men 97 (which has been, so far, an absolute banger of a series). Presumably we’ll see more character development of Morph as the show continues, which will maybe answer some of these questions.

#morph #kevin sydney #morph x-men

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honey-flustered · 2 years

Text

Cruel Little Vixen 6

Rockstar!Perv!Eddie Munson x Journalist!Reader

Summary: It seems like whenever you and Eddie are happily content in your relationship, everyone else is miserable. What happens when your job and his fame is on the line once the secret’s out?

NO READ MORE LINE BREAK ADDED DUE TO GLITCH

A/N: I want to thank you guys again for the immense amount of support! I swear I never expected this series to blow up the way it did but I am so fucking grateful. No words can describe it ❤️❤️ This chapter’s a little angsty, little fluffy. It was supposed to be a really long chapter but I’ve decided to split it into the next chapter but it’ll still be about two chapters left. I’m sorry I took soooo long it’s been one hell of a week but I do hope you all enjoy!! SMUT NEXT CHAPTER GONNA GO BRAZY

>>>>Series Masterlist Part 6 of 8

Word Count: 8.5k+

Warnings: angsty, fluffy fluff 😊❤️, soft!eddie, boyfriend!eddie, needy!eddie, yandere!eddie makes a small appearance, fighting/little violence, little crying, reader paints eddie’s nails, small dirty talk from the metalhead, kissing, handholding, secret relationship, reader has an enemy, marijuana ingestion, Stevie Nicks appearance, special gift from reader to Eddie 💕

“Hold still. You’re gonna mess it up.” You giggle.

Eddie’s sat between your legs, slumped with his head on your chest. The way he insisted you to paint his nails because “it’ll be like painting your own nails”. Although, you knew the real reason was an excuse to rest his head on the pillowy mounds.

You didn’t mind, though. You found him so adorable, staring up at you with those big round eyes and a goofy smile on his face. He’s much more manageable when he’s in this state of bliss.

“You’re taking so long,” He groans.

“I’m almost done, ya big baby.” You say, kissing his forehead. He smiles, rubbing your thigh with his free hand.

You blow on the last finger you’ve painted, him studying the way your full lips pursed. The cool air sending shivers down his spine. Part of him wishes you hadn’t felt it but the other part of him wants you to know the effect you had on him.

He’s never been so vulnerable with any woman he’s dated. It was always surface level, figuring it was just easier that way. He believes it stems from his days back in high school when not many girls cared to look in his direction. He was “The Freak” after all and associating with him was social suicide. He’d like to imagine that if things had gone differently back then with your interaction with him, you’d accept him fully as he was. Nerd and all.

“All done!” You snap him from his thoughts. He looks down at his fingernails painted a deep, dark shade of blue.

“Looks great, little vixen. Should we try them out?” He peels away from your body now facing you. Pulling you by your legs so their spread apart. He climbs in between them, hands traveling up both thighs.

“I think they’d look great riiight…” Eddie presses two fingers against your clothed core, applying pressure. “Here.”

“No, Eddie,” You sigh. “As much as, I’d love to christen this hotel room. Your manager and your stylist will be stopping by soon. If they see me in your clothes, they’ll know for sure we’re sleeping together.”

“What does it matter? It’s like you want this to be a secret or something.”

“Well…yeah.” You twiddle with your fingers, nervously.

“Really? Huh. This is bringing up some unresolved high school trauma.” Eddie says, looking into space.

“I thought this was what we both wanted? To protect our careers?”

“I don’t remember having this talk.”

“Then, let’s have it now. We have to keep us a secret. If my boss finds out, he might pull the exposé and that’ll be the end of my career. As for you, rockstar, you’re supposed to be living that bachelor lifestyle. Having a girlfriend is only going to ruin that image. Your manager wouldn’t like that.”

“Fuck him.”

“Eds…if not for me, then do it for yourself. You’re living out your wildest dreams. You used to play in shady garages and ghost town venues wishing you could prove yourself. Now you’re touring the world, performing side by side with the greats of our time. This is your moment.”

“Okay.” He says in a dry tone.

“You mad at me?” You pout, rubbing your head on his shoulder like a cat and staring up at him,

His expressionless face instantly attempts to fight off a smile, clearly amused. “You look so cute in my sweater how can I be mad. But ya know what’d make me feel really good?”

You clamped your thighs together, adjusting yourself in the oversized sweater so you looked halfway decent. “Your manager’ll show up any moment now.”

“I just want a kiss.”

“I have to leave while I still have time.”

“You’re really gonna leave me hangin’?” He smiles innocently but the sinister aura around him says otherwise.

Yet, you lean in to kiss him anyway, falling into his trap of temptation. Could such sinful lips ever carry innocence? No, they were made to cause destruction. Bring you to your end. You were losing track of reality. Kissing him disregards space and time.

“Get it together, y/n! He wants this. Pull away! You know what this lead to.” Says the angel on your shoulder.

But the louder, ‘much more fun to listen to’ demon on your shoulder says, “FUCK THAT! KISS THE BOY! KISS HIM HARDDD!”

And you did so while climbing him like a tree. He moans his approval, nails digging into your plushy thighs. You circle your hips down, feeling him growing beneath.

Then, you hear the unmistakable sound of Eddie’s obnoxiously loud manager…In front of Eddie’s door!!

Curse that hedonistic bitch in me.

You roll off him, eyes searching for a place to hide just as you hear a knock.

“This is your fault.” You whisper.

“My fault?!” He whisper-yells.

“Tell me where to hide.”

“The closet?”

“They’ll go through your wardrobe.”

“Underneath the bed?”

You exhaled deeply, lowering to the ground. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. This is college all over again.”

“You’ve gotta tell me that story sometime.” He says, intrigued.

The sounds of banging grows louder. Eddie strides for the door, looking back to make sure that you’re hidden as you roll underneath the bed.

You hear the door locks click open and Mr. Neds immediately begins ranting at Eddie. “What took you so long, kid? We’re on crunch time. The boys are nearly dressed and you haven’t even changed out of your loungewear. And that hair! It’s all over the place!Where’s the hairstylist I sent up here?”

So that was all the knocking earlier this morning while you were resting in Eddie’s arms. Neither of you wanting to get up from exhaustion of your sexual marathon and because it meant breaking the cycle of warmth you both provided one another.

“My hair’s fine. My fans dig it this way.” Eddie defends.

“There’s an art to messy hair, Francis. Your hair’s not rockstar messy, it’s just messy. I’m calling another hairstylist. Maeve, pick out something that screams ‘sex symbol’.” Mr. Neds orders, walking out the room.

“Hello, Mr Francis,” The stylist greets, excitedly. “I’ll be your stylist for this tour. When I’m done, you’ll look as good as Mick Jagger. Although…you already are quite good looking.”

You roll your eyes at this. Here we go.

“I’m a huge fan by the way. Possibly the biggest fan.”She giggles, a hint a seduction paints her words.

“I like when pretty girls like you listen to my music.” You can just hear the smugness in his voice. He’s clearly aware that you’re listening in all of this, possibly thinking he could make you jealous. Ha! Not gonna happen.

She giggles some more. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Course I do, doll.”

Doll?! That bastard!

“I’ll go pick out your clothes and maybe…you could get out of those clothes. I can help you if you’d like.”She lays it on thick.

You’re sure that Eddie’s going to push this further to get a rise out of you. You can already feel your blood begin to boil, your heart aching. Instead, you’re stunned to hear him drop the act.

“Actually, Maeve...I’ll pass. Hope you can respect that.”

“Oh, a-are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” She grumbles in defeat. “I’ll get started with the outfit choices then.”

You smile to yourself, impressed. You hadn’t realize just how devoted Eddie was to this relationship. He meant it when he said you were his and he couldn’t possibly think of hurting you in such a way and messing things up.

The door swings open again and Mr. Neds walks in along with bandmate, Mel Tomas. Mel does a spin around flashing his look for Eddie to see. “I’m not sure how she’ll top this look for you. Pretty sure I’m hot enough to be the new favorite of the band.” He flexes his arms.

Eddie gestures discreetly with his eyes, calling the attention of the bass guitarist. Mel confused at first, scratches his head only for his eyes to immediately widen when he spots you beneath. You wave and smile awkwardly.

“Anyone want towels?” Mel blurts.

“What?” Mr. Neds questions. “The hell would we need towels for?”

“You’re looking a little sweaty, big guy. No worries. I’ll get the towel cart from the hall and bring it in here.” Mel projects his voice, hinting his plan while causing Maeve and Mr. Neds to stare in utter bewilderment.

Mel returns with the cart. Eddie doing all he can to stifle his laughter, watching him roll it in for you. For you to climb into the bottom shelf. A towel is draped over the sides to keep you from being spotted. He throws a towel for everyone in the room to keep any suspicions. “Going into the hallway now.” He calls out.

It’s a good thing he didn’t go into acting.

Once you’re a far distance enough, you crawl out and brought yourself to your feet. Mel shakes his head at you. “Et tú, y/n?”

“I know what it looks like…but it’s really not what you think it is.”

“I think it looks like you two are a thing.”

“Okay, so it is what you think. Please don’t tell anyone.” You clasp your hands together, pleading.

“Your secret’s safe with me. I’m just surprised Eddie managed to win you over.”

“Ughh, you say it like I’m some trophy.” You roll your eyes.

“Didn’t mean any offense. It’s just you’re so much badass than he’ll ever be.” He laughs, nudging your shoulder.

You flip your hair dramatically, smirking. “This is why you’re the smart one.”

—————

Mantra•esque. It was this generation’s Woodstock. 4 days of the hottest artists performing and Corroded Coffin’s making its large scale debut. People took this festival very seriously. Both when it came to the musical performances and the way you dress. You don’t go dressed in a casual t-shirt with your favorite band plastered on it. No. This was meant to be treated as if going to a rave. Brightly colored, scantily clad outfits that leave little to the imagination; Glitter makeup and wild hair; Eccentric shoes and body bedazzle, it was the time to dress like the hottest alien in town. A second halloween, if you will. Only even sluttier.

You’ve heard nothing or seen anything like it but it’s eye opening to say the least. With the help of your best friend over the phone, you’d managed to pick out a butterfly-themed rave look of a pink body suit accompanied with wings, fishnet tights, combat boots, body glitter and makeup.

Eddie didn’t let you out of his sight the moment you’d made it to the festival pit. He wouldn’t risk any guy trying to sweet talk you and him not being able to do anything about it.

He takes your hand and you know you should pull your hand away since there are all these witnesses. Yet, you romanticized the idea of him shamelessly holding your hand to show you off as his.

“When do you and the boys go up?”

“We go right Hell’s Fury. They’re a new band, too. They’re not so bad. The lead guitarist could use some lessons though.”

“Can’t you give a compliment without backhanding it.” You laugh.

“It’s not a backhanded compliment. It’s criticism and feedback. You of all people should understand, little miss journalist.”

“Well, that may be true but—” You let out an audibly gasp when you reach around the backstage, spotting a the very famous Stevie Nicks of Fleetwood Mac. “T-t-that’s Ste—Do you know who that is?!”

“Of course I—”

“Stevie Nicks!” You interrupt, shrieking.

“That was right in my ear,” Eddie says, wagging a finger in his ear. “Wanna go over to meet her?”

“N-no way. I couldn’t. They say you should never meet your heroes. What if she doesn’t like me?”

“Not possible. You get a chance to be this close to her. Ya gotta go for it.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m just gonna walk up and say ‘hi’.” You stood frozen, paralyzed by fear.

“You’re not moving.” Eddie whispers.

“I will!” You say, defiantly as you continue to still in position.

He sighs. “I’ve got this, little one.”

He walks forward. You follow quickly behind him, hiding yourself like a scared kitten as you peeked over his shoulder.

Stevie Nicks spots your approach, amused when you shy away from her gaze. Eddie breaks the ice, chatting her up and introducing himself before making the final introduction for you.

“This is Y/n, she’s…my g—good friend.” He saves his near slip of the tongue. “Come on, Don’t be shy.”

He steps out of the way, revealing you to the singer. Your knees knock from your evident trembling. “M-m-my name is Y/n. B-but you already know that because h-h-he just introduced me. I’m a huge fan and I-I just wanted to say hi. So…hi!”

You say the last part a bit too loudly, causing her to jolt back but her smile never falters. Eddie smiles as well, entertained by the idea that you do actually fangirl.

It was clear to Stevie that there was something more between you. It was Stevie freaking Nicks. She sensed these things and the tension radiating between you two was as heated as the sun. “Isn’t it interesting how two people from very different worlds find each other?”

“Huh?” You both say simultaneously.

She giggles. “It was lovely meeting you, Y/n. Here,” She turns her attention to Eddie, removing the shawl around her shoulders and handing it to him. “A gift from me…to you…to her. Let her know you’ve got her and there’s no need to fight the feeling. I’ve gotta go in 5 but this was nice. Lookin’ forward to seeing you play, Francis. Good luck.”

She walks off, joining her group and leaving you soaring in your mind. You twirled around to face Eddie, jumping up and down in excitement. “You heard what she said. That’s for me.”

“She also said to stop fighting the feeling, yet you do. All the time. I’m starting to believe the old man at the diner was speaking specifically about you.“

“So I shouldn’t fight the rage I’m feeling towards you right now?” You hissed.

“What if…I give you your gift after the show?”

“Or…” You quickly retrieve the shawl, wrapping it around his neck and tugging him closer to you. “I could have it now and you’ll be rewarded for introducing me to my idol.”

You tug at the ends of the apparel a final time, forcing his lips to collide against yours. He smiles into the kiss and it makes you do the same. Once you pulled away, you snake the shawl from around him and brought it to your shoulders.

“What can I say? I had to stand up for my girl,” You blush at his words only to immediately sneer as the next sentence leave his lips. “You were such a goddamn scaredy cat.”

“It’s Fleetwood Mac.” You say, matter-of-factly.

“I mean, Stevie Nick’s great and all…but she’s no Metallica or Ozzy.”

“Oh, Quit the ‘cool dude’ act. I saw you blushing when she said she’d be watching you on stage. Also, I may have done some digging in your hidden cassettes collection. I know for sure you were internally screaming in her presence. Nothing to be ashamed of, though. Just means you’ve got great taste.”

He scrunches up his nose in adorably feigned anger. “You’re too nosy for your own good.”

“It’s only ever for my own good.”

——————

“You go on in 15, boys,” Mr. Neds announces, bum-rushing through the dressing trailer. “Pull yourselves together. Junie, ya getting this?”

“Ya know it, boss.” The photographer says, flashing the boys for another photo and blinding them.

“Hey! What happened to the photographer my boss specifically chose to accompany me?” You inquire the manager, crossing your arms.

“Oh, that guy? He didn’t make the cut. I’m looking for state of the art photos iconic enough to be plastered in every teen girl’s bedroom. Junie, here, knows what the girls want.” Mr. Neds says, pridefully. He pats his photographer on the shoulder, leaving the trailer to talk about their plans for a calendar edition.

“That’s disturbing,” You muttered before noticing the state of anxiety the boys were currently in. Each boy having their own fears.

Mel’s worries involved his outfit not being flashy enough. Judas’s worries involved his many exes being in the crowd seeking his head. Jessie’s worries involve his irrational fear of him popping a boner on stage while performing his drum solo.

Then there was Eddie, who was a mix of all their anxieties and more. What if he missed a beat, or he sings off key, or his hand cramps up during his guitar solo? He was THEE Francis the Freak. The lead man. The one who inspired the band itself. There was no room to fuck up or it meant the end for all of Corroded Coffin.

“You boys don’t look so good.” You say, concerned.

“I’ve gotta change my clothes.” Mel says, rushing over to the clothing rack.

“I’ve gotta find a helmet.” Judas says, also rummaging through wardrobe.

“I’ve gotta get duct tape.” Jessie searches through a nearby drawer.

Confused, you shook your head focusing on your boyfriend. “Eddie…you okay?”

“I don’t know about this, Y/n. Maybe we’ll just call this a night.”

“You can’t! You’ve performed in front of a crowd before. I’ve seen you up there. There’s nothing to be afraid of. You’re amazing.”

“You’ve seen me in decently-sized venues. But this…the whole world’s watching,” He lets out a dry laugh. “This was Corroded Coffin’s dream. The real Corroded Coffin. My buddies Gareth, Sid and Jeff were the ones meant to be by my side rocking the fuck out, headbanging, and saying ‘fuck all’ to whoever. But now it’s just me with these random dudes and I’m supposed to pretend like it’s always been this way.”

You hug around his waist, pressing your cheek against his chest. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. But your friends are probably watching somewhere back in Hawkins, waiting to see you live out your moment. They wouldn’t want you to miss this opportunity because of them. Would they?”

He shakes his head ‘no’.

“Exactly. Again, if this isn’t what you want then you don’t have to go out there. But if it is, then you show them who you are. You’re not just Francis. You’re Eddie Munson of Hawkins, Indiana. The Freak with insane guitar skills and crazy vocals. The mop-headed metalhead that shredded ‘Master of Puppets’ in a room full of boring Hollywood executives. You aren’t you because you’re famous. You’re who you are because that’s just who you are. No other explanation. And even if things get overwhelming and you decide you’ve had enough of this, you’ll always have me cheering you on in the sidelines because I believe in you. I always did.” You look up at him, feeling him let out a breath of relief.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” You gave him a small smile.

“That makes me feel a whole lot better.”

“Knew it would,” You say, brushing your shoulder in a celebratory manner. “You go and get those boys together. You’ve got a crowd to amaze.”

He nods, a newfound confidence taking over. Striding over to his silly bandmates, he cups his hands over his mouth to project his voice. “Hey, fuckwads,” The boys quickly halt their actions, turning their attention to the leas singer. He continues. “We’ve got 10 minutes before it’s showtime and you’re all acting as if you were caught with your hands on your dicks.”

Eddie pauses, glaring at Jessie who quickly pulls his hands out of his jeans.

“This isn’t new to us. We’ve been here before. It’s bigger and scarier. No doubt. But we’re better than this. We’re better than that fucking Hell’s Fury band and they went out there despite having the world’s shittiest guitarist. No more backing out. No more excuses. Today’s the day to prove ourselves. Now are we gonna rock the fuck out or not?!”

“I was born ready, ya cunt.” Judas chortles.

“Watch your female-targeted language. There’s a lady in here, you fuckin idiot.” Jessie disapproves.

“Sorry. ‘I was born ready, ya vagina.’ Satisfied?”

“I’m ready, too.” Mel chimes in.

“Then, let’s do this shit,” Eddie says, encouragingly. “We’ve got 5 minutes until spotlight. We’re movin out.”

With that, the boys hooted and hollered before rushing out of the trailer. Eddie nearly running behind them when he notices you staying back.

“You coming?”

“I won’t be standing side stage. I’ll lay my blanket front row with all the other sleazy journalists,” You quip. “That way you won’t have to constantly look on the side of you to make sure I’m there.”

“But I’ll be able to see you, right?”

“Of course…ooh!” You were just reminded of something. Rummaging through your small butterfly-winged backpack, you pulled out a little gift. “I was gonna wait til after the performance but I think you might need it. Just for a little boost.”

He looks down at it and smiles. It was the famous green mushroom sweater that he’d complimented you for years ago.

“You’ve given me enough gifts so that’s my gift to you.”

“Thanks, little vixen,” His famous smile returns, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “This’ll be perfect. See you after the show?”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be waiting for you.”

——————

You quickly went to take your place in the front, noticing the band’s manager walking briskly up and down near the stage. The photographer beside him, flashing away with his camera at the empty stage.

“Have a seat, you two,” You say, patting the clear space on your blanket. “All this pacing back and forth and flashing is giving me headache. You’re going to ruin the experience for everyone.”

“I can’t help it! My ass is on the line with these boys.” Mr. Neds voices.

“Have a little faith. Now sit down or I’ll make the crowd revolt against you.” You threatened.

“Ughh, fine.” Mr. Neds plops down.

“The camera boy, too.” You ordered.

“But…”

“Sit!”

He quickly, sits down. “It’s Junie by the way. Not camera boy.”

“Don’t care.” You shrug.

The stage lights wave around at the crowd before shutting off. The stage going dark. Everyone waits in anticipation. Silence. The sound of a guitar rift pierces the air and the clashing of cymbals ring out then you hear one that familiar guttural screamo voice as the song “Follow the Leader” begins to play.

“Take me to your leader. I will fuck him up then eat her. I’m fuckin bottom feeder. A fiending twisted creature…”

The lights flash up, revealing the band. The crowd goes berserk, screaming and immediately rising to their feet to dance.

Mr. Neds’s big smile quickly falls flat. “What the fuck is he wearing?”

Eddie had removed the ripped up tank top shirt that the stylist had given him. Instead he’s shirtless, donning your mushroom sweater.

“Whoooo!” You cheered on, jumping and clapping as the song picked up. Even Junie had eaten up the look, taking pictures of the band in every angle he could think of.

Once Mel takes over with vocals, Eddie shoots you a quick wink and you nearly fangirled yourself. Maybe someday, you’ll let him know that you were secretly a new fan of his. Once his ego deflates, of course.

Assuming that’s something that could possibly happen.

You felt your stomach grumble when you spot Junie scarfing down a brownie.

“Where’d you get that?” You ask.

“Some really nice girls over there said it’ll be just what I need. I wasn’t even aware I was hungry.”

“Let me get a bite. I’m starved.”

He hands it over to you. You bite into it and it tasted slightly off. Aside from that, it was the right texture. Soft and sweet.

“This is so good.” You moaned.

“I know right.” Junie through bites.

“Wanna bite, Mr.Neds?” You offered.

“No, my blood sugars already so high, my stress levels are through the roof, my diet’s gone to shit…”

“Boy, you need a vacation. More for me and Junie boy.” You say, popping another piece into your mouth.

———

After two encores, the band finished their first day on stage. 3 more days to go and so far it looks to be a success. Once all performances ended, it was time for the after party. A large bonfire set up.

By this point, a familiar feeling took over you. The same feeling you felt when you smoked that joint with Eddie back home. Then, you realized…you were high as fuck. Higher than a motherfucking kite. This is exactly what your mother warned you about all those years. Taking goodies from a stranger is bad. Very bad.

You and Junie were laughing away at just about anything. “I don’t know if you noticed this, Junie, but we just ate pot brownies.”

“I’ve never been high.” He laughs.

“Neither have I up until about couple weeks ago.” You huffed another fit of laughter.

“You’re both idiots,” Mr. Neds mutters. “You’ve got jobs to do. Search for those boys and take some pictures and write something inspirational. Time is money.”

“Take a chill pill.” You say, rolling your eyes. Standing to your feet, you began your search for Eddie through the crowd. The thing about these hippie festivals is that every long-haired man reminded you of him.

“Eddie?!” You say turning over a random guy. Not him. Then another. And another until you bumped into a hard chest. You quickly turned to apologize. “S-sorry. I’m looking for my boyfriend—hey! I know you! You’re that prick photographer from Billy’s bar. You set me up with that photo. I hope you know.”

“Why is it that I always happen to meet you when you’re under the influence?”

“I’m not drunk, okay. I’m just a little high. Excuse me for thinking people give away brownies for the kindness of it all. What are you doing here, anyway?“

“I travel where the story goes. I also follow celebrities in search for my next project. And I’ll have you know, I didn’t take that picture of you and Francis.”

“You expect me to believe you? You can wait til hell freezes over and I wouldn’t believe you. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

Just as you were about to walk away, he stops you in his tracks as he says, “Why? Looking to meet up with your boyfriend…Francis?”

“What are you talking about?”

“So where’s that boyfriend you’ve been looking for? If not Francis, then who’s the lucky man?” He says, dropping the innocent act.

“I have no idea what you’re trying to insinuate but Francis and I…are strictly professional.”

“Then, show me your boyfriend.”

“I don’t need to.”

“Because you have something to hide.”

“Because it’s none of your fucking business!”

“I’m her boyfriend,” You hear behind you. It was Junie the photographer, unceremoniously yet heroically stumbling over to you. “So back off buddy.”

“And you’re expecting me to believe this loser’s with you?” Cole laughs.

“Let’s go, Junie.” You grab his hand only for Cole to break the contact.

“Let’s be honest here, Y/n,” Cole invades your space. “Creative to Creative. We both know the truth.”

“Leave us alone.” You growl, trying to leave but Cole continues to block your path. A crowd soon beginning to form.

“Let us go!” Junie attempts to swing at Cole, who catches his fist in midair, punching him so hard it knocks him backward. The back of Junie’s head rears back, slamming against your mouth as you catch him before he could hit the ground. Your lips split and bleed but you ignore the sting, tending to the poor guy.

“Junie!” You call out, worried, before shooting daggers at Cole. “You asshole!”

“Hey, man. That’s not cool.” Says a voice from the crowd.

“None of this concerns you! Any of you. This is business! The whore’s not gonna get away with it.”

“Say that again.” A familiar voice says, the crowd parts a path for a very heated Eddie.

Cole smiles, wickedly. “Finally! This is what the fuck I’ve been waiting for. A goddamn hell of a story.”

Eddie sees you on your knees, cradling the wounded photographer. He sees red when he spots your busted lip, stomping forward towards his target.

“Eddie! Wait!” You forgotten to use his stage name around the crowd, more concerned with stopping him from doing anything that would get him in serious trouble. He looks back at you, still pissed as ever. You warm up your expression. “Don’t do it. Let’s just get out of here.”

He clenches and unclenches his fists. Cole convinced that he wouldn’t dare listen to you as a hotheaded rockstar. But Eddie does, glaring at the sorry excuse of a man one last time before helping you up as well as Junie.

“I’m sorry,” He says, regretfully. “I should’ve looked for you. It was just so many people that I couldn’t get to you.”

“It’s okay. You’re here now.” You smiled. Patting Junie on the shoulder, Eddie led the way to leave. The crowd cheers and it causes the testosterone in the instigating enemy to rise.

“Have fun with another one of your whores, Francis.” Cole calls out.

Eddie stops in his tracks and you knew all hell will break loose. “No, Eddie. Don’t!”

He turns on his heels, rushing over to the heckling fool. Cole believes he’ll get a one up on Eddie, swinging his fist to connect with his face. Eddie reverses this action using Cole’s own hand to punch him square in the face.

The crowd cheers and laughs as a disoriented Cole falls back into the dirt.

Walking back over to you, Eddie rolls his shoulders to release any tension. “You’re my witness. He punched himself.”

———-

The night started out celebratory. The group popping champagne in Eddie’s hotel room. It was supposed to be a night out in town to end the night right but the boys had another 3 days to perform so they would soon be heading to bed.

“You were incredible, Junie. Super brave. Thank you for coming to my rescue.” You say, squeezing his hand.

“Yeah, that was pretty badass.” Eddie compliments.

“Aww, it’s no big. Always wanted to get in a fight with a guy that looked like my high school bully.” Junie comments.

“So that’s why I got my ass kicked at my party. You two were an item the entire time,” Jessie says. “You gonna kick every guy’s ass that even remotely stands near her?”

“Oh, hell yeah. 100%.” Eddie affirms.

“What did I tell you?” You say, tugging on his ear. “I can handle myself.”

“Ow, ow, ow. My ears are still freshly pierced.” Eddie hisses.

The group laughs and the festivities continue up until there’s a hard knock on the door that halts it altogether. Eddie answers the door and the look on his manager’s face indicated that this was no joyous news.

“Awww, what is it now? You’re harshing our mellow, man.” Eddie groans.

“Yeah, what’s got your knickers in a twist?” Judas questions.

“The executive editor of Hey Hello Magazine is thinking of pressing charges.” Mr. Neds says, solemnly.

“Why would the editor…oh my god?” It just hit you that Cole was not only a photographer but a writer of that magazine.

“What is going on with you, Eddie? I used to beg you to take on the bad boy persona in interview now all of a sudden your exactly that,” Mr. Neds sighs. “You’ve fought your bandmate and now you’re getting into fights with influential writers? What is it? What’s making you act out of control?”

Eddie glanced over his shoulder, back at you. You shake your head, fearing he’s give it up.

He looks back at his manager. “It’s nothing…. The dickhead started it first. I didn’t punch him. He punched himself and he’s too embarrassed to admit it.”

“No more of these shenanigans, Eddie. You’re actions have consequences. To lessen your erratic behavior, I’ve come up with a solution you won’t like but it’s for your own good. I’ll be assigning you all bodyguards.”

“Nooo.” “What the fuck?” “Are kidding me?” The boys protest all at once.

“Yes. Because even if you didn’t start the fight, people will look for a fight just to ruin your careers because of jealousy and greed. People are searching for big payouts and assault from a famous star is their big break. But luckily for you, the editor has agreed to drop all charges on one condition.”

“What?” Eddie asks.

“He wants a meeting…with your journalist.”

“Hell no.” He growls.

“It’s not your choice. It’s the lady’s. So..whadya say say, Y/n?” Mr. Neds turns his attention to you.

“I’ll do it.” You say with no hesitation.

“Great! I’ll make the arrangements.”

Eddie glares at you. “Would you all excuse me? I’m going to escort my journalist to her room. She’s not thinking straight with all the pot she’s ingested.”

He takes your hand, leading you out his door and towards yours. “What the hell? Why’d you agree to it? It’s only what he wants.”

“Because it’ll get him to shut up. He’s riding the high of this story he thinks he’ll get from me and you.. His issues are with me and only I can end it.”

“If I knew the journalism world was this bad, I would’ve never signed up for this expose and put you through this.”

“But then we’d never be the way we are now. I don’t regret that. Do you?”

“Of course not.”

“Then, let me do this for you.” You cup his face, fingers laced in his curls.

He nods.

“You looked good in my sweater, by the way.” You smiled, playfully.

He smirks. “Wanna taken it off?”

“I want to. So bad and so much. But I’m sooo high.”

“That’s one of the best time to fuck.”

“Everyone’s right across the hall and I don’t think I’m sober enough to be quiet. Buuut… you can put me to bed in the non-sexual way.” You smiled, turning around and pulling off your tiny bag and the shawl for him to access your zipper.

He lowers it, slowly bringing down your bodysuit to kiss your shoulder. It all felt so sensual. The bodysuit pools around your feet. Your bare breasts make contact with the cool air, sensitive buds hardening. You were only in your black thong and fishnets.

He runs his large hands over the front of your thighs, pressing his erection against your ass. Hooking his index fingers in the sides of your tights, he brings them down your legs as well.

When you felt him try to do the same with your panties, you pull away. “You’re being naughty.”

“Why are you being such a tease?” He groans. “I thought you were mine.”

“I am yours.”

“Then, show me.”

You chuckled, crawling onto your bed on all fours. You exaggerated the arch in your back, ass in the air as you swayed side to side. Then, you roll into the shawl wrapping it around you and shielding your breasts from his eager eyes.

“I’m not gonna fuck you, Eddie.”

“Hope you know that this will be the most energetic I’ll be for these few days. If you don’t take advantage now…you’ll regret it.” He singsongs the last part.

“Goodnight.” You singsong back, curling up to your pillow.

He couldn’t help but laugh, staring down at your exhausted figure. Pulling the blanket over you, He kisses your forehead. “No more taking brownies from strangers.”

“Yes, daddy.” You mumbled, drifting off to sleep.

He tries to remove the shawl around you but you grip it tighter in your slumber. With one last smile, he shuts off the lights and leaves you to dream peacefully.

——————-

The next day would be hell for you and Eddie. You didn’t even get the chance to see him much. His entire day was spent rehearsing for day two of tonight’s festival. Meanwhile, you’d gotten a call from Murray who was very disappointed in you for being behind on your work, so you spent your day writing with little motivation.

You’re mind had gone elsewhere. To more pressing depressing matters. Cole. Your new arch nemesis. Your rivalry. Your enemy. All the names in the book that would describe his fate in your eyes. He needed to go down and hard. But how?

Tonight, you’ll be missing Corroded Coffin’s second appearance because you were meeting up with him to discuss whatever his evil plans were for you.

All you could do is see off the boys in the afternoon as they gathered onto the giant tour bus toward destination.

“You really don’t have to do this? I can just get a lawyer. He wouldn’t stand a chance.” Eddie says.

“I need to do this or he’ll just keep coming after me. You’ll be okay?”

“I’ll do my best,” He nods. “I’ll see you late tonight?”

“What about your new friends?” You whispered, gesturing to the two giant bodyguards a few feet behind him.

“I have my ways.” He smirks, mischievously.

“Whatever you plan on doing…don’t.” You teased, pulling his hat over his face.

He lifts the brim over his eyes with a finger. “This is why I don’t wear these darn things. I’ll be noting this to Maeve,” He jokes, then spreads out his arms for a hug. You go in for a handshake instead, reminding him that you were both in public.He reluctantly shakes it.

With a final goodbye from the boys, everyone boarded the bus and were off on the road.

Now that they were off doing their work, you’ll be doing yours. It was time to dive into the mind of the sleaziest journalist. If this was a dog eat dog world then you’ll gladly join the game. You were going to get some dirt on Cole and make him pay.

——————

You sat across the devil in a tea shop. He smiles a dangerous smile, believing he’s won.

“First, I wanna start off by saying that I apologize to you, Y/n. I didn’t mean to call you a whore.”

“Fuck you. I don’t care for your apologies.”

“You’re very well entitled to not forgive me. I just needed to get that off my chest. How’s your lip, by the way? It doesn’t look bad from what I see.”

“Let’s cut the bullshit, Cole. I’m not here for small talk. What the fuck do you want from me? Why are you trying to sabotage my exposé?”

“Because you’ve talked down on my Magazine enough. You and your company! Then you write this article and now you’re all I see. Everywhere. ‘30 Days With A Rockstar’. I’ve had enough! But soon… the world will know the truth. ‘Francis The Freak dating his journalist?’. Your exposé will be seen as bias. And my story on you will crush yours.”

“So you started a fight and threatened to press charges…because you want to make a better story?”

“I was never going to press any actual charges. I just knew it was the only way you’d agree to meet me again. Because you care about him. Because you’re a couple.”

“We’re not!”

“I have eyes all around, Y/n. I really didn’t take that photo of you and Francis at the bar. But I did write the article. I’ll admit it. As you already know, I’m the exec and lead editor of Hey Hello and I don’t take to kindly of the slander my company’s faced at the hands of your company. So, I’ll give you three options. Either work with me and give me the rights to your story or you could tell me the full story about you and Francis or I can really press charges and everyone loses.”

“How about a fourth option? You leave me and Francis alone…and I won’t put out an article about you getting sexual favors from your female employees so they can secure their jobs. Abuse of power story? You’ll never work in this business again.”

His eyes widened. “I’ve never done such a thing.”

“Tell that to the several employees that have come forward to personally speak with me. I have eyes and ears, too, ya know.”

“You bitch!” He snarled.

“Awww, I thought we were friends.” You teased, pouting.

“You just wait. I will find the truth. And when I do, you’ll be just another slut that fell for a trashy rockstar.”

You slap him, causing him to yelp. “Go ahead and press charges on me, too. Fuck you and your shitty magazine.”

You shot up from your seat, walking out. Not once looking back. Little did he know, you’d already released the article on him. That morning, you’d found your motivation to write after all.

———

It was 3 am and the Band had yet returned. Even if you wanted to see Eddie, you knew his guards would be right outside his door, keeping you seeing him at these hours.

Right now you’re lying in bed, moping as you began to question your relationship. Maybe you’d both jumped into it too soon. Everything is moving so fast and now you had a huge target on your back which, in turn, would effect Eddie.

Little taps hit against your window, you rise your head up in confusion. You sauntered over to the window, lifting it up and glancing down. Eddie waves at you from below.

“Eddie!”

“Shhhh!” He holds out his hands, signifying you to lower your voice.

“How’d you get out here? I thought you’d be guarded up in your hotel room.”

“I snuck out. Climbed out my window and took the stairs on the side of the building. Told you I’d come see you so here I am. Now you climb out.”

“No! It’s dangerous,” You stared in horror at the rickety metal stairs. “These look all rusty and unstable.”

“But I’ve got somewhere to show you.” He says, throwing up his arms in frustration.

“Fine, but I’m going out and down on the elevator like a normal person.”

“All that work when you could just come down this way?”

“It’s not work. It’s safe.” You throw on a coat over your nightgown and then some boots, before heading out the door. The bodyguards outside Eddie’s door spot you.

“Just leaving for some fresh air.” You explained, nervously. They turned their attention away from you, speaking amongst themselves.

You rushed down to the lobby and made it out to see Eddie, turning to smile as he held out his hand. You take it and he immediately leads the way.

“You’re a bad influence.” You laugh.

“So, I’ve been told.”

It was not a far distance from the hotel where you headed off to. You found yourself at an intimate park setting that had a showing of ‘Rocky Picture Horror Show’ playing on a big projector screen. Couples sitting on their respective blankets as they watched the film.

“I love this movie.” You whispered.

“Yeah? So do I.”

He lays out the blanket for you both to sit, finding a nice spot in a corner by the bushes.

“How’d you know they’d be playing a showing so late this night?”

“Dirk told me.”

“You mean the lead guitarist from Hell’s Fury. You’re on first name bases now? Are you going to braid each other’s hairs, too?”

“Please stop talking,” He says, trying not to laugh. “He’s actually not a bad guy. Hell of a stoner, though.”

“Glad your meeting more people in your circle.”

He nods. “I guess.”

“Thank you for bringing me out here. I needed this. Especially, after my meet up with that loser.”

“How was it?”

“This guy’s been on my tail the entire time since I’ve started this article. He’s been jealous of my success. The misogynistic pig. He said either I tell him about us or join him.”

“Join him? Like Darth Vader?”

“You nerd,” You giggled. “Yeah, just like Darth Vader.”

“So what happened after that?”

“I blackmailed him. Told him I’d out his scandal about his power imbalance and perverted behavior towards his female colleagues. I’m already in the works of outing him, though. No woman should ever work with that creep.”

“Ooo, you can get dirty.”

You shrug, playing off cool. “I can be a real bitch.”

“Oh, I know.”

“Fuck you!” You shove him, saying it loud enough for a couple people to shush you.

“Sorry.” You and Eddie whisper in unison.

——

It’s now 5 am. You’re on your way back to the hotel, laughing and quoting lines from the movie. Eddie insisted you both take the metal stairs this time which you reluctantly take. Him following close behind in case you faint from looking down. When you made it to your window, you climbed in first.

“We’re a little like Romeo and Juliet. Don’t ya think?It’s kinda romantic.”

He kisses you softly after you say this, making your steady heartbeat pound furiously in your chest. He breaks the kiss, licking his lips.

“Does Romeo get to climb into Juliet’s window and rock her world?”

“I thought you wouldn’t have energy for that?”

“I’ve got enough.” He attempts to climb in but you put your hand over his face, stopping him.

“No. You need sleep, big boy. Your day begins at 7.”

“You’re really missing out on some blessings, little vixen. I’m in the mood to eat pussy.”

You shuddered. So. Very. Tempting. That mouth as infuriating as it can be when he spoke, it was just as talented at many other things including knowing it’s way around the female anatomy. “I’ll pass.” You squeaked.

“Sure bout that? I’m looking to make those legs shake. Fuck you with my fingers and tongue,” He does have a nice, thick…long tongue. “Drink you til your stupid and can barely speak.”

You clamp your thighs together. “Ughh, no!”

Mustering up the shred of restraint you had left, you shut the window and locked it, leaving him standing there dazed.

His face drops in a dull look as he sticks up his two middle fingers at you. You do the same, causing you both to burst with laughter. With a final dramatic bow, he says his goodbye and makes his exit down the stairs.

You flung yourself onto the mattress. You couldn’t believed you turned him down. He’s literally your fucking boyfriend! Take advantage! Where was the shoulder demon bitch when ya needed her?!

God, that pretty mouth. I’m such a stupid bitch.

Then, your mind recalled Chrissy’s ‘gift’ to you. With a sigh, you retrieve the item from the drawer. It wasn’t him. But it would be enough.

———

It wasn’t enough! The remaining few days of the show caused your private nights with Eddie to grow shorter and shorter. The moments when you didn’t have to sneak around were spent being as far apart from one another as possible to deter any suspicions from his manager. Eddie had gotten extremely fatigue from the long days of rehearsal and having to perform on stage hours after. You worried that the boys would soon burn out.

When he’d snuck into your bedroom after the last night of Manta•esque, he’d all but crashed face first into your mattress. He only had enough energy for you both to the night for some writing ideas. He excitedly yet tiredly spoke of receiving praise letters from some of his favorite artists who’ve seen the event televised.

“It’s insane,” He yawns. “People actually like our music. They want to hear more from us. We’re already in talks of getting signed to an official label and having a new album.”

“That’s incredible!” You say, placing his head in your lap and playing in his hair.

“Right.” He yawns, once again.

“Shouldn’t you be heading to bed?”

“Wanna stay here.” He grumbles against your thigh.

“It’s not a good idea.”

“So what? I miss you. And who knows if I’ll ever get this much time with you again?“

“Why do you mean?”

He’s quiet.

“Eds?” You called for his attention.

“I’ll be touring again,” He admits. “It’ll be around the time the exposé’s done.”

“Okay? We’ll still get to see each other.”

“No,” He sits up. “At least not for a while. My manager’s got us a tour around Asia then back to Europe for France. I’ll only be staying in Hawkins for about a week and a half then I’m back on the road again.”

Tears began to well up in your eyes. “I knew we shouldn’t have done this.”

You stand to your feet, heading for the door when he grasps your wrist. “Where are you going?”

“I just need to go somewhere to think.”

He caresses your face. “Y/n, I want to be with you.”

“We’ll hardly ever see each other.”

“Then, I won’t do the tour.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Or you can come with me! I don’t fucking know! I just don’t want this to end. I can’t go back to life without you.”

“Neither can I. I wouldn’t feel like myself without you.”

“So does this mean you’ll leave with me? We won’t have to hide our relationship.”

“I can’t just drop everything and travel the world with you, Eddie. I have my dreams, too. I can’t go with you.”

“Don’t say that.” He begs, narrowing the gap between your lips.

“I can’t…” You say, weaker this time, eyes fluttering closed as he closes the gap between your lips. He kisses away your tears.

You’re lost in his kiss, wrapping your arms around him when a throat clears forcing you both to jolt apart. There stood Mr. Neds with the extra key card you’d given Eddie.

You were so fucked.

————-

“I come to your bedroom and your missing. Window’s open. I knew you snuck out at that point. I’ve always had this gut feeling that there was something going on between you and this fully confirms it,” Mr. Neds turns his attention to you. “I warned you the first day that this would happen. I told you that this would be serious shit and yet, unsurprisingly, you sleep with him.”

“Back off. It’s not her fault.” Eddie defends.

“Both of you are to blame! All this time these unfortunate events that keep happening and it was all because you two are secretly dating. A poorly kept secret at that. You both are all over each other. I’ve been in denial but this proves my concerns.”

“Please don’t tell my boss. He’ll pull the article and this will all be over.”

“I won’t tell him anything. I want this exposé out as badly as you. People are loving it so far. But no more secrets. At least not between us. If this is what you both want, I won’t stop you. But it could only ever be in private. This stays here. No one else will know.” Mr. Neds states.

Only he couldn’t be more wrong. This secret will soon go beyond these walls because in about the next 2 days at approximately 12:30 pm on a Tuesday, the whole world will read about the scandalous romance between a rockstar and his journalist.

Taglist: @that-idiot125 @strangerthingsstories5255

@haylaansmi @tlclick73 @chcolateeyelver

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

@3m0xbunn1 @bebe0701

@lokiofasgard616 @joeyfilth @secretdryrose

@sammararaven @cherrytree69 @bimbobaggins69 @nicolaj1978 @idgafboutyou @eddiesgffff @briasnow-blog @sweetdreamer1010 @sleepyghostygirl @babeyglo @idkidknemore @e0509 @brittney69 @samunson83 @hellfire-puppet

@moonisu @mopeymopeymouse @lluviamg06

@shinydixon @cherrysoda444 @lovelyvivii @therese01 @keiracottreau @mirrorsstuff @eddiemunson95 @e-munson666

@munson-fixation @paradoxicalconundrum @lulukings92 @sherrylyn628 @szalipcombo @elamity @munsonswhore86 @kellsck @die-irre-blog @creoleguurl @edsforehead @munsonswhore86

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plush-rabbit · 9 months

Text

Too Soon

Part 5 to the Pouts and Spots Series

Word Count: 6.1K

A/N: sorry this is so late!! im like going through it and it sucks!! but here it is!! next chapter is gonna be my personal favorite and i wanna finish up cookies and cream mainly to get to one line that i really wanna use

The book is held carefully in your hand, spread just enough for you to catch the words, but not too far to ruin the paperback cover. Words turn over in your head, voices filling those for the characters, cadence heavy in your thoughts, but when spoken out loud to nobody but yourself, the words fall flat- so you’ve chosen to remain silent. Your home is quiet, the moaning of pipes and life outside from your walls echo through, and it’s the perfect background noise save for the barking dog that howls loudly in the confines of its home.

Pinched between your finger and thumb, the page turns, and your eyes skim over the words. Your tongue traces over the letters, and you startle when your phone buzzes beside you. You close the book gently, and place it beside you, careful to not let any of the corners be bent. It rests flat on the armrest of the couch, and you reach for your phone that continues to buzz harshly in the soft of your hand.

The name reads “Johnathan”.

You swipe at the green phone symbol and put the phone close to your ear.

“Hello,” you rasp out, your mouth dry and tongue rough.

Your name is called, nervously with only a hint of confidence laced into the last sound. “Hi, it’s Johnathan.” You can tell that he almost immediately regretted adding in that sentence. “What are- What’s up?”

You smile and tilt your head closer to the phone. “Hi Johnathan,” you tell him, stretching out your hand and looking at your nails, unpainted and pink. “I’m just at home, reading.” You flex your hand and think to yourself that you should paint your nails. “What about you?”

“Oh- I’m sorry. I hadn’t meant to interrupt your reading.” He says it as a nicety, but there’s no genuine sorrow in his words. and you bring your hand down.

“You’re good,” you reassure. “I needed a break anyway.” You glance at the book and trace your finger over the title. Your finger traces over the curves and sharp lines, up and down, and down and up. “The words were starting to look like words,” you mumble, tipping at the last point of the letter. “What are you doing?”

“I just got out of work-” and as if to prove himself, he yawns. “I’m-” the yawn still stretches through the words and you scoff a laugh. “I didn’t mean to yawn. I’m just,” he sighs, “tired is all.”

Pulling the phone away, the screen lights with the call and in the corner, the time reads much later than you had expected it. And to show how late it is, you yawn, and turn yourself away from the phone. You pull the phone close to you and blink away the tears. “You’re out late. Did you get a new schedule?”

“No,” he says dejectedly. “I’m close to something big, and the later I stay, the earlier I can finish the project.” You bite your tongue to refrain from asking anything about the project. “We’re close, but not close enough. But these late nights are killing me.”

“You’re there practically all day and every day. It’s definitely going to take it out of you,” you sympathize. You look over to the book, the spine unblemished and only little indentations give away that the book is being put into use. “You gotta see people other than scientists, ya know.”

He falls silent. “I’m sorry,” he tells you again, and this time, he sounds apologetic. You wait for him to continue. “I know that we’re-” he pauses- “something. I haven’t meant to be busy, but- it’s work and I can’t just stop working and-”

“It’s okay, Johnathan,” you tell him. “I hadn’t meant it to sound backhanded.”

“You said you were reading?” You hum into the phone. “What were you reading?”

“Um.” You turn to your book, mouth pulling into a thin line. “It’s kind of difficult to explain. It’s about cowboys? It’s supposed to be a classic,” you tell him.

“You think I could borrow it once you’re done?”

You snort a laugh, and then slowly let small giggles escape past your lips. “You never struck me as the cowboy type.”

He scoffs. “Why because I’m a scientist?”

“Yes,” you answer without hesitation.

“I will have you know I loved horses as a kid,” he says boldly.

“Really?” You ask not quite believing him.

There’s a pause. “Sort of,” he confesses and you smile, leaning into the back of the couch. “Their teeth freaked me out but I’m sure I owned a toy horse.”

You laugh and stare at the decorative pillow at the end of your couch. “I had these toy lions that I loved. They were like figurines for miniature sets, I think. They didn’t do anything special but I liked them a whole lot.”

“Do you still like lions?”

You shake your head to no one. “I’ll watch a video about them, but I’m not out there buying lion themed things, ya know?”

“Yeah,” he says softly. In the background, you can hear a car honk and you scratch over your knee mindlessly, the sharp curves of your nails leaving your skin with a light sting. “We should go out again.”

“You think so?” Your feet are flat on the ground as you stand up, grabbing at your book gently and letting it rest flat over the coffee table. You walk away from the living room. The bedroom door creaks open and it clicks shut. You’re in complete darkness, and only memory serves to be your guide.

He clears his throat. “I want to take you out.”

You step on your rug, the plush soft and a comfort compared to the cold floor. “Now it sounds like you want to kill me, Johnny,” you mumble.

“We should go on another date.” Your hands stretch out, the pads of your fingertips touch against the edge of your nightstand, and your fingertips bump against a candle that sits close to the edge. You hum in encouragement. “We can get coffee and go for a walk.” You find the body of the lamp and trace up the cool glass. “Afterwards, we can come back to my place-”

Your hand bumps against the lampshade harshly and you feel the lamp tumble. You gasp and both of your hands reach. The phone falls to the floor and you can hear his concern, cracked and trembling with static, through the phone. You rush to turn the lamp on and a warm glow fills the room. You blink away from the light and reach to grab your phone. You wipe the screen against your shirt and clear your throat.

“Sorry, sorry,” you repeat. “I um- I accidentally tipped the lamp over and I let go of my phone-”

“You’re okay?”

“Mhm,” you hum. ‘I’m good, sorry.” You pat the palm of your hand against your cheek, and in your chest, your heart drums rapidly. “You were-” your voice comes out in a squeak and you clear it away- “you were saying?”

“You know, after coffee, maybe we could come back to my place and-” he lets out a shaky breath- “watch a movie?”

Your smile stretches and you collapse onto the bed, trying to stave off the burning feeling that you have. “Yeah, definitely. When are you free?”

“Would you like to meet this Sunday? I should be able to have a day off.”

With your arm stretched out, you grab at your pillow, the silk case crumpled into your hand, and nails scratching at the fabric and feeling the soft cushion that rests underneath. “Sunday works,” you say quietly. He makes a noise, and you stare at your ceiling, a patch of white paint stains the blade of the fan. “How was work?”

“Work was good,” he answers softly. “I’ve been closer to figuring out how the-” he stops himself and you frown. “I’ve been busy and things are making more and more sense, but I still need to figure out how to actually make it work.”

He doesn’t want to tell you about it. That sentiment doesn’t stray away once you acknowledge it, it only lingers, and it feels like a heavy weight on your chest. You let go of the pillow case and rest your hand over the soft swell of your stomach. Your hand finds comfort over the fabric of your shirt. “I hope you figure it out soon,” you tell him earnestly. The lack of information that he shares with you can only be blamed on your profession and the way that the two of you had met. You sit yourself up, the bed creaking under the change, and you notice how the dog had stopped barking, leaving you in silence save for Johnathan on the other side of the phone.

“I just got home,” he tells you and you hear the car turn off. His words linger, and leave room for you to talk.

“I’m glad that you got home safe.” You stare at the corner of the bed, where the comforter is wrinkled and where your blanket is folded neatly, corners meeting corners. “I think I’m going to head to bed. You should do the same.”

“Oh- Yeah, of course. I- I’m sorry for keeping you.” You don’t reassure him this time, instead, you keep quiet, not a click of your tongue nor a sigh escapes from you. “Goodnight,” he says your name with the same gentleness that he always has, and you lean into it.

“Night, Johnathan.” The bed whines as you move, and in the corner where the wall and the ceiling kiss, you spot a spider, still and silent, and you watch it. And in the darkness, it disappears, and you can only imagine it in your mind until you think you feel something phantom over you.

The door clicks behind you, and you roll your lips to stop a smile from forming, but the effort is futile as your grin grows. “Johnathan,” you chirp, taking a step forward to look around, “your place is a mess.” You catch his eye and he visibly winces.

“I- I haven’t had the chance to tidy up.” He picks up a pillow, and attempts to fluff it. It’s placed delicately on the corner of the couch, and you both watch as it flops over. You huff a silent laugh over it.

You hum, taking a peek over to the kitchen. “Do you want me to take off my shoes?” You tap your heels against the floor and grab at a severely thinned pillow. The pad of your index finger traces over the edge, the fabric worn and threads pulled along.

“No, no. It’s fine. It’ll give me motivation to clean after I return.” He edges further into his home, and you follow, tossing the pillow back onto the couch without much care for delicacy unlike the one given to its match.

“Oh, so knowing that I was going to visit wasn’t motivation?” You cock your head to the side, and lower yourself to a squat to read over a stack of books that are cluttered onto the end table.

“That’s not- I was busy.” You give him an impish grin, and he rolls his eyes. “I haven’t been home in a minute, okay?”

Your smile falters, and your fingertip traces along a spine. Looking over to him, you quickly turn away when he catches your gaze. “Long days at the office?” You ask, focusing on a book. “Hah, “Does Any Of This Matter?’” You tap the spine of the book. “That’s funny.”

His gaze is resting on you, a soft look that makes your skin itch. “Yeah,” he breathes out. There’s movement in the corner of your eye, and you force yourself to read the other titles despite the lack of amusement. “Long days.”

“If you want-” you rise slowly, bending your leg behind you to give yourself some relief- “you can just rest and we can go out some other day.”

He shakes his head. “I’m fine.” And with his body betraying him, he lets out a yawn that he hides behind his hand far too late. Looking at you and your disheartened smile, he waves his hand. “I want to go out today.”

You force yourself to look at a whiteboard that is mounted over a counter. Black marker draws equations that only make your brows knit together. Orange and green are contrasted against the black and white. In the bottom-left corner, there is a crudely drawn person near a black swirled circle.

“Hm-” you cross your arms over your chest- “I don’t understand any of this.”

He laughs loudly, and his hands cup over your shoulders. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he tells you, giving what you’re sure is meant to be a reassuring squeeze.

Your mouth drops and you practically hurt your neck to whip around to look at him. He refuses to meet your eyes, and can only smile coyly. “You are so rude to your guest.” You pull away from him and swat at his arm. You can’t help but want to wander all over his flat, to peek at every nook and cranny, wanting to see more of him, the him that he is when he’s alone and no one is watching. Glancing at an empty water bottle, you find that he lets things clutter around him. A part of you entertains the idea of getting to clean his home together, to sit with him after a long day and have his arms wrapped tight around you. You shake your head at the thought and turn your attention elsewhere.

A bulletin board decorated with various images and newspaper clippings catches your attention and you let yourself be taken to where it hangs. There are sticky notes with random numbers stuck to the bigger poster that’s been layered with other items. You pinch over the edge of an old newspaper, and suck in your bottom lip. “I didn’t know there’s gonna be a new Alechmax in India.” You turn to him, your smile a poor mask for the anxiety bubbling in you. “You’re not getting transferred, right?”

“No!” He yelps, before clearing his throat. “No,” he says in a more controlled tone. “They’re hiring in the area. I might have to visit in the future, but even then it's just a possibility.”

You nod to yourself, and walk around his flat, peeking at every loose leaf of paper, and you can feel his eyes on you. In the kitchen area, you look at the refrigerator. You smile, looking at him with your finger pressed against the photograph. “Awe! Is this you?” He stands with other scientists, all pressed side-to-side, and his smile is small and stiff, shoulders hunched and head slightly bowed.

Soft footfalls quickly approach where you stand, and when you look up, he’s peering at the photo. “It was taken around the time when the new batch of scientists- including me- had started.”

You bump your back against his chest, and his hand wraps around your hand. “I didn’t know you were so sentimental,” you muse. Against you, he shrugs. “We can always take pictures together, too, ya know?”

“We can?” He asks in a timid voice.

“You know, I may be a writer, but I can also take really good photos.” You lift up your free hand and make a motion of pressing a camera button. “Haven’t gotten any complaints about my skill.” His hand squeezes around yours and your grin stretches. “Anyways, you gotta go change, remember?

“Hm? Oh- Yeah. Right, right.” He lets go of you and you turn around. “I’ll be-”

Something else grabs your attention, if it were just one, you could have spied on it on your own, but when grouped with so many, you have to ask. “Why do you have so many cages?” You brush past him and lower yourself, trying to find something inside the clear plastic boxes. They’re not labeled, and nothing seems to be inside. “They’re all empty,” you mumble. You tap against the clear screen, and your fingerprint is left behind.

He grabs you, pulling you away and putting your attention elsewhere. You gasp in shock, and give him a confused look. “Snakes,” he answers, practiced and perfected.

Your reporter senses tingle. “Snakes?” You ask, not believing the story, giving a side glance to the cages.

“Yeah, snakes.” His hands leave your body and you watch him. “Do you want a drink? I never offered you- That was my bad. You want water? I’ll get you water.”

“Johnathan,” you start, and he turns towards you. His eyes are scanning you, and he takes a brief look over to the empty cages. You follow his gaze, and return to him. Taking a deep breath, you take a step closer to him, and pull down the hem of his shirt. “We’re already getting drinks, remember? You need to change. I have an appointment early tomorrow, so I can’t really be out so late.”

“Right,” he breathes out. His eyes glance to the cages and you bite your tongue to avoid asking him anything more. “Let me go get changed,” he mumbles. “I need- I’ll be quick.” Without waiting for an answer, he brushes past you, and behind you, the cages sit empty.

Left alone, you walk back to the couch, grabbing at the thinned pillow and placing it on your lap. You fiddle with the corners, and turn to the end table, the lamp surrounded by books and binders, and giving a quick glance to the room that Johnathan disappeared into, you grab the binder and have it rest on top of the worn pillow.

You’re careful to open it, and your caution pays off when loose paper is at the front of the binder. It’s scribbled out notes, corners bent and highlights made upon certain lines. There’s a business card stuck through a ring. You read the name- Dr. Owens. You stick your tongue out and move on. You find more of what you found in the beginning. Notes that are scribbled out, some crossed out in angry pen strokes or in permanent black marker. Equations that make your head spin, and you flip through each page with care to not let anything slip out. Some pages are decorated with sticky notes that are wrinkled and brightly colored against the black and white pages- letters, question marks, exclamation marks, and doodles decorate each sticky note.

Whatever Johnathan has chosen to write about in this binder is not your concern. You don’t stop to read past a few words of what you can recount from what he’s said previously. In the middle of one page is a recipe, the words smudged, and smeared across the page. You wonder if he’s already made it, and another wonder passes in your mind if it’s something that he would like to do with you. On one page, is a roughly drawn picture of a spider. You stare at the black-inked spider, your finger tracing over it, practically covering half of the drawing.

You hear a rush of steps, and when you look up, the binder is snatched from your hands, and it is snapped shut, and held protectively in his arms.

He wears a white button-up, decorated with black squares and black outlined squares. It’s tucked into his pants. “Oh, you’re ready,” you chirp. The pillow is placed beside you, and you walk past him, standing by the door. “You got everything?”

“Why did you look at it?”

You scoff, a thin smile stretching across your face. “I was bored-” you shrug- “it was just there and I thought-”

“You thought what? You thought you could take a look at my things?” His tone makes you stand a bit straighter, your hands curling inwards, and your mouth goes dry.

You brows knit. “Johnathan-”

“I invited you here so you could wait-”

“You didn’t mind me looking around before-” You spit out, confused about what is unfolding.

“Because I was here,” he snaps. “I was letting you walk around, not open up my things. I don’t look through your things.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. “I just- It looked interesting. I’m sorry, Johnathan.” You know that you shouldn’t have looked through it and he has every right to be upset, but you don’t enjoy this feeling of him looking down at you.

“His hand slides through the air and you bite the inside of your cheeks. “Don’t touch things that aren’t yours. I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”

You feel your ears burn. “I’m sorry-”

“What did you see?” You turn your head, and your nails bite into your palms. “What did you see?” He repeats.

“Just equations and doodles. Nothing else that I could have understood,” you say meekly. You hate how you feel right now. You hate that it’s him that’s making you feel so small.

“I don’t know why you thought it was okay to look through my things,” he hisses out, and you never thought you’d see him so upset- “but I didn’t give you permission. You come into my home and touch everything and-”

“I’m sorry,” you say loudly, stomping your foot on the ground, and finally he stops. “I can’t do or say anything more about it.” Your face burns, and your hand has begun to shake and even with your nails piercing into your skin, you can’t stop the trembling. “You know what-” you turn your head and try not to feel cold in his home- “you said it yourself that you’re overworked and tired, and obviously I’m not helping, so I’m leaving. We can-” you turn to him, and the stress is leaving, his face softening, and worry replacing any previous emotion- “pick this up some other time. But I’m gone. I’m going home.”

The doorknob is cold in your hand, and it twists softly and you let it go with suddenness when a hand holds your wrist. “Wait, no.” You stare at the door, finding paint staining over the metal. “I’m sorry. I don’t know- It’s just that there are important notes in there and I shouldn’t have left it out-”

“It’s fine, Johnathan,” you say in a tone that makes it quite obvious that it is indeed not fine. “I’m just gonna go home. It was my fault; I shouldn’t have looked through it.” You stay silent, and weakly, you pull your arm free, and he lets it go without resistance. Your teeth glide over your bottom lip. “Good luck with your research or whatever.” You give a wave without looking back, and keep yourself focused on the doorknob, and your hand wraps around it once more, and it opens easily.

You don’t hear the door close behind you, nor do you care to look back. Your ears burn and your chest is hot. The outside air is crisp, and you keep your gaze on the sidewalk, carefully stepping out of people’s way by the position of their shoes. You focus on the weeds that bloom between the cracks. And you only stop when a hand grabs at yours.

Tears prick your eyes, and you pull your hand back to you, ready to spit venom at the other person, only to find Johnathan looking at you, out of breath, and glasses askew.

“You walk fast when you’re upset,” he says between breaths. You stare at him, your eyes wandering to the other side of the street. He follows your gaze, and he reaches for you again, only to stop when you step away from him. “Can we talk, please?”

“I’m going home,” you tell him. “Go get some rest or something.”

“Let me buy you a drink. I- I told you that I wanted-”

“I don’t want a drink,” you snap. And just as quickly, you regret it. You turn away from him, and wait at the crosswalk. You watch the pixelated red hand, and when it turns into the off-white figure of a man, you walk quickly, rushing between people, hoping that he isn't following you, but wishing that he is. You hope that you’re someone worthy of being chased.

Your stomach drops when he grabs at your hand and walks with you. “Then let me take you home,” he says in a whisper. “At least let me do that.”

“I don’t want you to,” you tell him, still walking with him hand-in-hand.

There’s far too many people, your body is growing restless. You walk without purpose, your steps quick and heavy and he follows without a sound, his hand neither tightening nor softening his hold as if in fear that once you’re reminded of him, you’d pull away again. You round the corner of a building, the back of it is empty save for the stray cat that naps over the dumpster. With his hand still wrapped around yours, you step away from him, your arm stretched and your hand clammy.

You take a deep breath and look at him, eyes wide and already filling with tears. He takes a step closer to you, concern creasing over his features. “I’m sorry,” you say in a choked voice. “I shouldn’t have looked through your place.”

Johnathan shakes his head. “You were just curious,” he tells you in a low voice. “I shouldn’t have gotten upset with you.” You turn your head and blink rapidly. His hand lets go of yours and he cups at your face, his thumb arching over your cheekbone. “Please, don’t cry.”

Shaking your head, you tilt your head away from his hand. Your fingertips find themselves pinching over the bridge of your nose, your eyes shut tight where light doesn’t peek, and where organic shapes are the only thing that you can see. “I just wanna go home, Johnathan.”

“Let me take you home, then. We can walk back and-”

When you open your eyes, the sun blinds you for a second. “No.” You hold your hands in front of you, your palms facing him. You turn your head, and let your hands fall. “I just want to be alone for a minute. I know that if I go back with you and we talk, we’ll just-” you stop yourself- “I just-”Your hands shake, a trembling that’s rapid and and makes you feel too seen, too vulnerable, and with the way that his hand stretches out as to grab yours, only makes you want to retreat away from him.

Something speeds by, a gust of air and a mechanical whir to it that has Johnathan reaching towards you. His arms wrap around you, and you’re pressed against his chest, your vision clouded by blue until you shift, pushing yourself away from him. You look up in time to see Spider-man swing by, his attention focused on whatever had just rushed by. Your hands reach for your phone, and you glance at the battery- seventy-eight percent. It’s enough.

You turn to Johnathan, and stare down at your shoes- while not ideal for chasing around the city’s web-slinger, it’ll have to do. Looking back up at him, you find that he’s staring at you, no movement, and no sound. You turn to look the way that Spider-man had just swung towards. You turn back to him, your phone held tight in your hands. “I gotta go,” you tell him.

“You’re going to chase after Spider-man and some villain of the week rather than talk to me.” His tone is a mixture of hurt and accusatory, as if you’re doing something wrong- again. And you know for sure that you are this time, you know that you should go back with him and talk it all out, but the thought of being alone with him right now makes you upset.

“Yeah.” You shrug. “Yeah, I will. I am. Get some sleep or something, we’ll talk later.” Your heels spin against the concrete, and you rush to chase after Spider-man.

As you trudge down the sidewalk, your camera is heavy around your neck and despite the padding, the straps make the soft flesh around your neck raw. All you want right now is to collapse on your bed, or take a shower. You hum, a shower would be nice. In your pocket, your phone buzzes- something that it’s been doing all day. If it’s not emails, it’s notifications from social media, and if it isn’t that, it's phone calls and messages. You answered the people who you wanted to talk to but when the name ‘Johnathan’ appeared, you promptly ignored it, the buzzing thick in your pocket and continuous.

You should talk to him. It was a fight- an argument, really. But you can’t look at him right now, nor do you have the energy to talk to him. You’ll figure it out in the morning. You’ll have a light breakfast and message him some type of apology and then he can make the difficult decision of replying or not.

Closer to your home, on the steps you see someone and you halt. Your hands grab at your camera, and you tap your fingers against the sides. You could turn around, find some other entrance. If people can use fire escapes for something other than their intended purposes, so can you. The heel of your shoe scrapes against the concrete, and before you can spin on your heel, the person looks up and sees you.

Jonathan stands up and pulls the hem of his shirt down, and you hold on tighter to your camera. Canines worry at your lip, the flesh soft and tender underneath the sharp points. He takes a step toward you and you glide your foot against the concrete, ready to run, ready to look at anyone but him. But he falters, and his shoulders slump, and the sad look on his face makes you walk nervously up to him.

You say nothing, and he stands at the bottom of the steps, and you stand above him, and he says nothing. Neither of you make a motion to talk to the other, and a part of you wants this to end. You don’t like the difficult bits, you like it easy. You like not having to worry about what the other person is thinking of you, but now, it’s all that you can do. You hold your breath, unable to think of anything other than the beginning of your supposed coffee date.

He points towards his neck. “When did you get your camera?”

Covering the lens of the camera with the palm of your hand, you tap your foot against the stair. “I was lucky Spider-man was near the office. I was able to pick up a spare.” He nods, and you move down a step when another tenant enters the apartment complex. “Do you want to come up?” He nods, and follows closely behind you.

Your apartment is cozy- littered with personal objects and mail that sits at the coffee table. The spare camera joins the mess of your stuff on the table. He makes a motion to his shoes and you wave your hand, not caring at the moment, only wanting to distract yourself. He nods, and slips them off. You keep him in the corner of your vision, watching as he walks gently to the couch, sitting at the end of it with his legs bent and knees and thighs close together. The blanket that you use is crumpled and he sits beside it, grabbing at the corner of it and testing it between his fingers. You hold your breath and walk toward the fridge, opening it and pulling out two bottles of water. The frost over its wipes away with your touch.

“Were you waiting long?”

“Since 8.” You look at the clock on your stove. It’s 9. “You didn’t answer my calls.”

“I was busy with work.” You're quick to get to the point. “Where there’s Spider-man and a villain, there’s always bound to be some sort of danger.” You place the water in front of him and sit a cushion apart from him. Your water is in your hands, the cold slowly numbing and wetting your palms. “Got some good pictures, still and all.”

His eyes scan you over and you look away. “Are you okay?”

“Peachy.” You press into the bottle and a droplet of water traces down your arm.

“I’m serious.” He turns himself to look over to you.

You hunch over, your forearms resting over your thighs. “I’m not in a hospital, am I?”

He swallows. “I don’t like how we left things.”

You sigh and dip your head down, before lifting it with weariness. “I already apologized, what more do you want?” The water bottle is placed carefully on the floor, and even with your carefulness and gentleness, it still falls over.

“I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.” Your lips pull into a line and you grab a bunch of the blanket and dig your hands into the soft plush. “That was wrong of me. But-” you push yourself against the back of the couch and he stops. “I apologize.”

Your chest rises with your inhale, and falls down at the quick release. “What more do you want me to say, Johnathan?” You turn to him and he pushes his glasses up by the bridge. “Let’s just forget it happened. I won’t go to your place and look through your things. We’ll just- I don’t know- meet at my place. It’s not like I’m doing anything other than journalism.”

He says your name delicately, whispered as if saying it out loud would be too much and said with strain as if your name is too heavy for his tongue. “That’s not it. I’m really sorry.” His voice breaks and you flinch, looking away. “Work’s been a lot, and Dr. Octavius and Mr. Fisk are breathing down my neck-” he waves his hands, rolling his hands and flexing his fingers- “but- but that’s no excuse as to how I talked to you. I don’t want- The less that you know, the better.”

“I know,” you say curtly. “I remember our conversation from before.”

He sighs. He crosses over to sit beside you, the blanket held in his hands, the corner edge of it now held tightly. “I’m sorry,” he tells you. “I’m not good at this. I’ve dated before, but that was before things at Alchemax were getting serious. I’m not- I like you a lot. When I saw you reading through it, I-” he shakes his head, and his knee touches yours. “We met because you were determined to know more about Alchemax.”

“I told you before that I’m not using you to get to that.” Your back is straight, and your hands curve over your knees, the knuckle of your littlest finger grazes against his knee. You want to take his hand. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything else.” He takes your hand, and holds it tightly between the two of his. “We can put this behind us if you want, but I promise, I won’t talk to you like that again. I- I didn’t like getting mad at you. And I didn’t like the feeling that it left me with.”

“I didn’t like it either,” you mumble. “It felt like you were talking down to me, rather than to me.”

His hands tighten around your own. “I won’t do it again. I promise.” You nod and you feel much more tired than you had before. “Is it okay if I hug you?” You nod, and he lets go of your hand, and embraces you.

You lean into him, your hands fisting at his shirt, clawing into him to keep him against you. Unlike your feverish grasp onto him, he holds you gently, his hands laid wide and flat against your, curving over your body, and holding you close to him. He leans into your touch, whereas you push yourself against him. His hair tickles at your nose, and you keep your eyes close, full intent to sit there until he’s ready to pull away. You’ve made your peace to sit there, to let vines grow and keep you tethered to the couch, to not let go of the smallest comfort that he's given you. When you feel his lips press against the side of your head, you press a faint kiss over his shoulder, content when he runs his hand upwards and presses another kiss against you.

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lonelym00n · 1 year

Text

The Red Means I Love You

Amber Freeman x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: Ghostface is running around and you don't know who to trust. Amber reassures you that things will be okay.

Warnings: Typical canon violence with descriptions of blood. Please read with caution! Follows the events of Scream V. Also, Angst!

A/N: guysss... I did a thing... I'll just let you read and find out.

Title + fic inspired by Madds Buckley's song, The Red Means I Love You

If someone had told you a few days ago that you’d have to watch your close friend take a bullet to the head, you’d have slapped them across the face and added them to Mindy’s ever-growing list of potential future ghostface suspects.

In retrospect, you suppose you were naive for thinking that you’d make it through Woodsboro High without falling victim to someone deciding to take up the infamous killer’s mantle. You should’ve suspected that it would happen eventually, especially considering that three of your best friends were related to survivors from the years prior. That fact alone painted a bright red target on your back and it was only a matter of time until an eight-inch hunting knife sunk into you because of it.

Did some higher deity sew the stars together to seal the fate of you and your friends? Were you destined to die at the hands of the ghost that haunted the little town you’d lived in all your life? Some part of you thinks that yes, this was meant to happen, because a tiny voice in your head always figured the friend group you’d become a part of was doomed from the day it began to form.

Everyone else in Woodsboro had it easy, their parents were present and the killings that plagued the town only existed for them in the form of the notorious Stab franchise. The same couldn’t be said for your friends.

Put a handful of Woodsboro High’s most traumatized students into one group and what do you get? The perfect cast for the next series of killings. Mindy tells you as much when you and the rest of your friends are clustered together in her living room, trying to identify who among you was responsible for brutally attacking the others left and right.

As if being friends with people who are related to the survivors wasn’t bad enough, you learn from Tara’s older sister that she is connected to Billy Loomis, the original ghostface himself. More than being connected, Sam’s his daughter. You have half a mind to notify your parents to start picking out your tombstone now.

You barely listen as accusations fly around the room. How could it be possible that you were in the same room as the killer right now, when you’ve known everyone here your whole life? You were having a hard time processing the fact that one of the kids you’d played in the sandbox with in elementary school had grown up to become someone so sinister.

Distantly, you hear Mindy conclude that Sam must be the killer, that it made the most sense because of who her father was. She storms out of the room and after a beat, you stand up on shaky legs and murmur a goodbye to the remaining occupants of the Meeks-Martin living room. Your head was reeling and you needed to get away or you’d break down and lose your last semblance of sanity.

If there is a God that exists, they must hate you, because you break down anyways. Just outside the house, you’re hunched over, a hand clutched desperately at your rapidly rising chest. Despite your best efforts, you’re unable to chase away the dread and terror that have nestled in and made a home in your torso.

Too wrapped up in trying to calm your irregular breathing, you don’t hear the familiar clunk of boots swiftly making their way towards you.

Though your vision is blurred, you’ve spent enough time around Amber to recognize her presence almost instantly. She’s bent over you concernedly, and you think she’s speaking to you but you can’t hear her over the accelerated pounding of your heart that has arisen from the lack of proper oxygen intake.

Her body firmly encompasses your own and your senses are overtaken with everything Amber. If you were able to breathe, you would’ve sighed at the feeling of security that blanketed over you.

Amber’s hands grasp yours and she presses your joined hands onto her chest, where her heart steadily thumps beneath. At the feeling of it, you will your own heart to match its rhythm. It takes a while for it to slow down but once it does, you faintly become aware of her sweet voice reminding you to breathe slowly, in and out, in and out.

She looks relieved when you finally descend back to reality. “There you go, baby. You’re okay. I’m here.”

You throw your arms around her and sob into the embrace, struggling to ignore the burning in your chest. She rubs your back and shushes you quietly.

“Amber, I can’t do this. I’m scared.”

She presses a chaste kiss to your forehead and pulls you in closer, resting her chin on the top of your head. “We’re gonna be okay.”

You mumble into her chest, “How can you be so sure?”

Practically smothered in her embrace, you remain completely unaware of the ominous look that has blossomed in the dark brown eyes that you love so much.

“You trust me, don’t you?”

You nod, albeit a bit hesitantly.

“Good. I’m going to protect you, I won’t let anything happen to us.”

It isn’t lost on you that just as there is with everyone else, there’s a slim possibility that Amber could be the killer. But out of everyone, you know her the best. Ever since she had asked you out, all shy and nervous and very un-Amber Freeman like, the two of you had been inseparable. She weaseled her way into your everyday thoughts and in turn, you became the center of warmth that thawed her previously cold heart. No one could deny that you and Amber balanced each other out perfectly. For the first time in your life, you found someone you could trust enough to fall deeply and irrevocably in love with. If you could trust Amber with such an intimate and fundamental piece of your soul, you could trust that she wouldn’t be silently plotting your death, right?

Wrong.

Just like Liv’s skull cavity, your heart shatters at the abrupt finality of Amber’s bullet.

Chaos erupts at the spray of Liv’s blood and the crash of her still-warm body hitting the ground. Sam and Richie scatter as Tara knocks Amber’s next shot off course.

The only thing you can think to do is run, so you do. You clamber up the stairs and dive into the hall closet. You clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle the pitiful sounds desperately trying to slip past your lips.

You feel utterly broken, like the piece of your soul that you’d given to Amber was cruelly snatched out of your body and crushed in her murderous grasp. You want nothing more than to scream and wail until you yell yourself hoarse, but you can’t give up your hiding spot. As much as you’re sure that the pain of betrayal outweighs any cut from the blood-stained knife, you don’t want to find out if there’s any truth to the comparison.

You hear two sets of feet making their way up the stairs, one stomping heavily and the other flailing uselessly. You aren’t one-hundred percent sure, but you think the pained whimpers you’re hearing belong to Tara. Which means Amber was likely the one accompanying her.

At the thought of your girlfriend, you recoil further into the closet. You can feel your whole body shaking in fear.

After a few more long minutes, you can hear the familiar creak of Amber’s boots on the hardwood floor. She’s calling out your name and you press your hand harder against your mouth to completely silence the sound of your breathing.

Her search becomes more frantic and the clunking of her boots begins to pick up speed. You reach around blindly in search of anything you can use to fend her off.

Just as you tighten your grip around what you think might be an umbrella, the closet door flies open. You swing with all your might, but Amber moves quicker, grabbing the umbrella and disarming you.

She quirks an eyebrow and chuckles at your failed attempt to hit her. She motions for you to stand.

“Come on, down to the kitchen we go.”

You make no move to get up, paralyzed at the sight of her donning the ghostface robes.

She groans, “I can’t have you ruining the plan. Let’s go.”

Her commanding tone does nothing to move you. You’re rooted to the spot in fear, wondering what fate is waiting for you down in the kitchen.

Amber growls and you flinch backwards as she steps into the closet, towering over your seated form.

“You’re being such a pain in the ass.”

Her hands wrap tightly around your waist as hoists you up and tosses you over her shoulder. You struggle futility, but there’s no chance you can escape the strong arm wound snugly around your midsection.

Amber carries you easily down the stairs and you wriggle around faster, knowing from your frequent visits to the house that you’re almost across the threshold that leads into the kitchen.

You’re placed onto the ground and firmly shoved to the other side of the island. Before you can even think to move, the steel barrel of a gun is pressed into your forehead. It’s Richie on the other end of it, and only then do you realize that Sam is laid out on the ground, a hand pressed into her side, where blood is trickling out despite her efforts to stop it. She looks up at you with sorrow and terror and you’re sure that your expression reflects hers like a mirror.

Amber takes the knife that Richie offers to her and makes her way to a different corner of the kitchen. She jumps gleefully, and if things weren’t so fucked up you might’ve found the sight endearing.

Though the gun blocks out most of your vision, you see two other women in the kitchen.

Gale Weathers and Sidney Prescott. Shit, even they managed to get trapped in this nightmare.

Richie, seemingly pissed that you aren’t giving him your full attention, grips your jaw with more than enough force to leave a bruise. Your resulting moan of pain is insignificant to him.

“Leave her alone!” Sidney yells out and Amber’s knife presses threateningly into her throat, swiftly silencing her.

Richie laughs menacingly, “Sid, when are you gonna finally realize you aren’t in control here?”

He turns towards you and frowns angrily.

“You know if it were up to me, you’d have been dead at the start of this thing.”

A glob of his spit lands on your cheek and the gun is pushed further into your forehead, the force practically moving you backwards.

You’re scared, the most afraid you’ve ever been in your life. Your hands are trembling and you stutter, completely unable to come up with the necessary words to plead helplessly for your life.

“Pathetic,” Richie growls out. He looks in Amber’s direction, “I don’t know what you saw in her honey.”

“She usually has a lot more fire in her.”

You meet her gaze for a second. Amber’s eyes are nearly black, pupils blown wide with what must be psychotic pleasure.

You open your mouth to finally say something, but the sudden smack of the gun across your face shuts you up. You cry out and lift your hands to your face instinctually. Your head is pulsing at the unexpected pain.

While Amber’s distracted with Richie’s assault on you, Sidney makes a grab for a knife sitting on the countertop.

Her actions don’t go unnoticed. Amber reacts with the speed of a demon and plunges her knife into Sidney’s gut. Gale yells out as Sidney crumples to the ground.

With both Sidney and Gale momentarily incapacitated, Richie knocks you backwards, sending you carelessly stumbling back and straight into Amber’s arms. He turns towards Sam, while Amber pins you against the counter.

“Get rid of her Amber, we need to start staging the bodies. Fast baby, we don’t have much time.”

She hums, not bothering to verbally acknowledge him. You shiver as your eyes lock together, hers still full of straight mania.

Her arm lifts up and she moves slowly, tracing the blade against the smooth skin of your face. You try not to gag at the coppery smell of blood that is being carelessly smeared across your face.

She smiles softly at you, creating a confusing juxtaposition with the wild expression that fills her eyes.

Amber leans in to whisper almost lovingly in your ear, “I always knew you’d look so pretty covered in blood, baby.”

You can’t stop the tears from leaking out of your eyes. You’re so distraught, it’s nearly impossible to think straight with how overwhelmed you are. How could this Amber be the same Amber that had admitted to being nervous the first time she told you she loved you?

“Amber, please.” You begged brokenly, hoping the girl you loved so dearly was still somewhere inside the maniac that stands in front of you.

Her gaze softens just a hair and you nearly cheer at the glimpse of your Amber.

“I’m sorry. You know I’d keep you around if I could.”

The relief exits your body. Your heart drops deep into your chest at the words.

“You said you’d protect me.” You feel desperate, there had to be something you could say to snap Amber out of this state.

She pouts and brushes a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I did. Richie wanted you to be the opening kill, but I stopped that from happening.”

The special smile that she always saved just for you spread across her face, “I even convinced him to leave you to me tonight. I’ll be the last person you see, won’t that be nice?”

Your jaw trembles with the newfound knowledge. Amber spared you, but only to prolong your life so you’d die by her hand. Your resolve finally breaks, and you are fully encased in dread.

In a strange mirroring of the day’s earlier events, you begin weeping loudly. Amber’s arms wrap around you in an attempt to comfort you.

She deposits a kiss onto the top of your head.

“I know you don’t understand it, but I’m doing this because I love you.”

Her arms tighten around you and you’re suddenly blindsided by excruciating pain. Amber’s knife is slowly pushed deeper and deeper into your body, your insides twist around at the intrusion.

As you yell out in pain, she shushes and gently praises you, repeatedly whispering how much she loves you.

She rips the knife out of your gut, just to harshly plunge it back in once, twice, and a third time. You feel sick at the squelching that sounds out each time the knife enters your stomach.

Blood dribbles out of your mouth as you groan in pain.

Hazily, you notice that she’s covered in your blood. Your vision is darkening and you feel yourself begin to dwindle in and out of consciousness.

Amber takes note of this and leans closer, her lips nearly touching yours.

“You did so good for me, love. I’ll make sure they cast someone beautiful to play you in the movie.”

With a final whispered confession of love, Amber places a gentle series of kisses to your bloodied lips. She stabs you once more, and lowers your body carefully to the ground as she pulls the knife out one last time.

You lay there, unable to move even if you wanted to. You stare up at the ceiling, it spins around and around and around.

Your ears are ringing. If you could think clearly, you reckon you’d wonder what you did wrong to end up in this situation. You don’t think there’s any possibility for things to have ended differently. Fate was cruel and unforgiving, but at this point you have no choice but to lie in the bed that it has made for you.

The pain is gone, replaced with the silent weight of nothingness. You feel yourself drifting away, and you welcome the feeling. Maybe your next life would be kinder to you.

Unfortunately for you, your peace never comes.

Instead, you find yourself opening your eyes disorientedly. You let out a sharp hiss at the blinding white lights that glare back at you.

Once you’ve adjusted to the light, you finally make out that there are a couple figures crowding around you.

“Wha-”

It hurts to talk, as a matter of fact, everything hurts.

“Alright, alright you’re okay. My name’s Dr. Ford. You’re gonna be in a lot of pain for a while, so let’s take it easy.”

You stare back at the man in disbelief.

Somehow, despite all the odds, you survived.

A/N: ta da!! I'm actually planning a part 2 to this that follows our dear reader through the events of scream vi, so stay tuned! Heads up, it won't actively be about an Amber x R relationship cuz... well you know :'(

Fellow Amber stans plz forgive me for not feeding y'all more regularly.

#amber freeman x reader #amber freeman x you #amber freeman x y/n #scream fanfic #amber freeman imagine #lonelym00n fic

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slamminslamminmcgill · 11 months

Note

Thinking about that one time I squirted all over a matress (ya boy's a firehydrant) and the girl I was with pushed my face into it and made me apologise for making a mess...

Want Lalo to do that to me and fuck me in that position

OH MY GOD????????? YEAH HI as a fellow member of the squirt squad thanks for the best fucking prompt ever and please tell that girl she can kill me if she wanted to 🫡

also adding petplay to this bc that's the vibe and it works with the fic series im writing 🖤

warning: squirting

anatomical terms: pussy/hole

"Getting close, huh?"

The leash clinked against your collar as you nodded and whined. You were panting and drooling with your tongue hanging out. Just like a dog, just like how you were supposed to be. You took your job very seriously.

"Good boy. Let it out. It's okay."

Lalo must not have known what he was signing up for when he said that. Sure, you probably should've warned him that you squirt hard enough to blast paint off of drywall, but you were too fucked out to think properly. That ship had sailed. Maybe he should've put two and two together considering how wet you were already. It wasn't exactly a secret. Plus, it was his fault anyway. He was the one pressing your buttons, quite literally, as a matter of fact. He had the perfect angle to ram his cock into your g-spot over and over again, each thrust making you squeal. When you started to pulsate around him, he only sped up, forcing more than just some swears out of you.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuck fuck fuck!!!"

The pressure of your orgasm was enough to push him out of you. Your back arched and you gripped the sheets as your pussy drenched everything in its path, mainly the bed and Lalo's thighs. By the time you were done, you were laying in a puddle. You slumped back against the pillow, completely spent.

Lalo looked down at you in shock and awe. It was too cute for him to handle. He'd never seen anything like it, but he sure hoped he'd see it again. He let go of your leg and let you rest for a moment, just a moment, before he yanked you up by the leash. You had given him an idea.

Once you were sitting upright, your head swirling and empty, he gave you an order. "Cuatro patas (All fours). C'mon." His voice was firm, but he relaxed his grip on the leash so you could obey.

Dazed and confused from your climax, you still followed the command instinctively, scrambling onto your hands and knees. Lalo maneuvered himself behind you as you got into position. You held your head right above the large wet spot you'd created, practically staring down at it. There was so much. You barely had time to assess the damage before Lalo pushed inside you again, your stretched-out, dripping hole putting up zero resistance. You started to moan, though it turned into a yelp once you felt him yank your hair.

Lalo shoved your face down into the now cold puddle and fucked you from behind. "¡Chucho sucio! (Dirty mutt!) Look at the mess you made!" He spanked your ass hard enough to turn it red. "Bad boy! Say you're sorry!"

In between desperate cries of pleasure, you did. Over and over again. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

But you weren't.

In fact, if this was the punishment, you'd be sure to do it again.

#anon #ask #better call saul #bcs #bcs x reader #better call saul x reader #better call saul smut #better call saul imagine #better call saul headcanons #better call saul hcs #lalo salamanca #lalo salamanca smut #lalo salamanca headcanons #lalo salamanca x reader #lalo salamanca imagine #lalo salamanca hcs

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up-to-some-good · 1 year

Text

Suprise

Written for the @wolfstarmicrofic prompt - December 7th: Bang Bang

Early December 1981

In previous years, a series of loud bangs emitting from the door would have Remus drawing his wand and blasting his way into the apartment. With the war behind them, however, the noises only made Remus hang his head and sigh, wondering if he shouldn’t just go to Godric’s Hollow and have a peaceful tea with Lily. It had been a tough day, though, and the only person he really wanted to see was Sirius, so he braced himself and walked into the apartment.

Fortunately, nothing was on fire or obviously wrong. The scent of garlic and rosemary was drifting from the kitchen, accompanying the crashing noise and the now-audible noise of Sirius cursing at whatever he was doing.

Remus had to pause for a moment at the kitchen doorway when he caught sight of his boyfriend. Sirius was standing in his socks on top of the counter, reaching for the biggest pot they owned. His hair was tied back haphazardly with his wand, and he was wearing Hope’s bright purple floral apron over his usual ripped jeans and band t-shirt. The source of noise was apparent immediately, as various pots which had previously been in front of the one Sirius wanted were scattered on the floor, having been discarded during his search.

Sirius started as Remus cleared his throat and smiled up at him from the doorway. Recovering quickly, he grabbed the pot and jumped off the counter, setting it down before pulling Remus into a hug.

“Welcome home, love. How was your day?”

“Bad,” Remus answered quickly as Sirius moved away to check something in the oven. “What are you doing?”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No, not even a little,” Remus laughed. “I would like to talk about what you’re doing and why there are pots all over the floor when you could have used magic to get the one you needed.”

Sirius blushed as the other man gestured to the chaos that had befallen their kitchen. He quickly pulled his wand from his hair and sent the pots back to their rightful place.

“I’m cooking,” Sirius answered quietly. “You know I like to do things by hand, so I just kind of forgot to use magic for the pot.”

Still blushing, he quickly turned back to the stove and started adding what seemed like copious amounts of vegetables to the pot with some water and salt. Remus took a step forward to wrap his arms around his boyfriend’s waist from behind.

“Is there a reason that you, a man who just yesterday asked me if you really need water to cook pasta, are cooking enough food to feed the entire Order?”

Sirius turned around and buried his head in Remus’s chest, mumbling something inaudible.

“Can you repeat that, Pads? I couldn’t quite hear you,” he chuckled.

“I’m practising for Christmas!” Sirius burst out, lifting his head enough to make the words audible, while still resting his forehead against Remus’s collarbone to avoid eye contact.

“Pads, why on earth do you need to practise for Christmas? Lily always cooks for everyone, and she’ll be delighted to have guests now that she’s allowed to.”

Instead of explaining, Sirius pulled away and walked briskly to the living room. He returned before Remus could follow and held out a piece of parchment to his partner.

“I’m not supposed to tell you,” he said. “They were going to do it over drinks tonight, but Lily should know better than to ask me to keep a secret.”

Confused, Remus opened the letter.

Dear Sirius

I have a big favour to ask you, but you’ll need a bit of backstory first, so I hope you don’t mind the slightly long letter.

I haven’t been feeling well for the past few days, just endlessly nauseous and exhausted, so James suggested we go to Poppy for help. She had a suggestion for us, and it turns out that she was right.

I’m pregnant, about one month along!

Harry is over the moon that he’s going to be a big brother, and James is already picking out paint for the nursery, but I have a slightly more urgent concern: Christmas. With how sick I’ve been feeling, I won’t be able to cook the meal this year. Just the thought of the smell of all that rich food makes me feel ill. Do you think you could do it instead?

You can use our kitchen, of course, and any of my recipes that you may need, but I know you have Effie’s recipes too, and I think James would be so pleased to have some of his mother’s cooking.

Let me know?

I do also have a second ask: please don’t tell Remus yet! We’ll see you both for drinks tonight, but we’d like to tell him ourselves and ask him to be the godfather.

All my love,

Lily

Remus eyes were stinging by the end of it. He looked up to see Sirius smiling gently at him.

“This is real?” he asked. “They’re having another baby?”

Sirius nodded.

“And they want me to be the godfather?”

“Of course they do, Moons.”

Remus pulled Sirius into his arms, picking him up and spinning him around, both of them laughing and crying.

“What can I do to help? Can I peel potatoes? Carrots? What do you need?”

Sirius tilted Remus’s head down and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips before answering.

“Do me a favour?”

Remus nodded quickly.

“Just act surprised.”

#wolfstar microfic #remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar #wolfstar fluff #jily #wolfstar fic #bang bang #it's december now so i can only do fluff #enjoy

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fandomfluffandfuck · 10 months

Note

Hope you have a good break! I opted to take summer classes and I am *regreting* it! On to the prompt though!!

A non-tradional A/B/O relationship where Alpha!Steve is the submissive one and Omega!Bucky is the dominant one. Steve did something he shouldn't have, so Bucky punishes (But not really, they both discussed and agreed to this) him by having him knot something so he's stuck in place, (a hole in a wall or something? Just something he can't move/get away from/carry with him) and keeps him there by torturing his knot, not letting it go down for hours, so he's just stuck there, at Bucky's mercy. -🐍

Oof, yeah, I can not imagine summer classes are any fun at all. Rip. Thank you, though, I hope your summer is good, too!

Also, if you've not already, I think you 1000% would enjoy reading the AO3 series "Breaking Tradition" by AndreaDTX. The series description is, "A thoroughly kinky exploration of sub Alpha Steve and Dom omega Bucky's non-traditional A/B/O sex life." And it is delicious.

But

LISTEN--

The idea of having subby alpha Steve knot in a hole in a wall is GENIUS.

It has the same vibes as being punished by being forced to stand in the corner, nose to the wall, and think about what you've done, but with an extra level of intensity and embarrassment. Perfect.

This idea is further genius because not only would Steve be stuck, panting so hard that he's fogging up the paint on the wall with his humid, heavy breaths, he'd have his forehead rested against the wall in exhaustion, once he admits his exhaustion, he'd also be trembling trying to keep standing up as the tight constriction on his knot and the pleasure gets to him, wearing him down, he'd also, also be scratching at the wall to try and get a grip on something, anything to keep himself grounded but not being able to, BUT, because of the wall, he wouldn't be able to see Bucky coming either. Whatever Bucky decided to do to him would be a complete surprise.

His heart can never rest in his chest, beating frantically, because he doesn't know what's coming. Steve knows he was bad, and he deserves--he truly feels like he deserves--to be punished, so it's good, but... it's also scary. He's not scared of Bucky. And he's not in danger. He knows that, but... it's unsteady. He isn't sure what's going to happen and there's no way to gain any information, even if he presses his ear to the wall instead of keeping his nose to it, like he's supposed to, Bucky is so good at creeping silently around their home that there is no way to hear anything on the other side. He might as well have ear plugs in, adding to the punishments intensity.

His toes curl in their bedroom carpet. A little whimper falls out of his lips.

Steve doesn't know what's going on. But, he doesn't need to. He trusts his dom. He needs to show his dom, his omega, his Bucky, that he can be good.

And after Bucky first makes Steve knot through the hole in the wall, jerking him off tight and fast and hard with a fist obscenely dripping lube, he tortures him a little. Not leaving him alone. Squeezing his knot while it's already popped until Steve is snarling because it fucking hurts but it also feels so good. Steve might take a chunk out of the drywall if he's not careful--clawing or biting through it. Blood keeps rushing to his knot with tight, wet stimulation, and it keeps him hard and throbbing. Meanwhile, his head stays dizzy.

Bucky grows bored of that eventually, and instead keeps Steve hard and knotted by licking his cock. Licking. Not sucking him. No. Just licking. Every little part of his cock. Tracing every vein. Exploring the bulging shape of his knot. Flicking the tip of his tongue over his slit at the head of his cock. Leaving Steve only able to whimper. It's such delicate, light pleasure that when Bucky suddenly dives deep, taking his whole cock into his mouth and down his throat until Bucky's nose is pressed to the wall--sucking and swallowing and hollowing his cheeks--Steve shouts and jolts hard against the wall. His fist pounds against the drywall without him being able to stop his body. Out of control. It feels--

It feels.

Guh.

He can't handle it!

Tears sting Steve's eyes.

Oh, God.

Then, just when Steve thinks he's going to die, Bucky would probably leave him alone for a while. Because Bucky is low-key an evil mastermind, he allows Steve to be alone for just the perfect amount of time to let it settle in that he might be allowed to move again soon. His punishment might be over. Bucky might let his knot go down enough to slip out so Steve can move and stretch and fucking be able to take his nose away from the wall even if that means he has to stand nose to nose with his dom instead and apologize for being bad.

But--

It's not over :)

There's a few rounds of licking and sucking and being forced by Bucky's mouth to keep hard and knotted because, of course, there is. This is punishment. It's not easy. Steve knows that, even if he's crying about how not easy it is.

He needs it, though.

He needs the time to let it sink in. He needs it to let himself feel balanced again; he did something he shouldn't've and he aches to be put in his place for it, it's what he deserves.

Suddenly, like, literally without any warning of footsteps or breaths or a cleared throat or ANYTHING, Bucky slips an excessively lubed fleshlight around Steve's almost soft cock.

At the same time that Steve chokes on his own tongue in surprise, Steve chokes on the word 'no!' It's whimpered and pathetic. But he says it--he tries to say it.

He was so close to being free!

The uncertainty of never knowing what's coming, not being able to see, hear, or feel it, leaves Steve unable to relax--his hackles are raised. He's a little afraid, after all his very hard, very vulnerable cock is exposed out in the open and he can't even see where it is! On the other side of the wall! But... the primal fear is pouring over, turning into arousal. The sensations are very similar, after all--phobia and fetish. It adds to the experience. Heightening everything. It would be impossible for him not to feel everything.

Every.

little.

thing.

Sensations that Steve would've never picked out otherwise crash over him, impossible to see past--blinding him in fact. For example, The flashlight and the lube are fucking cold! He would've noticed it before, in another situation, but like this he can't deal with it!

He squirms as much as he can (which isn't much). This is nothing like Bucky's hot mouth and tongue. Like, it's smooth and wet and velvety, designed to feel as close to the real thing as possible, but it's so different. Different even as the lube and toy warm up with Steve's feverish body heat.

The ribbed, textured inside of the toy causes Steve's abs to clench hard, he wants to fuck forward into it. To jerk his hips forward and force his cock deep into the toy. Even as it hurts--he's overstimulated by now, almost raw with all the pleasure he's been given in an effort to be kept in here--it feels so good. The lube. The soft silicone. The pressure. The ribs in it.

God.

By the time Bucky has a rhythm built, fucking the toy on his cock--deep and hard with a lightning fast pitstop for Bucky's lower hand to squeeze Steve's knot, then pulling back--Steve has let the wall take his entire weight. He's leaned against it pathetically, weak as a wet piece of paper. Shaking. He isn't crying anymore. He's sobbing. Chest heaving, gasping sobs. Broken open.

All he can do is take what Bucky gives him. Anything he gives him. He can not beg; he can not think; he can not function. All he can do is let whatever Bucky has in store for him wash over him. Anything. Anything he wants to do to him, Steve will accept.

When Steve knots, one last time, with a pathetically small amount of cum dribbling out the tip of his cock into the soaked toy and a silent scream, he leaves the earth. He is only vaguely aware of Bucky gently slowing to a stop, leaving the fleshlight on his used cock, giving his knot the most comfortable environment, simulating a lock around his knot, and coming around to the other side of the wall. Finally. Bucky bodily presses him to the wall. Tight. His dom's chest warm and solid against Steve's back. Steve's overused nerves sing. He feels it through the clouds. Not back yet. But, it helps. The touch helps. His dom. His omega. His Bucky.

His Bucky purring, telling him, "you did so good."

Steve's body makes an embarrassing mewling sound.

"Mmm-hmm, you took it just like I wanted you to. You did everything perfect. So good. Such a good alpha for me, taking it so well, you're so strong. Good alpha. Make me so happy."

Steve, even though it feels impossible, melts even further at the praise. Yeah, his punishment was worth every second.

#asks #fandomfluffandfuck #🐍 anon #bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky #omegaverse #alpha steve #omega bucky #non-traditional alpha/beta/omega dynamics #sub steve #dom bucky

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givemea-dam-break · 11 months

Text

you and me, in every story - chapter one

a/n: a lockwood and co au in which lockwood and lucy's roles are swapped! the idea was cooked up by the wonderful @portlandrowismyhome and @wellgoslowly (i contributed too i promise), and this will be a multipart series! i hope you enjoy :)

warnings: none words: 2.3K taglist: @irisesforyoureyes @neewtmas @aayeroace @locklylemybeloved @mirrorballdickinson @ettadear @gotlostinfiction @mischiefmanaged71 @oblivious-idiot (let me know if you want added to my taglist <3)

full series collection

Lockwood had lived his whole life in London, so it was safe to say that he was peeved when he couldn’t find his way to Portland Row.

Seriously? How hard could it be to find a little street north-west London? Very hard, evidently, because he’d been circling the same area for the past half hour like an idiot. Now, not only was he frustrated at getting lost – it was embarrassing for a native Londoner to get lost, in his humble opinion – but he was also tired, hungry, and his shoulders hurt from this stupid bag he had decided to carry around. Well, the bag wasn’t stupid. Just some of the contents.

Really, all he wanted was to get out of this sweaty suit, have a shower, and then have the best sleep of his life while having the security of a job. Was that so hard to ask?

Apparently so, but, even still, he persevered, map in hand as he trudged the streets of Marylebone. Curfew tiptoed closer and closer, but he was adamant. He would not finish the day without getting himself this job. He’d fight tooth-and-nail for it if he had to.

Not that this job was exactly a fantastic one. It was just something he’d plucked out of the newspaper, but he’d heard of the company a few times and figured that this would be his best shot after things went awry last time.

And, ah, there! Finally! Thirty-five Portland Row, standing tall and… well, not proud, not with its peeling paint and slightly overgrown flowers in the window boxes. But it was certainly something!

On the fence read a sign: Carlyle and Co. After dark, ring the bell and wait beyond the iron line. How inviting. If Lockwood was hired – of course he would be! – he’d petition to change the wording of that. It sounded awfully uninviting, and that just wouldn’t do. No wonder the company wasn’t popular!

Well, these opinions of his would have to wait. Heaving a deep breath, he climbed up the steps to the front door and rang the bell, waiting patiently.

Footsteps sounded on the other side, followed by the rattling of the doorhandle, and then the door swung open, revealing a boy no older than he. His dark hair fell in a mop over his forehead, resting just above a pair of black-rimmed glasses over dark eyes. Eyes that showed nothing but confusion.

“Are you Arif’s new delivery boy?” the boy asked, frowning down at Lockwood.

Lockwood dared not show his confusion. “No. I’m here about the job. Are you –“

“Mr Carlyle?” he guessed. He rolled his eyes, and Lockwood held back a frown. “No. If anyone did their research, they’d know that Lucy Carlyle is the owner. And she’s a girl.”

“Oh. Sorry... So, the interview?”

The boy shrugged, stepping aside. “I suppose. Come on in.”

There was a little flicker of unease in Lockwood’s chest, but he couldn’t afford to let it show. Instead, he glanced around the hallway, taking in every detail about it: the slightly outdated wallpaper; the square marks that indicated photo frames that used to hang there for a while; the umbrella rack holding rapiers much fancier than the one he currently carried in a case. Everything about the hall was elaborate yet, somehow, entirely out of place, like different decades trying to fit together. Who was he to judge, though? He didn’t even have a house.

“Okey-doke,” the boy said, gesturing to a door on the right. “Here we are. Luce, you were right. We’ve got another interview.”

A voice came from inside the room, distinctively not a London accent, but pleasing to the ear all the same. “No, George, I just checked. That was our last one five minutes ago.”

The boy – George – frowned, glancing at Lockwood as he came to stand in the doorway. “Then who’s this?”

Lockwood had little to no time to take in the cluttered living room before his eyes caught the girl in the centre, clearing up some paper from the coffee table.

It was like all the air had been sucked from his lungs when he looked at her. Lucy Carlyle. That’s what George said her name was. And, God, did it fit. She turned to look at him with warm brown eyes, her bobbed hair swishing around her face before settling. She was no older than him, if not a little younger, and he couldn’t help but notice the unprofessional outfit she wore – a blue jumper and trousers, along with some ectoplasm-stained boots – and all of a sudden felt a little out of place in his suit, especially next to George in his orange plaid shirt and graphic tee, but the feelings melted away when Lucy Carlyle smiled at him. Not one of those Oh, I’m so happy to see you smiles, but more of a reassuring one.

“Sorry,” he said. “I don’t have an interview, but I saw the job listing and I was in the area.”

Complete lie. He’d been halfway across London, desperate to find anywhere that would hire him. This was his last hope.

“I’m Anthony Lockwood,” he continued. “But I just go by Lockwood.”

Lucy Carlyle nodded. “Lucy. Well, I’m sure we can fit in one more interview. George, brew some tea, would you?”

George glanced back at Lockwood with a hint of distaste. “Thought I’d wait to see how well he got on before making any.”

“George.” Lucy shot him a look before returning to that reassuring smile. “Please go make some. Lockwood, why don’t you come sit? Don’t mind George. He’s sick of people, now, and he’s not had his biscuits. He gets tetchy when he’s hungry.”

Lockwood could only nod as he sat on the sofa across from Lucy, trying not to think too much about how unprofessional all of this was. If DEPRAC were to see how this company operated in front of applicants, well, they wouldn’t be happy. What with the lack of a uniform, the arguing… He loved it. And, by the looks of it, not a supervisor in sight. Even better.

“Here’s my CV,” he said, pulling the folded paper from his pocket.

Lucy reached out for it, taking it gently and opening it. Her dark eyes scanned over it for a minute, reading each meticulously chosen word, before letting it fall on the coffee table in front of her. She leaned forward, elbows on knees, and looked at Lockwood, sending a shiver down his spine. Something in her gaze had the ability to freeze him in place.

“So, you’ve got Sight?” she asked.

“Yeah, it’s my strongest Talent,” he said. “Deathglows are what I see the best, and I need sunglasses for them sometimes. But ghost-fog, apparitions, all that stuff, I pick out quickly. My Touch and Listening are mild at best.”

Way to talk himself up.

“I’m a Listener,” Lucy said. “Strong, if other people are to be believed. George is an all-rounder, but he’s mostly our researcher. Where was your last job? I’m assuming this isn’t your first.”

“No. I worked at Fittes for a while.”

Lucy turned as George stepped through the door, carrying a tray with mugs of steaming tea and biscuits. “Thanks, George. Well, you two will get on grand. George used to work at Fittes.”

“Mmhm,” George said, sitting in one of the armchairs. Completely uninterested, he plucked a biscuit off the plate and sat back, opting to read a comic.

“Biscuit?” Lucy held out the plate to him. “George’ll only eat them all.”

Gratefully, Lockwood took one. He hadn’t eaten for hours, and he was starving. A biscuit wouldn’t do much, but it was a Digestive, for heaven’s sake. He couldn’t just pass that up!

“So, Lockwood,” Lucy said, “I did have tests in place, but George pointed out earlier that they aren’t really inclusive of people with Sight, so I’m going to have to take you on your word with all of this. Do you have a reference from your previous supervisor?”

It was an effort to not choke on his biscuit. “No, I don’t. Everything happened sort of suddenly, so I’ve not had a chance.”

George sniffed. “You could take him to a haunted house, see how he does. Maybe he’ll run off.”

Lockwood teeth ground together, but he plastered on an easy smile. Whenever things were going wrong, that trusty smile of his could get him out of trouble. Surely it could help him deal with a self-righteous teen boy who couldn’t even eat a biscuit without covering his T-shirt in half of it.

But Lucy didn’t even spare him a glance. She was looking straight at Lockwood again, eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she considered him.

Then the slight curve of her lips melted into a frown. “Did you say something?”

Lockwood blanched. “What? No?”

Lucy sat back; her eyebrows furrowed. “Yes, you did. You just called me – I’m not even going to repeat that! And, to think, I was considering hiring you with no knowledge of your skill.”

“I didn’t –“ He looked at George desperately. “I said nothing.”

And, for a moment, he worried that he had said something and not even realised. But what would he have said? He’d been far too busy being slightly disgusted with George’s method of eating biscuits to have even said anything to her.

To his surprise, George saved the day. “Luce, he didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, he did!”

“No, I swear I didn’t. I –“

Lucy stood and stormed around the coffee table until she was right in front of Lockwood. He worried what she was going to do, but she leaned over his shoulder and yanked open the zipper of his bag. She tore out the big silverglass jar he had stashed in there, holding it in both hands.

He hadn’t really thought anything of it when he stole it. It was just a jar with a source inside – a boring old skull that sometimes came to life when it could be bothered – but he had been so mad with how things had ended that he felt the need to take something from Fittes, just like they’d taken something from him. It had seemed a worthwhile steal, seeing as ghost-jars weren’t overly common.

Currently, the ghost inside was awake, swirling in bright green ectoplasm and pulling the crude faces Lockwood had grown used to these last few days. The past few mornings in his hotel room, he had woken up to see it leering at him and making horrible gestures with made-up hands, and though it had mouthed some obscenely horrible things that Lockwood couldn’t understand, he had kept it for some odd reason.

It was more active than other ghosts, and part of Lockwood hoped that somehow he had bagged a Type Three, as controversial as their existence was. He had started to fall out of that belief. Well, until now.

Lucy glared at the ghost inside, free of that easy smile she’d had mere minutes ago. “Excuse you? You’re a ghost in a jar. You’ve no right to speak to me like that! I’ll throw you into the furnaces myself, see how you like that!”

Lockwood and George shared a look, and the latter dropped his comic book on a side table, leaning forward.

“Uh, Luce?”

“What, George?”

“You’re talking to a ghost.”

“Damn right I am! Didn’t you hear what he called me? Prick.”

“Luce?”

“What?”

“We can’t hear anything he’s saying. That’s – that’s all you.”

Lucy’s scowl softened for a moment, and she glanced between the jar, Lockwood, and George, her cheeks growing red. Angrily, she slammed the jar down on the mantle top, shaking the little pieces of clutter that were scattered across it.

“You’re serious you couldn’t hear it?” she asked.

“No,” George insisted. His gaze turned on Lockwood. “Were you aware you were carrying a Type Three on your back?”

Lockwood hesitated. “Well, I thought, maybe, um…”

George huffed a laugh. “How did you get your hands on that? Fittes keeps them locked up securely. Like, really securely. Believe me, I tried to nick a one before I left.”

A strange thing to bond over, but Lockwood would take whatever he could get. He looked back over at Lucy, who was practically steaming from the ears as she stared at the skull. The horrible thing formed a hand out of the ectoplasm and made a particularly inappropriate gesture that had Lucy beyond seething.

“Well, we can’t just let you go back out on the street with a Type Three,” she said, and though he knew the anger in her tone wasn’t directed at him anymore, he still felt his face grow warm. “And I’m guessing it won’t be as easy as buying it off you.”

She wasn’t wrong. If that really was a Type Three, he sure as hell was keeping it on hand. But… Nobody could talk to Type Threes, nobody besides Marissa Fittes and she was long since dead. And here was Lucy, arguing with one right in front of his eyes as if it were a daily occurrence for her. Only George seemed shocked by it all, staring at both wide-eyed. He needed a job, and they wanted his ghost. It seemed as though there was a deal afoot.

“No. I want a job here. Then you’re free to do what you want with it.”

He spotted the mad flare in George’s eyes and shifted uncomfortably. The kid might not be able to eat a biscuit neatly, but Lockwood had every reason to believe he was somewhat a mad scientist.

“Well, anything within reason.”

Lucy glared at the ghost for a second longer before turning back to Lockwood. “Fine. We’ve a room free upstairs if you want to take it, unless you’ve got separate accommodations? Rent would be taken from your wage.”

He couldn’t seem too excited, so he simply pasted that smile of his on again and said, “That would be great.”

“George, shift whatever crap you’ve got stored in there. Lockwood, welcome to Carlyle and Co.”

#lockwood and co fanfiction #anthony lockwood fanfiction #lucy carlyle fanfiction #george karim fanfiction #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #george karim #fanfiction #givemea-dam-break

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teecupangel · 1 year

Text

Submitted by @saberamane

So, I was watching ‘Shrek’ today, and at the part where Donkey is looking for a plant with 'blue flowers and red thorns’ inspiration struck me. What if Desmond was colorblind, but never told anyone because Bill made him feel inadequate about it, and like there was something 'wrong’ with him. And so when given instructions specifying things by color Desmond always fucks it up, because he doesn’t know what color they’re talking about. I was just thinking about Desmond in Jerusalem, unable to find the bureau because for him the assassin symbol on the roof blends with the rest of it.

And it’s Altair or Malik (or both) that figure it out simply by watching Desmond. Because Desmond isn’t stupid. You describe something to him in detail and he can find it, but if you just tell him what color it is, he almost never brings the right thing.

And I’d say that the eagle vision doesn’t always highlight what Desmond is suppose to be finding. Like if he’s looking for pots or something, it highlights all pots, not just the 'color’ one he is suppose to retrieve.

And in Italy, I’m sure Leonardo would be absolutely devastated that Desmond couldn’t see colors, and would maybe make a painting just for him using nothing but monochromatic colors so Desmond would be able to see it exactly how it was painted, and not feel as though he was being insulting by telling Leonardo the painting looked good when he couldn’t actually tell if the sky was really blue or not.

==========================================

Addition by teecup:

I just have this image of Altaïr placing small boxes of different colors in front of Desmond to check if Desmond can differentiate them in any way other than colors, like what if the gray hue of red is different from the gray hue of green but the same as the gray hue of blue? Malik would be angry at him because he believes Altaïr is simply trying to satisfy his curiosity but, later on, the bureaus and any Assassin stronghold would have subtle changes to their decor to give Desmond more idea of their color. Like the reds would be based on Altaïr’s sash but the blues would be changed into a different hue and Desmond would have a better time (although he still sometimes misses) seeing the difference between the two. They’re still gray in his eyes but they’re now different hues of gray that do help Desmond. Of course, the colors of the world beyond the Brotherhood is still hard to grasp but, at least, in the Brotherhood’s headquarters and bureaus, in Desmond’s new home, he feels… safer, in a sense.

Also, the Brotherhood starts adding more descriptions to their target, focusing more on the physical attributes or mannerisms, instead of colors. Altaïr says it is because ‘the colors of their clothes’ could be changed without prior notice and there’s a risk that there could be two or more people wearing similar colors which will be risky.

But everyone knows that Altaïr did it for Desmond.

========================

As for Leonardo, he does have a sketch that was primarily monochromatic:

From this page

So he’d definitely make a series of sketches for Desmond, focusing on the people they know, the places they’ve been and even then it would end up with him making one of his largest works ever, perhaps truly his largest work.

A series of paintings of simple things like the sky or a city then, centuries later, the world will realize that they’re canvases that should be connected to one another, like one big puzzle.

And it will show a monochromatic painting of a bustling city that shows just how amazing Leonardo Da Vinci was, being able to show such brilliance even though he had just been using one color.

But it is missing one canvas.

The lost canvas of Da Vinci’s monochromatic city.

And that canvas stays underneath the Sanctuary of Villa Auditore.

And it is a monochromatic painting of Leonardo Da Vinci himself and a family…

The Auditores…

#submission #i should really rewatch shrek #i haven't watched shrek in years #of course desmond is included in the auditore painting #even if this is the timeline where the auditores couldn’t be saved #leonardo still included giovanni federico and petruccio #do i want to do the usual tags?#even though it's pretty ambigious #it can still feel like #altdes #so imma skip the usual tags

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buckysgrace · 7 months

Text

Break In

Billy Hargrove x Kim Mayfield

Kim hears something odd at night.

Warnings: CNC, knifeplay, hitting, spitting, degradation, light bondage

(No relation to the Cruel Summer series this was just for funsies)

Kim was stirred from her room by the sound of rustling in the kitchen. She paused as she held her red lipstick up, her lips neatly painted to match the gold on her eyelids. She was supposed to meet Addi tonight for a Halloween party.

She’d decided on an angel, thinking that it would be cheap and easy to make. She wore a strapless white dress that ended mid thigh, while a golden halo rested on top of her head. She’d made it herself, along with the glittery silver wings that she had resting on her back.

“Max,” She spoke as she left her room, sure that Max had once again left without taking an extra candy bag, “I told you-,” She froze, her movements going to a complete halt and limp as she stared in front of her. Where Max should’ve been rustling around, there was a man instead. It took another five seconds for Kim’s mind to kickstart before she was turning to run back to her room.

She yelped as he tackled her to the ground, her cheek digging into the floor harshly as he yanked her towards him. She screamed in protest, kicking at him and scratching at the floor in hopes that she could wiggle away fast enough.

“Stop moving,” He groaned in protest, his voice raspy and warm as he forced her onto her back and held her wrists together with one hand above her head. She whimpered as she darted her eyes around, searching for anything that may come to her disposal, “You weren’t supposed to be here.” He grumbled as he gripped her chin with his free hand and forced her eyes on him.

She felt fear fluttering inside of her as she stared up at a pair of bright blue eyes. She couldn’t see anything else, as his sky mask hid the rest of him away. She felt her lips trembling as he roughly squeezed her chin.

“Sorry,” She spit out between tears, “I was just getting ready to live.” She spit out in one breath, fearful of what he might do to her. She thought that this was her own fault for not locking the door like her mother had reminded herself to do multiple times.

“What am I supposed to do with you?” He tilted his head, looking down at her with a sense of anger in his eyes. As if she had done something wrong.

“I won’t tell,” She nodded her head quickly, hoping that she may reassure him, “Take whatever. I’ll never say a word.” She whimpered out, knitting her eyebrows together at how the grip on her wrists tightened.

“Bullshit,” He pulled his hand away to reach into his pocket before he popped his knife open. She felt her air turn into ice, “You’ll squeal like a little piggy.”

“No I won’t,” She whimpered, her words sounding far too quiet as she stared at the gleam coming off the knife, “Please.”

“There’s nothing here worth taking anyways,” He murmured as his eyes flickered down her neck. She winced underneath his grip, her arms feeling numb from how tightly he was gripping her wrists, “Well, maybe not nothing.” He added softly as he traced the knife down her white dress. Her eyes widened in fear.

“No,” She shook her head rapidly but then quickly stopped as he pressed the blade smoothly against her skin between her breasts, “Stop. Not that.” She felt humiliated as the coldness from the blade traveled across her too hot skin. Her nipples pressed uncomfortably against the material of her dress and she cursed herself for thinking it was fine to think she didn’t need a bra.

“Did I fucking ask?” He questioned hotly, his eyes burning with anger as he looked down at her. She felt tears prickling against the corner of her eyes as she shook her head no, feeling pathetic as the whimper left her mouth, “Do you wanna live?” He asked her seriously as he brought the knife up to her face. She felt her body stiffening underneath his grip.

“I wanna live,” She pleaded softly as his knife danced along the curve of her mouth, “Please. I’ll be good.” She was too afraid to move, too afraid to breathe in case he cut her with it. His knife looked dangerously sharp and begging to be used.

“You’ll do what I say?” He asked as he dropped the knife next to her head. She nodded, only to be smacked by him. It wasn’t hard enough to make her see stars and feel fuzzy, but just enough to make her cheek burn from where his skin had been.

“Yes, yes I’ll do what you say!” She cried out in protest, sniffling as he began to gently rub his thumb across her sore cheek. She found herself leaning into his touch, wanting to be comforted at the same time. Her bottom lip poked out and before she could react, he was spitting onto her pouted lips.

She stared up at him as disgust curled inside of her body, licking at her senses as his saliva trickled across her lips and eventually down her chin. She had no means of wiping it off. All she could do was sit there as amusement spread within his eyes.

He gripped her nose tightly suddenly, gripping it so harshly that her lips parted in surprise as she tried to jerk her hands forward. His warm spit fell into her mouth then, coating her tongue and teeth before she was eventually forced to swallow it. She felt a cry building up inside of her chest again.

“Are you an angel?” He observed as she writhed and cried underneath him. His lips curled up into a smirk, “Pretty blasphemous, don’t you think?” He tilted his head, like he honestly expected her to answer him. She whimpered, feeling relief spreading through her arms as he slowly released his grip on her.

Her arms were too numb, still buzzing as they slowly came back to life as he gripped the neckline of her dress and tore it easily in two pieces. She cried out, urgently trying to cover her boobs before he held out the knife to her chin again. She paused, stifling back a cry as she let her hands drop to her sides.

He seemed pleased then as he took his knife to her two tiny spaghetti straps and let the dress fall off of her body completely. The only thing that was keeping her covered was the pair of matching white panties that she also had on. Embarrassment and humiliation spread through her body as she refused to look at him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of her reaction.

“S’pretty,” He mumbled out softly as he moved the blade down her narrow neck. She stopped breathing, didn’t even dare swallow as the blade trickled down her skin. It was still too cold, leaving a wake of goosebumps where it traveled, “I think you like it.” He teased as he brought the flat side of his knife against one of her nipples.

She jolted at the sensation, her body jerking upwards at how cool it felt over her skin. Her nipple pressed dangerously hard against it, as a gasp left her mouth. Her ears tickled as he laughed at her, clearly enthused at how easily she reacted against him.

“Please,” She begged him softly again, hoping that he may change his mind before it got too serious, “You can stop.” She breathed in deeply as he traced the sharp part of his knife against her nipple. She bit down on her bottom lip, trying to ignore the way her body was beginning to hum to life. She hated how her body reacted in bliss, clearly enjoying the sensation.

“I don’t think you want me to stop,” He grinned in amusement as he did the same motions to her other nipple. She gasped, her fingertips clenching tightly together. She was too afraid to move, to try to push him off in case he sunk the blade straight into her chest. She was sure he’d pierce the heart in this position. He moved suddenly, standing straight up before he roughly tugged her hair, “Up.” He demanded.

She cried out as he brought her onto her knees, wincing at how tightly he was gripping her hair. She shuffled uncomfortably in front of him, staring up with hazy eyes as the remainder of her dress fell to the floor behind her. All she remained in was her wings, halo and panties.

“You bite or use any of your teeth at all,” He warned as he roughly gripped her chin again, “And I’ll knock them out of your fucking head. Understand?” She stared up at his blue eyes, her mind feeling fuzzy as if his instructions were unclear. He roughly patted her cheek, drawing her attention back to him.

“Yes,” She blinked rapidly, spitting the word out as an uncomfortable feeling settled over her chest, “I’ll be good.” She promised, hoping that this would go by quickly. She figured it was better than dying. He jerked his head down, motioning towards his jeans.

Her hands shook as she slowly unbuttoned them, almost fearful as she was afraid of what awaited her. Her mouth turned dry once his cock was freed, her eyes widening at how thick and large he was. She felt her eyes drifting up towards him, like she could somehow make him understand that she couldn’t do it.

“It’s this or your life,” He reminded her simply as his tongue darted out across his teeth, “Your choice.” He said gently as he dangled her options over her head. She inhaled sharply as she slowly gripped his cock, her cheeks burning at the sound that left his mouth.

She tried to picture someone else, any other situation as she stroked him slowly in her hand. She could feel his cock throbbing to life, jerking in her hands as he continued to demand more of her. She stared uneasily, watching the precum that began to leak from his tip. He smacked the side of her head again.

She slowly let her tongue dart out to lick away the precum, her nose curling at the taste of him on her tongue. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see the cockiness in his eyes as she slid his cock inside of her mouth. She strained her jaw for a moment before she was able to relax as she began to bob her head up and down the length of his dick.

He was thicker than what she was used to and her jaw quickly began to ache as she kept her hands tightly between her knees. She kept her eyes closed tightly as the tip of his cock hit the back of her throat, making her gag around him.

She kept her movements slow, even though she wanted him to finish quickly. She was afraid if she moved too fast she’d accidentally graze her teeth against him or worse.

She let her tongue swirl around his throbbing girth, massaging against his veins as his fingers laced through her hair. It was like he’d grown bored with her slow movements as he was suddenly forcing his cock deeper and rougher down her throat.

“You can take it,” He spit out harshly between groans, his fingertips gripping her hair roughly as he jerked his cock deeper inside of her mouth. She gagged loudly as drool began to slip out of the corner of her lips, “Come on, be a good girl.” He pleaded with her as his cock weighed heavily on her tongue.

She felt herself jerking back, wincing at the tight grip he had on her hair and how roughly his cock kept pressing against the back of her throat. He was making it where it was hard to breathe, hard to think. He pulled away suddenly.

“Bitch,” He spat out as he roughly moved behind her and wrapped the belt tightly around her wrists. She winced, gaping at how tightly he held her arms in place, “You just can’t listen, can you?”

She whimpered, feeling a sense of fear pooling inside of her stomach again at the loss of her hands. He wasted no time before he was shoving his cock back between her parted lips and fucking her mouth as he pleased.

Tears pricked in the corner of her eyes at how rough his movements were growing. Each time she gagged she had a worrying feeling that she may vomit all over him. He groaned as he thrusted his hips forward, his cock warm and throbbing against her tongue as his movements became more rapid.

She felt her fingers digging into the belt as she wished she could push his muscular thighs away. He kept a steady grip on her hair as his cock continually pressed against the back of her throat. She gagged again, trying to lick away the spit before he was thrusting his cock deep inside of her throat again.

“Jesus,” Billy cursed as he pulled away, she licked at her lips to wipe away the trail of spit between her lips and his cock. She watched in confusion, her eyebrows knitting together as he moved to pull the ski mask from his face, “I can’t fucking breath in this thing.” He whined as he pulled it off, his cheeks red and hair messy.

“Hey,” She pouted as she sat back on her legs, “That was a part of your costume.” She whined in protest as she looked up at him. He shook his head quickly to dismiss her claims.

“Yeah, well you should try wearing it,” He grumbled as he tossed it mindlessly to his left. He pushed his hands through his curly blonde hair to situate it again, “It’s fine. It’ll fit in.” He shrugged her off.

“Are you done whining?” She asked with a soft laugh, feeling her heart flutter at the amused smile that curls on his lips. She can’t deny that she prefers him this way, seeing his face rather than it being hidden away.

“Yeah, yeah,” He shrugged her off, “Are you okay?” He asked cautiously as he rubbed his thumb and knuckles across her cheek gently. She turned enough to press her lips against his skin.

“Fine,” She told him eagerly, “Can we get back to it now?” She asked, feeling like she couldn’t handle her arms burning behind her back for much longer. She also didn’t like how his dick seemed to be getting softer. She squeezed her legs together, feeling her clit throbbing at the sensation.

He groaned as he pressed his tip against her pouty lips and slowly slid his cock back inside of her warm mouth. She licked around his cock, wanting to feel him pulsing inside of her again as she began to bob her head with his gentle thrusts. She hummed around him, peeking up at his lustful blue eyes as he filled out inside of her again.

His fingertips found her red locks again as he began to drag her mouth up and down the length of his cock again. She swallowed what she could, letting her tongue linger against the base of him as he pushed in far enough that his balls pressed against her lips. She gagged, failing to keep up as movements became rougher again.

Her jaw ached as she willed her mouth to relax again, listening to the way he groaned above her. Her knees were burning from being dragged against the hard floors as he quickly pressed her head down rougher against the back of her neck.

He gripped her hair harshly, forcing her head up and down his cock rapidly. She was gagging hard as pools of drool fell from her lips and trickled down her hard nipples. She knitted her eyebrows together tightly, her cheeks burning as he continued to use her mouth as he pleased.

“Fuck,” He cursed as he roughly pulled away, taking her by surprise as she continued to lean forward. Her lips remained parted as saliva pooled from her open mouth. She watched, begging it to all be over with as he gave his cock a few more strokes, “Turn around.” He demanded suddenly. She felt her lips curling into a frown as she thought of a way to protest.

He roughly gripped her shoulders, manhandling her as he forced her face onto the floor. She whimpered, kicking her feet as tears left the corner of her eyes. He laughed as he pushed down harshly on her spine again, before he moved to tear her panties in half.

She let out a broken sob as she fell fully exposed to her. One of her wings was brushing against her sore cheek as her arms ached from behind her back. He smacked her ass, the sound ringing in the room as he spread her legs wide.

“Oh fuck,” He breathed out as his fingertips danced between her wet folds, “And you act like you don’t want this.” He laughed, the sound making her stomach curl as his hard cock pressed up against her drenched cunt.

She bit down on her bottom lip harshly, stifling a moan as her walls stretched easily around his thick cock. He was large, filling her in one solid thrust as her cheek dragged along the floor. She squeaked out, her toes curling together as his tip pressed against her g-spot.

“What was that?” He teased her as he lazily pulled his hips back and slammed into her again. She knitted her eyebrows together tightly, begging her sounds to stay silent, “Do you like that?” His warm breath coated her neck as he whispered to her.

“No.” She begged, feeling her eyebrows knitting together as pleasure began to travel up her spine. She breathed out harshly, her eyelashes fluttering as he gripped her hips and pressed her up and down the length of his cock. She felt another broken moan fall from her lips.

“Think you do,” She could practically feel his grin as he leaned over her, pressing into her deeper as his balls pressed against her skin, “I think you’re a dirty little slut.” His tone became broken up as he snapped his hips forward, groaning as her cunt squeezed around his cock.

She clenched her fingertips into her palms, knitting her eyebrows together as she fought to keep quiet. It was hard to deny how good everything felt suddenly. His cock stretched her cunt in the perfect way, creating just the slightest burn as he bounced her hips back and forth on his cock. She licked the drool that was forming in her lips as his tip continually pressed against her bundle of nerves.

“Look at that,” He groaned, slowly pulling out as he admired the way her pussy engulfed his hard cock, “Like you were fucking made for me.” He breathed out as he thrusted his hips forward again.

“Ah,” A moan raspily left her throat as all of her concentration broke free. His balls were slapping against her skin as he continually pounded into her squelching cunt. She couldn’t keep her sounds at bay as his movements became more frantic, “Oh God.” She whined, her mind feeling fuzzy as his fingertips roughly dug into her soft skin.

He rocked her back and forth, inhaling deeply as his hands forced her body down harder along his cock. Her moans became louder, squealing as the pleasure traveled through her body. Her pussy was drenched, dripping along his cock and down her thighs.

“Little whore,” He spit out as he gripped the belt and tugged her body up towards him. She whimpered as she turned to face him, her eyebrows knitted together as her lips fell open in pleasure, “Such a good girl taking my cock.” He breathed out harshly as he tugged her closer to him. She whimpered, trying to hide her face away before his lips descended on hers.

She kept her lips still, trying to jerk herself away again before he roughly moved his lips against hers. His tongue traced around the curve of her mouth before he inhaled the taste of her tongue against his. She squirmed before she quickly stilled at the feeling of his hand gripping the base of her neck.

She shyly slid her tongue against his, keeping her eyes shut tightly as he began to grind his cock into her aching walls. She sighed against his mouth, the pleasure nearly unbearable as he hit her bundle of nerves repeatedly. Her hips began to tremble, shaking at the impending sense of her orgasm creeping up.

His hands roughly smacked against her thighs, making them red underneath his touch as he snapped his hips forward in bliss. She whined, looking down between them to see that her slick was coating her thighs. His cock pulsed inside of her walls, throbbing as her pussy squeezed tightly around him.

She felt a shrill whine creeping up on her tongue as he sank his fingers between her wet thighs. He pressed his fingertips against her throbbing clit. He rubbed at her sensitive bud harshly, making her wiggle and squeal against him as the pleasure came crashing down.

“Oh, oh,” She whined blissfully as she shook around him. Her walls clamped down around his cock, milking him as she came with a cry, “Oh my God.” He kept a tight grip on her to keep her in place, ensuring that she wouldn’t wiggle away. Her hands pressed against his back as he kept her in place, roughly dragging her cunt back onto his cock.

“Fuck,” He cursed as he squeezed her hips tightly and pressed her closer to him. His thrusts became more sporadic, snapping forward harshly as he continually rubbed at her clit, “Gonna fill this pretty pussy.” He promised as his lips ghosted over the curve of her neck.

“No,” She whined as she tried to wiggle herself away, “Don’t want it.” She whimpered in dismay as she squinted her eyes shut tightly. He laughed softly, ignoring her claims as his hips began to stall against her skin. He groaned loudly as he held onto her tightly. She cried out, whimpering as his warm spunk began to spill inside of her walls.

He panted above her, roughly as his chin rested against the crook of her neck. She sighed softly, trying to catch her own breath as he slid his hands behind her back and released the belt from around her wrists. She felt herself collapsing forward, giggling as he joined her a second later.

“Hm,” Kim curled up to him, her lips pressing into a smile, “I think it was a little risky to do this out here.” She giggled softly, watching the way a laugh bubbled out of his own lips. He leaned forward to press his lips against hers.

“Mhm,” He nodded in agreement, “You feel okay?” He looked over her features, trying to ensure that everything was okay. She grinned as she nodded, letting her fingers link with his.

“Perfect,” She grinned in response, although her body was a little sore, “We should go another round.” She giggled, watching the way his features curled up in disbelief.

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