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bunnysbrainrot · 4 months

Text

Friendly Competition

Relationship: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Content: Explicit sexual acts, Jackson!AU, no use of y/n, jealousy and angst, mentions of alcohol consumption/intoxication, kissing, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, soft dom Joel (lowkey)

Summary: It was difficult, but Joel had to set a boundary, one he's having trouble adhering to. And back in Jackson, things aren't any easier. When an old friend comes around, it muddies the waters. Joel tries his best to assure you that it's not what it looks like, but you won't be easily swayed.

Word Count: 5.4k +

Looking for the other chapters? Click here to find them on my masterlist

The ride back to Jackson was much brighter than your journey out. Fluttering in your chest kept you on edge, buzzing down to your fingertips, coursing through you like small bursts of lightning. All over one simple kiss.

Though it had been anything but.

Twenty minutes ago, Joel had you pinned on the wooden fence, moving his lips in tandem with yours, shattering your plaguing tension. Joel wasn't sure when, or if, he'd have made a move if he didn't seize that opportunity. He would've cursed himself if he hadn't tried.

And to his surprise, you had given him everything in return. You accepted his kiss with a dying thirst, and the passion had been for him. Someone, knowing so little of his sins, of his regrets, would give their love so freely. Someone wanted him.

His hands gripped the reins as the edge of Jackson came into view. He had a thousand things to say but didn't know where to begin.

He detested that it had to start here.

He spoke up finally, breaking the calm silence, "Listen, I think we should talk."

It didn't take you by any surprise. Even still, your heart sank.

You made the daunting choice to face him, inviting the conversation. You were asking for the dagger of newfound love to pierce your chest, for it to carve you open.

"Okay," you replied, coaxing your voice into neutrality.

The effort was in vain. There was a tightness in your throat that couldn't be shaken. Your voice shrank, barely coming out as a squeak. The sudden shift didn't go unnoticed by him. What expression of joy that had been there before had been replaced with worry. Joel's eyes averted to the ground. He hated this. Knowing that he spurred on this whole... situation, and worse, that he'd be the one to shatter the hope.

And fuck, the look on your face.

Joel made himself bear it. This was his punishment.

He sighed, "This... what happened back there.." He gestured between you, his words failing him.

The birds chirped happily around you, the only sound filling stagnant space. His half-dead sentence hung with his head. With aching pain in your chest, you finish it for him. You stilled your expression and resolved yourself to turn away. The words feel distant as you say them. They weren't yours - borrowed from the times you'd been through this before.

"It was a mistake."

He was thankful you weren't able to see him wince. Joel digested the words, but showed no agreement to them. He refused to let that be the truth. His breath came out slowly, exasperated.

"You got a habit of finishin' people's sentences, y'know that?"

The jab would've made you laugh were it not for the hole in your chest. And despite the effort made to lighten the mood, the pang of regret in Joel's chest grew.

He continued, voice terse, "If you think it was a mistake, then we can forget it. But, regardless-" he stopped himself, searching for the gentlest words. A way to make this painless.

"It can't happen again."

Telling yourself it was a mistake had not made it true, and had not prepared you for those final words. They were a death sentence.

You still held the lead, but you no longer feel his stare, the occasional glance. You were thankful for the distance, for the small amount of privacy it gave you to let welling tears fall. Jackson loomed even closer, just minutes away if Belle were to go at full speed. A frantic urge tore at you to race ahead, like breaking away would erase what happened - like it would take back what was already said and done.

There were a million things to say, but you knew it wouldn't change his stance. You mustered a small, simple nod. Joel didn't expect much after a blow this low. He understood the silence, for whatever reason you needed it - he anticipated anger, hoped for it, even. Welcomed it. It would give him closure after the shitshow he created.

If you left, forgot about all this trouble he caused, Joel could shift his focus elsewhere. It had been a futile effort since you came to town. You were a distraction. The worst kind.

It was enough justification, Joel thought, to be okay with this. To let things between you go stale. Untouched.

Dismounting Belle back at the ranch relieved your body, but your mind and heart were different matters. Joel dropped from his horse without a word, already started on the process of unloading his gear. You watched him as he's turned, noting a lower slump to his shoulders.

You shifted your attention back to Belle, mindlessly disassembling her gear. Your fingers fumbled dumbly with the buckles of her saddle, new tears blurring your vision. The silence between you and Joel this morning had been uncomfortable, but this....

Silence like this was far too heavy. It held too many unspoken words, and even more questions.

The quiet was no longer an issue when a new voice rung around the stables, cheery and bright.

"Joel!" It was the voice of a woman, "Oh my gosh, back already?"

You peered around Belle just in time to see her arms wrapping around Joel's neck, giving him a close hug. The stranger let out a delighted giggle before she nestled her face into the crook of his neck. Joel murmured something inaudible that broke the embrace.

Her small talk was empty save for obvious flirtations, her voice turning whiny and playful as she spoke. You couldn't help but cringe at her sickly sweet tone, the incessant pushing. Joel said very little, but that stupid grin never fell from her face. Her wide, green eyes drank him in. As if you weren't even there, ten feet away, privy to it all.

Bitch.

With an undetected sneer, you finish unloading and take Belle's lead in hand. You settle your rage to simmer beneath the surface while you lead Belle out of the stables.

This was the last thing he needed right now. But here she was, thrown around his neck unashamedly, as if she'd been waiting so impatiently for his return. A slap in the face, compared to the situation he'd put you in an hour ago. You had truly been waiting for him. It had to be some sort of cosmic joke.

Joel placed a hand on her shoulder and gave a wry smile.

"Wasn't gone that long, Georgia."

Her eyes brighten hearing her name on his lips. The smile she wore was a stab to the gut. It shouldn't be her that was beaming, welcoming him, showing concern for his safety. Hers was not the face he wanted to fantasize about throughout his day. To come home to.

He patted her shoulder, hiding his contempt with a softer, weary smile, "Pretty tired after today, sorry. Not really feelin' it."

This wasn't the first time Georgia had been this doting. But the openness of it irked him, especially with the present company.

"Hmmm.... Sounds like someone needs to unwind," she suggested, lips tugging into a smirk. A serpentine look with her eyes crinkling proudly while a greedy smile formed. She always had a deeper motivation. He saw that spark igniting in her mind.

In the past, they had shared their need for intimacy - they fulfilled that need many times. She was a nice enough girl, he supposed. Joel thought it would be simple. No strings attached.

If he didn't turn her away soon, there was no telling how this evening would go. His need for a distraction almost tempted him into agreeing, but a flare of guilt in his chest instantly washed away the idea. It was unfathomable to think of this woman when you were so close by. And not when he was trying to still the feelings you'd brought about for him.

He stiffened, crossing his arms over his chest, "Tonight's not the best night. Gotta do a raincheck this time."

Even still, her smile didn't falter. If there was one thing she was worst at, it was taking a damn hint.

Georgia's eyes dart to the horse that started to leave the stables. She covered her mouth to stifle a giggle, her eyes wide in amusement. She whispered to him, pointing to the horse and who was guiding it outside.

"Uh oh, apparently we had company~"

Joel knew of said 'company'. Glaringly so.

He steeled himself as he joined Georgia in watching you leave. He noted how she watched you go with satisfaction, how her smile grew once you rounded the corner. Her joy was in such stark contrast to the anguish that flooded through him, seeping into his bones.

You didn't look back as you left.

I'm lost in admiration Could I need you this much? Oh, you're wasting my time- "You're just - just- just wastin' time-" you sang out, the lyrics slurring together. You refused to let yourself wallow, so you opted for the best way to forget. Alcohol.

It was better than dealing with stupid Joel and his stupid rules.

Plus, it detached the meaning of the lyrics, the ones about being overwhelmingly in love, being completely enamored with someone, unable to be without them. The cassette tapes you had collected were few, but Tears for Fears were a classic you played the most often.

"Something happens and I'm head over heels-" you sang out, swaying your hips with the beat. A brief fantasy flashed in your mind of Joel joining in from behind, holding you while you danced and sang. You envisioned him singing along, his voice low and gentle, even though you'd never heard him do so.

Yet the lyrics carried you away alone. You closed your eyes, letting the rhythm take you, a cup of mead in hand. Granted, it was probably a poor decision for Pete to give you a whole bottle to yourself, probably worse for you to have downed two glasses. But you felt free right now, blissfully ignorant to the outside world.

Until it came, quite literally, knocking at your door.

The rapping broke you out of your dancing. You panted softly as you paused the cassette player, the room growing uncomfortably still in the silence. Perhaps you kept the neighbors awake with your singing. Frosted glass on the front door revealed a familiar silhouette, making you freeze. Heat coursed through you as you reached for the handle, pulling the door open just enough to see your visitor.

Joel stood at the top of the steps to the house. He wore his usual serious expression, though it eased at the sight of you.

Whatever confidence the mead gave you earlier had vanished - the sudden appearance was sobering enough on its own. Your flushed cheeks were clear evidence of how you were dealing with this afternoon, that you wanted to forget what happened. Joel clenched his jaw, remorseful yet again. He was causing this, but had been desperately searching for a solution, in his own way. Unfortunately, 'his way' hadn't earned him many favors in the past. Joel knew that his abrasiveness would wear you down, your bright spirit, that light in your soul. If that didn't, then learning of his past certainly would - the heinous things he'd done to survive, the lives he'd ruined. They hadn't all been guilty, either, so the validity of 'survival' was in question. Those years held the most regret. Now he stood on your doorstep, carrying this invisible burden. He straightened his spine and squared out his shoulders, shifting nervously on his feet.

Maybe seeing you was the worse option. Maybe he was rubbing salt in the wound.

You straightened, frantically building your composure. Blush crept onto your cheeks as you greeted him in your bedclothes, glass of mead still in hand. Your oversized shirt and sleep shorts did little to help you look presentable and ready for the unexpected company.

"Hi," you greeted softly.

The smile you were longing to see was back. A rare softness had returned to Joel's features. He placed his hands on his hips.

Joel smiled down at you, his gaze tender, "Evening."

His damned voice could get you drunk on its own. That intoxicating Southern accent was as sweet and deep as whiskey.

The hair on the nape of your neck stood on end. This was the exact opposite of what you wanted. You needed the space and freedom to forget about Joel, and he landed at your doorstep.

He'd changed out of his old clothes, his hair tidier than before. Though he wasn't close enough to tell, you swore you caught a brief whiff of cologne. And here you were, in your pajamas, hair loose and unbrushed, completely unprepared.

You stammered, "Do- uhm... do you want to come in?"

Affection shone in his eyes at your flustered state; he gave you a once over, chuckling slightly. Joel prepared himself for this - truly prepared himself, in ways he hadn't done in months. Hell, he even found himself putting on cologne. He'd just gone to change his shirt, but the thought of seeing you after the fiasco from earlier had him fully prepared. Fully presentable.

There was a beat of silence that let Joel's eyes wander over your form. His gaze burned through your thin sleep shirt, roving over your bare legs with a greed that slipped through the cracks in his composure.

You stood in front of him with wide eyes, holding yourself around the waist, a new type of vulnerability you hadn't yet shown. He eyed the way you bit your lip, his focus whisked away by desire. Your outfit didn't help suppress Joel's imagination, either - it was the most exposed you'd been in front of him. He found himself selfishly taking you in, fully and properly.

Those shorts did no favors in hiding the curves of your thighs; your shirt did even more disservice to his willpower. It was thin, too thin. It hung off one shoulder to reveal your collarbone to him, hanging loosely at your chest, displaying your nipples poking against the fabric.

He snapped back to attention, clearing his throat before making his way inside, "Sure, thanks."

The door snapped shut behind you, keeping you and Joel in the new stifling proximity. You motioned generally to the space.

"Make yourself at home," you told him, the awkwardness slowly easing away. You made for the kitchen sink to return your half-downed glass of mead, breathing away your nerves. Joel took the cue in his own way, finding himself leaned comfortably against the kitchen counter, feet away from you.

His stare had hardened. You braced for another lecture.

"What happened back at the stables, I-"

Reintroducing the events erupted jealousy in your chest, and the residual buzz from the mead aired it out. You snapped, though the hurt was still evident in your cracked voice. There was no time for small talk. There could be no casual 'how was your day?' after what happened.

"Who was she?" Your demand struck him. He knew this would come.

Joel pressed his lips into a thin line before answering.

"Her name's Georgia. We've been friends for a while." He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, avoiding your stare. He didn't want to confront the reality of his words, how they would pain you.

The words were chosen carefully, cherrypicked to be as vague as possible. He didn't want to explain Georgia when all he wanted was to dissolve her from his memory. Didn't want to see the hurt in your eyes, searching to understand.

It wasn't enough for you. It was a bullshit answer.

"Friends is the right term for it?" You pressed. Joel's eyes dart to yours before he pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing.

The term was empty as Joel's feelings for the other woman. He didn't spend much casual time with Georgia; he didn't enjoy her company. In truth, she was irritating - her only humor was harsh jokes, she was too invested in drama. But she was available at the time.

He should've waited. He didn't want to believe anyone else would come along, let alone as alluring as you. If Joel knew Georgia would've become such a pain, he wouldn't have entertained her to begin with.

His eyebrows knit together, "Do we really have to do this right now?"

"Yes, Joel," you hissed, "You're not gonna bullshit me - I already know. I know she's not a friend. People who are 'just friends' don't... act like that." You quote the words in the air. The anger had bubbled over the surface, just as Joel had anticipated.

In contrast to your outburst, Joel stood unyielding in his story.

He began, "We have history, alright?"

Your face flashed to frustration, but he continued, raising a hand to stop you. "It's been over a year. She had it out with her fiancé couple weeks back - she's just... dealing with it in her own way."

You scoffed, "So, you're fucking someone else's fiancée. Nice, Joel."

Joel's features hardened. His morals had been perpetually grayscale, so he didn't pay mind to the consequences of his choices. Georgia had been his escape, his secret, and now his biggest mistake.

"Was. Was fucking."

You countered, "Like that makes it better."

Joel doesn't expect his correction to change your feelings, but it's something. You snapped your mouth shut, exhaling deeply as you followed his suit, leaning against the kitchen counter. You took a deep breath before carrying on.

"So, what changed?"

It could've been a one word answer if Joel had the balls to admit it right then. His efforts had been to avoid complication. But he knew what he said next could shape everything.

So he opted for honesty. A vulnerable admission. The slight numbing in his fingers and pounding heart made him feel young again, in a way. He hadn't felt this jittery in decades. Joel wrung his hands together, nodding once. He'd made his choice.

"You came to Jackson."

Joel recalled the day you approached the massive gate, hobbling from a sprained ankle that wouldn't heal properly. He took watch from the wall, observing Jackson's newcomer from the vantage point, watching you depart with Maria. Despite your obvious injury, you kept a smile on your face, being grateful to have found safety.

It wasn't until your first group patrol that he saw you again. That time you were closer, and he was finally able to make out your features. Your wide eyes and a growing blush gave him a warm confidence. None of the other newbies had looked at him like that before. But, that time as well, he turned away.

He would be a fool to do it again.

"Things changed when you showed up, and I've been doing my best to keep things normal. I wanted to think that, at first, it was just some... y'know, mild flirting. And I liked that, I really did," Joel slowly inched closer as he continued. "I tried tellin' myself that it was nothing, but I can't find truth to that anymore."

Your legs turned to lead, unable to move, unable to deny him. Each nearing step heated your stomach, flipped it over itself, and shot your heart to your throat. Joel now stood inches away, pinning you against the counter like he'd done at the fence.

"I tried convincing myself a lot of things. That you wouldn't feel the same, that maybe I was misreading things, or maybe it was all just- just some dumb crush, or whatever." It felt stupid to say it, but that was the feeling. A crush.

It was laughable, an old man like him feeling that young love again. Yet, here was someone who could consume his full attention with a single smile. You had a depth of feeling and care that he couldn't measure up to, not in a lifetime. There was no undoing his damage.

You didn't share that belief.

Your eyes flickered to his as you raised a hand to his cheek. The scruff of his beard itched into your palm, your fingers carding into the salt-and-pepper hair. His skin was weathered and warm, tanned from years under the Texas sun. The crinkles around his eyes displayed both his age and his affection. They tightened a certain way when he smiled - you wondered if he knew that about himself, the simple beauties of him. Subtle details that only one in love would notice.

You lowered your voice to a whisper, "Well, do you think you have it figured out now?"

His stare lingered on your lips too long. As good as his poker face was, Joel's eyes gave his desire away. Your gentle touch thawed out his hardened look. He sighed softly.

Joel knew that his answer would seal his fate. He would have to accept any 'complications' that followed.

Wordlessly, Joel dipped his head lower, brushing his lips tentatively over yours. Your hand slipped behind his head to draw him in, to take those last few millimeters and shove them aside, to take it all.

You released a wanton moan past Joel's parting lips. He took it on with his own low groan - a deep, possessing noise that pooled heat between your legs. It was Joel's body pressing you to the counter that kept you stable, but his adventurous hands did you no favors. He broke his mouth from yours, panting.

"Do you have any idea how hard this's been for me?" His breath was hot against your neck, slowly creeping to your ear. "With all your damn teasin', it's been hard to hold myself back. Shit, I tried."

His words melted your core. You shifted your thighs together to find the evidence of your desire, just how wet you'd gotten.

A warm, open kiss landed under your jaw, making you shudder. A small moan left you involuntarily. Such a bright, mystifying, intoxicating sound that had Joel breathless against your skin. His hands found your waist, gaining purchase on the fabric of your shirt, tugging desperately at its hem.

You bucked your hips forward, only to find a growing bulge in Joel's worn jeans, firm and warm against your belly. Drool pooled in your mouth at the feeling of him, and your hands itched to reach downward.

Joel's hands cupped under your ass, kneading into the soft flesh before he hoisted you up and onto the kitchen counter. The biting cold of it pressed into your legs, quickly replaced with Joel's warmth gliding over skin, each shuddering breath coursing through you.

His mouth worked down to your collarbone, his sentences were broken between kisses laid along your collarbone.

"You knew it, too, didn't you, sweetheart?" Kiss. Joel's hands still idly toyed with the hem of your shirt, slowly inching his fingers under it. You throw your head back against the cabinet, rolling your hips forward as invitation.

"You knew what you were doin', flirting with me like you've been-" He lowered himself down, kissing over the fabric of your shirt, letting it stand between you for now.

Greedy hands crept up your thighs, igniting your skin along the way. Tightness grew in your abdomen while he moved along, planting hot kisses across your chest. Joel worked meticulously to deny you and keep you waiting for more. His mouth landed kisses below a nipple, then on the right, then on the left, before repeating the moves on the other breast.

He didn't leave you unattended. Joel cupped your neglected tit, working it slowly in his hand, reaching for your perk nipple. His fingers work it thoroughly, pinching and twisting, listening to your beautiful noises.

"Joel," you cried out, your hands finding his broad shoulders. His muscles flexed and stretched under your fingers, his chest rising and falling in time with your hurried breaths.

This is what he'd been wanting to hear: you saying his name. Not from Georgia, not from anyone else's lips. And now you laid here beneath him, uttering it like it was holy.

It was music to his ears.

Joel hummed lowly, the sensation reverberating through your entire being. A teasing warmth played with your nipple - Joel's tongue had come out to play. He laid it flat against the sensitive bud, still through your thin shirt, but it gave little barrier. You could still feel his tongue circling your nipple before lapping slowly, drawing out a new shuddering moan. He groaned beneath you with great satisfaction.

"That's it, sweetheart," Joel murmured, "lemme hear you. Tell me how good it feels, baby."

With your senses alight, you couldn't form words. Instead, you let out another cry as Joel caught your nipple between his teeth. He chuckled softly at your noise, replying with a gentle smack on your ass. This was far more tender than how he'd normally be. It would be his biggest lesson with you - restraint. Until you told him otherwise, he'd tread carefully.

Your hips widened to invite him closer, yet Joel left the distance as it was, taking the opportunity to bring his hand to your front. His mouth found yours once more with great desperation, as if the only clean air was what you shared. His teeth tugged at your lower lip, pulling away just enough for you to start to whine.

"Joel," you whimpered weakly, "Joel, I need more."

The request lit a fire in him. It was more than just permission, you were just as deprived as he was.

"More?" repeated Joel. You nodded quickly. He leisurely stood with a wide smirk, towering over you, his hand gliding lazily along your inner thigh. Joel mirrored himself on the other side, working his hands up the inside of your legs, so close to finding home. It's hardly enough, and yet too much. Your legs splayed out on either side, quivering, as you look up at Joel.

The neediness of your expression would've had Joel undressed in seconds, but he needed to take his time.

His gaze stripped you bare. He met your eyes as one of his hands meandered up your thigh, securing its spot at the waistband of your shorts.

Joel spoke idly while he hooked his rough, calloused fingers at the band, "Needy lil' thing, aren't ya?"

There was no time or breath to reply. Your breaths began to shudder as Joel used both hands to work your shorts down. The seconds feel like hours, but neither of you are willing to rush this. After holding back and stifling your feelings, this is what you deserved.

Quickly, Joel's lips wander down your neck, just as he helped you shift your legs out of your sleep shorts, slowly but surely. You kicked them off, letting them fall at Joel's feet, baring you before him.

He didn't know how to place it, but keeping your shirt on added to the seduction, still having part of you hidden from him until later. Another surprise would be waiting for him. For now, there was work to do.

"Don't worry, honey, I'll give you watcha need. I'll take good care of you," cooed Joel, who now led his index finger further up your thigh. It wasn't until he broke away that the praise began to flow.

Holding your thighs splayed out, Joel hissed through his teeth. Your pussy was on full display for his viewing, bare and dripping. He dropped to his knees before you, leveling himself at your entrance, his parted lips inches away from your needy hole.

He exhaled, parting your slit with a thumb. You were beyond what he imagined. Your pussy pathetically clenched down on nothing, desperate to be filled.

"Ain't that a pretty sight," Joel teased, suddenly running circles on your clit with his tumb. You whimpered into your palm, trying to stifle your sounds.

Pleasure coiled persistently in your stomach, creeping up your spine. Joel eyed your cunt as it trembled under his touch, smiling in awe - he'd never seen a body so beautiful.

Joel observed your writhing under his touch, memorizing every movement, burning them into his memory. Which touches made you arch your back, which ones made your thighs tremble. Your body, all on its own, ached and throbbed for him. He was the luckiest man alive.

And that desperate, pleading look on your face... God damn him.

This was far beyond what he had anticipated for this visit. If he had a lick of sense in him, Joel would've stayed at his own place. But even as he sat on his couch with his guitar on his knee, you wormed your way into his train of thought. Hell, you were the damn conductor of it. It wasn't until the sixth slip-up that Joel resolved himself to do something. The thought of you infiltrated everything - his work, his hobbies, his sleep.

Sleep had been most difficult, given that Joel pictured you there, too.

He couldn't have predicted this outcome, though. Joel leaned closer to your needy pussy, hovering his mouth over your swollen clit, relishing in the small moans you produced. His hands found your waist and gripped securely, testing the security of your position.

"Joel, please," you begged softly, "I can't take this anymore."

Your whining brought out a low chuckle from him, to add to your frustration. You groaned, bucking your hips forward. If he wasn't going to give you what you needed, you'd do your best to take it.

The grip on your waist tightened. A warning.

You looked down to find his stare intently on yours, his eyes overcast with lust. Speechless at the scene before you it was impossible to move, to look away. Joel kept your stare as he parted his lips to reveal his tongue, dipping lower and pressing it flat against your clit. The warmth was an instant, white-hot pleasure that drew your body into him.

"Oh, fuck-" you gasped. Joel hummed happily against your clit in response, swirling his tongue gingerly. He tested your waters once again, switching directions and rhythm, slipping his tongue around the entrance of your cunt.

He broke away with much protest on your end. Before you could utter a complaint he melted you once more.

"You sound so goddamn beautiful," muttered Joel. "You have no idea how many times I thought about this, pretty girl."

You mewled at the praise as Joel introduced a finger at your entrance, tending to your deprived hole as he showered you again.

"The number of times I pictured this moment... it's almost shameful. But I just couldn't help myself," he inched his finger deeper with each pause, drawing out your hissing breath. "And believe me, I tried to fight it back, but then I'd see you again, and it started all over."

With that, Joel curled his finger to greet your sweet spot. Crying out, you bit into your hand.

"Awh, what's wrong, sweetheart? You feelin' shy?" Joel teased darkly, "Don't want the neighbors to hear how good I'm making you feel?"

He savored the sound that fell from your lips, and he added a second finger. Curling masterfully like before, you were slowly stretched around him, walls fluttering as the coil in your belly tightened. Joel worked his fingers dutifully, angling deeper, he needed to hear you again - fuck the neighbors, let them find out. They'd get a good show, that's for sure.

His fingers' occupied state let Joel stand again, his lips and mustache glossy from your slick. A sly, devilish smile was your only sign to prepare yourself. Joel watched your face contort as he found a quickening pace. There was an obscene harmony filling the room - your sweet noises, and the sound of Joel's fingers plunging into your pussy.

"Hah.... hah... fffuck... Joel-"

"I know, pretty girl, keep it up. You can do it."

"I can't... I think I-I'm gonna... hah... I'm gonna-"

He commanded, "Give it to me, sweetheart. Show me whatcha look like when you fall apart."

You were pushed to the edge, and Joel sent you tumbling over it. Your climax slammed through you with a barrage of stars scattered across your vision. The world around you muffled, and while you couldn't make out what Joel said, you could see the satisfaction on his face.

Slowly, the world came back, and your breath began to slow. A satisfied grin plastered on your face, your body sated and languid. Joel tilted his head, smirking. The question begs an answer.

"Oh, honey, what am I gonna do with you?"

Y'all.

All honesty, this chapter took SO long to finish, my brain is now oatmeal. But the gremlin in my brain has been ITCHING to write smut, and we're FINALLY HERE RAHHHHH

(I'm sorry I stopped it here, but to be fair it's not the first cliffhanger I've done. Nor will it be the last. The next part will be out asap my loves!)

And if you liked this chapter, be sure to read the others! My masterlist is linked in the top of this post :)

xoxo, Bunny

#bunny writes #tlou #the last of us #tlou2 #the last of us 2 #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #fanfiction #fic writing #smut writing #tlou smut #pedro pascal joel miller

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zyafics · 14 days

Text

BEFORE DAWN | Jason Todd

MASTERLIST (oneshot) | x Ex!Female Reader .ᐟ

Summary — Jason suffers from a failed mission and needs you. Word Count — 3.0k.

Content — angst, hurt/no comfort.

Zya's Notes — this is my first time writing Jason, bear with me.

Loss is a frequent echo in Jason's life.

Weighted to the depth of his soul, anchored by his part. Since his birth, nothing but the blanket of death envelops his life—from his mother, to his time with the Joker, to the Lazarus pit that brought his resurrection. Because even if it did bring him back to life, the innocence behind his eyes was gone.

You've always known this. From the very first day you met him, Jason warned you he was damaged. At first, you assumed it to be a precaution he gave all his lovers because he didn't see himself as something worth loving. Some of that remains accurate. However, over time, you learned more about his secrets and tales and discovered his statement wasn't an exaggeration.

Because it's easy to love Jason Todd.

But it's just as easy to hate him.

Kicking off his boots, Jason steps inside his apartment and disengages his helmet from his head. He sets the red mask on his shelf, maneuvering to his cabinets in search for the hardest liquors in stock.

Tonight had been a rough mission. Despite the countless lives he saved, he still couldn't rescue a child from the massacre. All he remembers is the piercing screams, the little girl's pleas for help, his hushed reassurances that he's almost there.

But he wasn't. All there was left was silence.

Jason uncaps the glass and swallows a large gulp, moving to his bedroom. He lands on his bed with a thump, a groan slipping through gritted teeth from the pain.

There had been phone calls and pings from the Batcave, where he was sure the rest of the family had found surveillance of his gruesome mission, but he didn't have the energy to answer. Louder than the rest, he hears the moronic ringtone Dick set for his number playing on a loop, like an irritating itch that refuses to die down. Ignoring them all, Jason drinks from his bottle until there's nothing but droplets left.

That's when he hears a shy creak from the front door.

His body hums with heightened nerves, not easily seduced by the copious quantities of bitter alcohol Jason tried to force down his throat. He highlights every sound echoing through his empty apartment—the leisure clicks of heels against hardwood, calculating the distance it travels—and by the time his bedroom door cracks open, you peek through.

At first, he thought he'd imagined you. That happens. A side effect of the Lazarus pit, Jason managed to control it after years of training—to distinguish between what's real and not. But it comes back on occasion. However, nothing was worse than the episode months after you broke up with Jason.

"Hi, Jay."

Jason blinks. His hallucinations never spoke. They always observed and trailed after him as a figment of his imagination, a shadow from the corner of his peripheral. But they always remained silent. Taunting, even.

That's how he knows this is real. You're really here.

He should feel a cool sense of relief wash over him. It's been months of anguish and grief from missing you and wanting you back. It didn't matter that the breakup shattered him, he knew that if he saw you again, he would welcome you back with open arms.

But none of that arrives. All that came is hurt.

"What are you doing here?" He rasps, and despite his attempt at keeping his hostility at bay, they seep out like spits of venom.

You flinch, gripping the doorknob tighter as you resist the urge to run. "Dick called me."

He huffs, "Dick's always in my business."

"Maybe it's because he cares about you."

"If he cared about me, he would've been here."

Jason's words weren't aimed at his older brother. It's a direct shot to your chest, but Jason doesn't have a speck of remorse. His eyes are bloodshot, making his irises glow, and his expression hardens into sharp lines. You'd told Dick this was a bad idea, that Jason would want nothing to do with you, but the eldest refuted that you're the only one he would be willing to listen to.

Perhaps, once upon a time. But not now.

It's easy for you to leave, turn your heel, and exit the apartment complex without another exchange. But you don't. It's only been a few months since you last saw Jason, but you can't pretend that you don't miss him. Don't long for him every night. Don't check the news and headlines for any articles regarding Red Hood and his nefarious activities after dark.

Pushing the door wider, you step into the familiar bedroom and approach Jason, each step feels heavier than the last. He eyes you carefully as if you're prey entering a trap, and you grab the bottle clung to his chest before looking at the empty content.

His hooded gaze raises, "Didn't know I was supposed to share."

You scoff, but your shoulders loosen slightly. You set the bottle down on his nightstand, grabbing his muscular arm and hauling him up from the mattress, with difficulty because of the weight of his gear. Like a practiced choreography, you unlatch his belt, to the straps around his pecs, and unload them to the closet where it's stashed for the next day.

Jason says nothing as you return to the space before him, making a conscious choice to not meet his stare. You're surprised by his lack of resistance, especially as you drag him to the nearby bathroom, flicking the light on, and setting him in front of the sink counter.

When you pull out the aid kit from under the cabinets, Jason finally breaks the unbearable silence. "You remembered."

Your breathing lulls and you sink in the memories of the past. Long nights of patching Jason up, after his encounters with criminals and felons—the whips of clashing blades and the graze of bullets on skin. You even took a medical course at Gotham College to better equip yourself on how to take care of your boyfriend.

Well, ex.

"How could I forget?" Your voice is quiet, almost indistinguishable, but Jason clings to every little word. "I was the one restocking it."

"Do you remember your training?"

"Of course I do," you say. "They don't give out As for anybody."

A faint smile breaks out across Jason's face, even if he didn't want it to, and you lift your head to discover the easygoing expression. You return with your own grin, and a moment, suspended in time, there's a place where you forget the broken status of your relationship.

Despite the rough exterior Jason tries to exert, attempting to hold you at arm's length, his eyes soften upon meeting yours, tracing your features as a way to drink you in after months of agony and separation. They linger on your lips for a moment longer than necessary, wondering if they still taste the same as before.

But as quickly as it came, it left. Jason turns away, curling his hands into fists, his jaw sharpening by the grind of his teeth. Remnants of his anger remain, pulsing, eruptive, and targeted at you. It dulls with every passing moment in your presence, but it isn't fair. You can't return exactly as you were as if you didn't add to his misery.

"Jason?"

"Just finish up," he snaps, stonewalling his emotions to keep himself safe. "I don't have all night."

You sigh. Unraveling the roll of gauze, you examine the cuts and bruises on his shoulders and forearms. It isn't too bad. Jason has always been good at protecting himself—and you—so you believed the blood soaking his shirt was mostly his opponents rather than his.

When you grab the isopropyl alcohol, the can is light. "It's empty," you murmur, setting the gauze back in the kit. Jason glances at the bottle in your hands.

"It's—"

"I know," you mumble with a nod, slipping out of the suffocating bathroom before clinically moving through your old apartment, and finding another bottle behind one of his doors. When you're about to return, you catch a whiff of lavender in the air and freeze, searching the room to find a lit candle sitting on the island in his kitchen.

Your expression softens, admiring the glass filled with wax before you make your way back to the bathroom. Jason's attention is set on your phone sitting on the counter's edge.

"Someone texted you," Jason informs, his arms crossed against his chest as his gaze drifts to your face.

"Oh," you set the bottle down as you pick up your phone, reading the message.

Jason studies your expression, wondering who it could be. He didn't check out of respect for your privacy, and he's holding his tongue from asking, but a curious thought pounds at the edge of his mind. Did you move on? He couldn't resist by then. "Who is it?"

"Tim," you answer, setting the screen face-down on the countertop. "Also, Damian. He says to 'get some rest, Todd,' and that you still owe him a match tomorrow morning."

You punctuate your sentence with a soft smile, hoping to simulate the feelings from before, but Jason doesn't return the gesture. His Adam's apple bobs in his throat, and a sting surges through his veins. "Didn't know you still kept in contact with my brothers."

"Didn't know you still kept the candle."

If Jason was surprised by your response, he doesn't reveal it. He leans against the edge of the sink, the porcelain digging into his spine as his arms remain crossed over his chest. "You were right. The aroma covers the smell of blood."

Your lips curve with surprise, your eyes brightening from his admission. "I was right?"

"Don't let it get into your head."

"I wanna hear it again."

He says your name as a scold, but you merely beam from his words. There were some suggestions you gave Jason when you lived with him—making his place less James Bond and more homey. Before you came, he tracked grim and mud into the living area, wafted a tingeing scent of copper, and covered the entire apartment in weaponry and computers. You adjusted some things, but they were accepted with reluctance, and you hadn't expect Jason to keep any when you left.

Jason mirrors a gentle smile on his face as he watches the excitement radiate from you, reminding him of an easier time. That's how the start of your relationship felt—giddily, charming, and loveable.

"Your turn," Jason declares, uncrossing his arms and returning them to his side.

"There's not much to say." You admit somberly. "I keep in touch to make sure everything's okay."

"With everyone?"

"Dick, Tim, Damian..." You trail off, contemplating adding the last member. "And Bruce."

You study Jason's face as he absorbs the information, but nothing helps you identify his emotions. That's one of the difficult things about being with Jason. He never reveals his true emotions to you, always making you guess his thoughts. He doesn't tell you when he's hurt, or angry, or happy, because he keeps it all to himself.

At first, it didn't bother you, because you knew he didn't trust easily. But, sometimes, it feels like he didn't trust you at all.

You can't bring yourself to ask, to beg him to talk, so you go back to helping him with his wounds. In the silence, you clean the cuts, layering a thin layer of ointment cream over the scars, and bandage him up. By the time you're done, Jason remains as quiet as he was before.

That's truly all Dick asked you to do. He couldn't get into contact with Jason, and knowing an unannounced visit from Nightwing would do nothing but provoke an argument, he thought to ask you to check-in. To make sure he isn't beating himself up over the loss in his mission.

You didn't have to clean him up. Take off his gears. Make sure he isn't hurt. But you did.

As you make your way out of the bathroom, you glance at the exit. Jason can return to his bed on his own two feet, and as you're about to bid a polite farewell, Jason cuts you off.

"Why didn't you ever check up on me?"

The question startles you. Turning to see him exit from the bathroom, Jason stops a couple feet away from the bed, keeping a safe distance from you. His gaze never wavers.

"Jason..." You swallow a bile forming in your throat. You didn't want to give him some pseudo-bullshit to comfort him. He has always appreciated the truth. "We were broken up."

He huffs, "Which was something I didn't want."

"I know."

"It destroyed me,"

"I know,"

"I needed you," he confesses with such rawness, you can't help but falter from the sound. Your hands clench into fists by your side, nails digging into your palms to ease the ache in your chest.

"I..." You stammer. "It was hard for me. Being your girlfriend."

The good has always been good; euphoric and phenomenal. But the bad had been bad; miserable and troublesome. You couldn't handle the whiplash of emotions, of being pulled to absolute highs one night to being dragged to complete lows. It was too much for your little heart.

"I love you, and I'll always will, but I just... It was hard."

Jason stares at you, and behind his strong demeanor, something cracks behind the armor. He swallows thickly, his mind running a hundred miles an hour trying to rationalize your confession. "Did you... did you move on?"

"Jay..."

"No, I don't want that," he asserts, despite knowing a positive answer would wreck him, "I want to hear it. Was it easy to forget about me?"

"Jason, please," you beg, throbbing pain eliciting from your clenched palms as tears crowd your vision. "It took everything of me to step inside your apartment. To see you. When Dick called me, I truly didn't want to go, but he said you needed me."

His breathing slows. Pieces forming together. "And you came."

You nod once. "And I came."

He says nothing, his chest rising and falling with unsteady beats, and you can't help but take this as an opportunity to bid a formal farewell. You can't take it. But just before you can take two steps towards the bedroom door, Jason calls out with a rough voice. "Stay."

It takes everything of him to say that. Vulnerability seeps into the very crevices of his words, to his dark eyes, waiting for your answer—waiting for you to deny him. "I'm... I'm not asking for anything else. I don't expect anything. But I need you tonight."

Your eyes soften. You know how hard is for Jason to talk about his emotions, about his needs. You know it isn't good for you, every rational bone in your body telling you to leave, but you resist against them. Extending your hand, Jason doesn't hesitate to take it into his palm, pulling you into the bed.

It's so easy. You slip under the covers, crawling over to Jason's side as you lay your head on his chest, laminating the irregular beats of his heart. His arm settles around your waist, brushing against your thin tee, in an act so endearing, so natural, it's almost forgotten that this is the first intimate touch in months.

It hurts to be around Jason. To remember the good times. To recount the worst. His breathing remains unsteady—not because there's any damage to his lungs, but because that too is a side effect of the Lazarus pit. When you first dated him, you thought every night's rest was his last.

It causes you to tighten your grip around his torso, needing to keep him real. Alive. Your breathing becomes steady when you feel his hand glide over your skin in soothing strokes.

"I thought you hated me," Jason admits after a long stretch of silence.

"I could never hate you," you whisper. "That's not possible."

"You left me."

You don't answer that. Abandonment can be constituted as hate in Jason's world and there's nothing you can say to make him believe differently. Lifting your head from his chest, your eyes wash over his relaxed features. The fluff of white hair in the mass of dark roots, the gentle slope of his cheekbones, jaw, and the crooked outline of his nose. It's as if you're trying to commit to memory all the changes that have happened since you've been gone.

"I'm here now."

Jason nods and you return back to your previous position. It's always been difficult for him to find his slumber, but he manages to find it easy with your presence.

But as he falls asleep, you can't seem to follow him. For a moment, you wonder why everything was such a problem. Why couldn't you have stayed in this relationship if the both of you brought to each other a sense of peace no one else can encapsulate? But, then you remember.

It's the mornings. The morning after every bad mission, every disaster under the domain of Red Hood. Jason would return to the streets, becoming more reckless, vicious, and death-prone than ever before to make up for the loss he had the previous night.

And it killed you. Sitting in this apartment, obsessively checking for any articles about how Red Hood finally struck his last time. Even though Jason may have been raised from the dead, given the opportunity of a second chance, he lives his life as if it's his first.

Jason goes out into the world believing he's invincible. And maybe he is. Maybe he can beat death once again. And again. And again. But you can't sit around and watch. Because every night, every day spent wondering if he is hurt, if whether he's going to walk through the front door, kills you.

So, by morning, when the sun filters through his blinds and a warm ray lands on Jason's scarred and healing skin, his muscles throbs with pain, and his head pounding with a mild case of hangover, he slowly opens his eyes one by one.

And he remembers. He remembers everything the night before. How you came. How you stayed. And when his hand drifts to the place on his chest, to find any remnant of you, he discovers nothing but the wisps of air.

Because before dawn, you're gone.

#jason todd #red hood #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #jason todd angst #red hood angst #jason todd x female reader #red hood x female reader #dc comics x reader #dc comics x you #dc comics #dc fanfic #dc comics fanfiction

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month

Text

Wicked Games 11

Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The glut of tears drains you until you’re forced to sleep. You do so heavily. Your head thrums even through your unconscious and you wake up in no better condition than you dozed off.

You stay as you are, curled up on one side, and arm clutched the edge of the bed, refusing to acknowledge him. That won’t last. You look around the room that takes you back to that first morning after. A similar disorienting waves washes over you.

You feel the change. Maybe now that you know the reason why, the symptoms only seem more intense. Your stomach is hollow but uneasy and you’re achy to the bones. And the fatigue. You can’t shake it. You feel like you could sleep for days and still be tired.

Cautiously, you roll onto your back. You’re alone. He’s not in the bed but he’s there. The muffled clink of dishes assures you of that. You flinch as your heart gives a start.

You sit up but refuse to get up. Standing up and walking out that door means this is real. It means you have to accept that it is and you’re not stupid enough to believe that won’t happen. You just need this moment to think.

Barrett is dead. Your old life is over. Your job, your apartment, even your old body. Steve laid it all out. You’re going to quit or he’s going to get you fired. You’re going to have his baby or he’ll... you don’t know? Would he do the same thing he did to your husband? If you don’t have a reason for him to keep you alive, are you just expendable?

You should be braver. You shouldn’t care. The grief is so gray but gripping that you should want it to be over. Who cares, I’d rather die than live like this. But that’s not true. The thought of death makes you nauseous. Or is that the baby?

You lurch up to your feet and cup your hand over your mouth as you stagger around. You blink and find your way to the ensuite bathroom. You curl over the toilet and hurl into the bowl. You grip the edge of the counter and the seat as your body racks violently.

Your stomach keeps squeezing even as there’s nothing left. Your bones feel like they could snap and your throat burns with acid. You collapse to your knees and hug the porcelain. Every now and them, you wretch but can’t even spit up bile.

Exhausted and panting, you reach to flush, but stay hovering over the toilet water. This is horrible. Like any woman, you’ve heard of the horrors of morning sickness but this seems so much worse.

“Sweetheart,” Steve’s shadow appears in the doorway. You sigh and turn your head to see him. He marches across the tile and comes to bend over you. You flinch as he rubs your back. “You okay? Rough morning , huh?”

You grumble. That’s all you can do. Worse than being in this place that isn’t your own, your body doesn’t feel like yours. It’s as if every part of you is revolting.

“Here,” he hooks his arm around you and stands you up.

Your legs are weak as you lean on him. He flips down the toilet lid and sits you on it. You groan and hug your stomach. He draws away to open the cabinet behind the mirror. He takes out a packaged toothbrush and unwraps it. He puts toothpaste on the bristles and hands it to you. You accept it as he fills a white plastic cup with water and slides it across the counter.

You scrape out the taste of vomit and brush your teeth until your headache is a siren. You stand to rinse and he takes the brush back, placing it in the holder next to his. He coos as he touches your hip and urges you out of the bathroom ahead of him.

“Come on, I got everything ready for you,” he declares proudly.

You bristle in wait of the true him. Those tones he growled through last night. That dangerous timbre you can’t argue with. This feels like a facade. Too soft, to nice. He’s playing out some script and you never got a copy.

The couch has extra pillows and the coffee table has a small lap desk stood on it, a bowl of oat meals and a cup of layered yogurt and fruit, alongside a tall glass of a vibrant smoothie. He points you to sit and you do so only to make your body stop screaming.

As you get settled, he moves the lap desk over you.

“At least you’re small enough to use this still,” he chuckles as he stands back. “Oats with cinnamon and blueberries, yogurt with strawberry and chia seed, and a smoothie with lots of extra vitamins. Oh--” he storms away, leaving your speechless. Well, what can you say?

“Supplements,” he sweeps back in. “The iron won’t help your stomach but the B-6 should. You can try ginger with tea if you still feel off. We’ll hold off asking the doc for medicine but we’ll make sure he gives you the once over.”

“I already went to a doctor--”

“My doctor,” he insists as he sets down the little tray of vitamins. “He knows what to watch for.”

“What to watch for? What--” You wince as your hips pang and your stomach churns again. You tuck your hand down over your middle and force out a breath.

“Well, I have enhanced biology. When they created the serum, we were at war. They never tested it on pregnant women,” Steve explains.

“Huh? Serum?” You stammer.

“The fetus.” He sits lightly beside you and reaches to rub your shoulder. “They assume there would be some effect.”

“They assume?” You shake your head.

“Don’t worry, you only have to deal with Bruce. He’s a good guy.” Steve explains.

You look down at the food. Your nausea blows away like shifting winds and a storm of hunger rises in you. It’s so overwhelming you have the urge to grab the bowl of oatmeal and gulp it down from the brim. Instead, you take the spoon and raise it shakily.

“We’re gonna do this together,” he coaxes as he caresses your arm. “Sweetheart, I couldn’t ask for anyone stronger to carry my child.”

That should make you sick but the hunger is too much to ignore. He keeps touching you as you eat. You're so intoxicated by each bite, you hardly notice. More, more, more. Your stomach mulches greedily with each swallow as the world narrows simply to the smell of cinnamon and tartness of blueberries.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #drabble #wicked games #mcu #marvel #captain america #avengers

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jasmines-library · 8 months

Note

This might be a weird request, but can you take your favorite song and make a batfam story with it? I saw the “Kristy, Are You Doing Okay?” fic and immediately folded I loved it so much <3 <3 <3

The Ghost of You.

YES YES YES! It's really hard for me to just pick one song, but this came to mind so i thought i'd give it a go. Also this probably wasn't what you were after anon, so i'm sorry. You're all going to hate me after this :(

Summary: After your death, the batfam struggle to navigate their lives without you.

Warnings: This fic deals with death (mildly graphic) and the aftermath, contains suicidal thoughts, grief, unhealthy ways of processing grief and some other heavy content so please be advised.

Word Count: 2k

⛤ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛤

I never said I'd lie and wait forever

If I died, we'd be together

I can't always just forget her

But she could try

Tim was the first to arrive too late.

Your body had already careened over to the side, collapsing into a puddle of your own blood. Tim faltered as he made his way over to you, gawping at the arrows that protruded gruesomely from your stomach, your shoulder and the back of your knee. That was what had taken you down: a well placed shot to the back of the joint. The other two followed as insurance. To ensure that you would bleed out.

And even though Tim was right there, he faltered. Even though he could see the way your chest spluttered as you fought for air, he couldn’t bring himself to move. His hands shook. His lips trembled. And if anyone was focusing hard enough they would have been able to see the glint as water collected in his eyes.

Then came Jason, grappling down from the building. He had heard it before he saw it. Grimacing at the way your cry was followed by two more, he was gripped tight by a fit of rage. Mercilessly he took out the two crooks in front of him so he could dash to your side. He should have been helping Nightwing and Batman, but at that moment all he could focus on was your safety.

He managed to gather himself up enough to try and press around the arrows, but your blood pooled through the fabric of your suit and your breathing had slowed to nearly nothing. Tim had finally got himself to move and he was sure that he heard someone call your name. Though he couldn’t remember if it was himself or Jason. Either way he too pressed down harshly around the arrow to try and staunch the blood flow. And it should have hurt. God, you should have been thrashing and screaming. But you just lay there, spluttering as you faded. Tim didn’t know what was worse; but he came to the conclusion that the sound of your agonised scream was better than waiting in this near listless silence.

“Just hold on, Raven.” Jason. But you would have never guessed it from the way his normally firm voice wavered. “We’re going to get you to help…j-just a little longer.

Then you moved. Your hands shifted to lay atop of theirs and you strained your head to see them. Tim’s stomach dropped as you looked at him with your hooded eyes and small smile. A gesture of consolidation. You were trying to tell them that it was okay. It made Tim want to hurl. How could you be thinking of them in a time like this?

“Y/N..?” Tim muttered. He should have used your vigilante name. He didn’t care.

“s’okay” you slurred as your eyes fluttered at him. You could no longer make out much as your vision became a blur of colour. Jason palled at the sight of the crimson that stained your teeth as a sickening contrast to the paleness of your skin. He wanted to look anywhere else, like to Dick and Damian who were still trying to take down the criminals who just wouldn’t quit, but he couldn’t tear his eyes off of your face.

“S’gonna b-be ok..”

“No…” Tim was crying now. They both were. Neither made any effort to try and hide it.

“P-promise you won’t do…any’thn stupid-” you mumbled.

Tim brushed his thumb over your hand. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to but he would. For you. “I promise…”

You wanted to turn your attention to Jason, but your eyes fluttered and you could feel your strength fading.

“ Love you…” Then, your chest rose… and fell as you took your final breath.

At the end of the world or the last thing I see

You are never coming home, never coming home

Could I? Should I?

And all the things that you never ever told me

And all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me

The manor was silent. Deathly silent.

And even though the manor was the busiest it had been for a while it still seemed so empty. It was almost like the minute that your heart stopped pumping, so did all of the life in the manor.

Dick hardly slept. He spent his nights staring blankly at the ceiling, letting his thoughts carry him away because if he didn’t his mind would torture him with pictures of you. He had thought about it. He had thought about it a lot actually. Especially after he had seen your body being lowered into the ground sealing you into nothingness. You were gone.

Dick remembered Jason and Tim uttering something about promising not to do anything stupid. But he wasn’t sure. They didn’t talk much anymore. He thinks he remembered them saying that they had promised you. But he hadn’t. And so the thought crossed his mind often. If he was only brave enough to do it. Oh, what he would jive to see even just a ghost of one of your charismatic grins again. Or to hear your laughter as you sang to your music poorly in your room across the hall. You often used to keep the door open, just a crack as a form of comfort blanket and that let your voice carry through the hall. But now the door was firmly closed.

Pull yourself together. Dick blinked away the film that formed in his eyes. Though no tears fell; he had cried himself dry a long time ago. You wouldn’t want this. Dick had tried to tell himself. But it seemed everything he did reminded him of you. Reminded him how he was never going to see you again. And it hurt. You were still so young. You had your entire life ahead of you to live and Dick yeared to have seen it. But it was ripped away from you cruelly like candy from a child.

Ever get the feeling that you're never all alone?

And I remember now

Your bloodstained face was burned permanently into Tim’s mind. It was there every time his eyes drifted closed.

Each time he finally got himself to sleep, there you were. Crying out his name.

He should have been quicker. Tim scolded himself often for this. He thought that his fumble could have been the difference between you living and dying. But of course, he had frozen. His body had refused to function no matter how much his brain screamed at him to just move! But he was frozen. He remembered watching fearfully as Jason, who was much further away, dropped to his feet from above and tried feebly to help. If only he had been just that little bit quicker. If only he had been paying attention then you wouldn’t have gotten hurt in the first place.

He was sitting in the batcave, staring blankly at the monitors. Not because he wanted to but because someone had to. Though him being there wouldn’t have made much difference. All of the shapes on the screen had blurred into one colour.

Tim had never felt more lonely sitting in the plush chair because usually you would be there with him. Cracking a joke or two, or reminding him he needed to go to sleep with a gentle touch on the shoulder or his hand. Sometimes Tim thought he could still feel it. A phantom pain: like when someone loses a limb.

You had become such an important part of his daily life that his body yeared for your touch or the sound of your voice. He yearned for the warmth of your fingers, but then remembered that the last time he felt them, they were ice cold and covered in your own blood.

At the top of my lungs in my arms, she dies

She dies.

Jason was angry. He had never handled his grief well, even from a young age. And his coping mechanisms were far from healthy. Whilst his brothers spent their time reserved to themselves, Jason was searching for revenge. But he had promised you he wouldn’t do anything stupid.

So he found his solitude in a punching bag.

Your scream piercing through the air. A punch to the bag so hard that it swung violently on its bolt.

The feeling of your blood trickling around his fingers. A right hook.

Your cold and clammy skin against his as he removed his gloves to trail his hands along your face. Another.

Your last words falling from your tongue. Punch.

Your chest rising as you spluttered. Punch. punch.

Your last exhale. Punchpunchpuch.

He kept going until his knuckles were a mangled and bloody mess and he felt like his jaw might snap from how much he had been clenching it.

Jason didn’t bother to wrap his knuckles as he trudged towards the shower, despite how much they burnt and throbbed. But for some sick reason he couldn’t wrap his mind around, he savoured it. Almost as a punishment for not being able to save you.

When he slipped into the shower, he still couldn’t stop the flood of images ricocheting around his head like a broken record that still somehow managed to play no matter how scratched up it was. He thought he might have found some solace in the feeling of the water trickling over his skin, but all he found was his mind confusing it for the feeling of your blood on his skin.

Jason let out a cry of anguish, bringing his fists to clench at his hair as he sank to the floor and began to cry.

And all the wounds that are ever gonna scar me

For all the ghosts that are never gonna catch me

If I fall, if I fall down

Damian had seen a lot of death in his life. That came as part of being a human weapon. But no death tore him up as much as yours.

He would forever remember the cold that gripped him when he saw Jason with your body in his arms. He had never felt so empty as Bruce tried to pull him away. Damian had fought against him, nearly clawing at his father to try and get to you, but Bruce just held him close and pressed Damians face into his chest to shield him from the horrors in front of him. But it was too late. He had already seen your mangled body and he couldn’t help the way his body trembled as he clung to Bruce like a scared little child.

And Damian would never admit it, but he was scared.

Scared of how everything would play out now that you were gone. Scared that you were angry at him for being so far away. Scared that because he wasn’t there when it mattered most, that it might happen again.

He should have been there. Damian cursed to himself.

He had been on the other side of the building trying to deal with the last of the crooks. Dick was with him for a time, but had finished up much earlier than Damian and had fled as soon as possible. Damian should have picked up then that something was wrong.

But he didn’t.

And he was so frustrated with himself for not. He should have been better. Should have taken the criminal down with one blow and followed his brother to your side. Surely with all four of them there, you would have made it… right?

He wasn’t so sure.

He wasn’t sure of much anymore. No one was. And they all felt so betrayed because you being by their sides was one of the things that kept them going everyday. And now…

One thing they did know for certain though was that you were gone. And no matter how much they yearned for you, you were never coming home.

🦇 BATFAM TAGLIST:

@aestheticdaisies

@hell-o-kittys

@mamapucket

@xxrougefangxx

@hearts4robs

(I'm sorry.)

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littlemisskookie · 1 year

Text

Crocodile Tears: Chapter 1

Crocodile Tears: Index Ship: Stoner!Reader | Stoner!Jungkook Description: You accidentally eat brownies with aphrodisiacs in them. Even worse one of your asshole friends catch you reading smut to cope, and decides to airdrop your collection of your dirtiest fantasies to the rest of the house. Just your luck. Warnings: Dub-Con, Free Use, Degradation, Humiliation, Dom!Jungkook, Sub!Reader, Step-Sibling Roleplay, Choking, Slapping, High Sex, Intercourse, Jungkook is super mean, Cumplay, Creampie, Oral (f. receiving), Fingering, Squirting, Sex-Toy? (They do it on a drying machine), Dirty Talk, Name Calling, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Dumbification, Lots of Manhandling, Spanking, Kink Shaming?, PWP, dear god this is a lot Word Count: 3,281 A/N: Here it is. Pure Filth.

You stared blankly at the balcony door, mind whirring with possibilities as to what your fate could be. Your mind flashed back to every time one of the guys’ eyes lingered on you too long, or every moment of heated tension you had with them. Just today you were locking eyes with Jungkook as he knelt before you on the couch and prepared a wax bong for you; the moment felt so intimate despite the fact it was simply stoner etiquette. You had also ended up shotgunning your hit to Yoongi, who had turned your chin towards him so you could properly aim the smoke between his parted lips. Or when you had dug into Jin’s pocket for his lighter, oh lord, you really had been nothing but a tease since you stepped through the door. How could you resist, though? Hot stoner boys were your weakness admittedly. Still, you didn’t think this would be the way you’d have to address it.

Oh god, they’re going to know what a depraved freak you are! The content you had saved flashed across your mind, each tag and topic more raunchy than the last. To have your most dark fantasies on display and exposed to- you didn’t even know who!- was undoubtedly an absolute nightmare.

Fuck Park Jimin, conniving fox of a man, taking his teasing with you so far as to put you into this predicament for his own amusement! You would’ve never guessed he had such a sadistic streak. You would’ve pegged Hoseok as more of the type.

You weighed your options. Option 1.) jump off the balcony and plunge to your indisputable death. That seemed very reasonable. Option 2.) stay on the balcony forever and ever. Didn’t seem likely. Option 3.) be a big girl and get into the house. What you’d do once you get inside is yet to be decided. Baby steps.

You spent far too much time merely stressing out and pondering over your options. Ultimately you took in a deep breath and hesitantly (reluctantly) go for Option 3. You tried to reassure yourself that it wouldn’t be nearly as bad and nerve wracking as your anxious mind is making it out to be. What could possibly happen?

You kept those words in mind as you closed the door as quietly as you could behind you. You snuck past the living room as best you could, still too scared to face the possibilities head on with confrontation. Jimin was no where to be found, as were a few of the other guys.

You almost allowed yourself to take a breath of relief, believing yourself to be in the clear, when you felt a surprising weight on your shoulders. Your eyes flashed to the inked arm, the identity immediately revealed. Your gripped onto the arm slung around you, face whipping around to face Jungkook. Your heart is leaping out of your chest, the gears in your mind spinning, when Jungkook smiles. It disarms you. Despite his bad boy appearance and sexual charm, that bunny-like grin just seemed so innocent. He couldn’t possibly be one of the ones who knows.

“Hey Y/N, been looking everywhere for ya!” He tugs you along, bicep curling closer to your neck, his muscles bulging slightly. You let yourself be dragged away, your eyes locked in on his arm as you thought about how nice it’d be to sink your teeth in. “Where’ve ya been?”

“Oh you know… smoking outside,” you murmur, trying to act as normal as you could. Was Jungkook one of the people who opened the airdrop?

He seemed to be acting normally enough, his usual overly touchy and friendly self. It made sense for Jungkook to be the first one to find you. After all, he was probably the most attentive to you. You wondered how attentive he would be in other scenarios.“How ya feelin’?”

“Oh?” You’re pooled out of your thoughts of lust, the hazy, dark cloud in your eyes temporarily clearing as you try to keep up with Jungkook, your feet stumbling beneath you. Jungkook looked down at you fondly, pinching your cheek to annoy you. You stare up into his eyes, trying to search for the truth in his eyes, but finding your mind wandering to indecent places again. After all, his eyes were rather distracting.

“Y’know, with the brownies you ate?”

“Oh, I-I’m fineeee,” you drawled out the words, squeezing his arm assuringly, doing your best to seem as casual as you could. You didn’t want to give it away that you were on the brink. “Don’t worry about me, Kookie.” You hope the cute nickname would throw him off your trail if that were the case.

“Really?” His smile suddenly looked more sadistic, a knowing glint in his eye. It’s his tone that sent chills down your back. It was his ‘I’m gonna call you out on your shit’ tone, the teasingly accept a dare tone, the prepare yourself tone. Before you know it you’re pulled into a room down the hallway. It was a laundry room, the washer and dryer both already on and filled with laundry. Before you could question your scenery change, Jungkook’s let you go and closed the door behind him. “Something tells me you’re lying.”

“W-What do you mean?” You couldn’t help but flush as you stammer out the words, as though you were clearly guilty.

Jungkook’s smirk looked practically sinister, and you feel the color drain from your face as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. Your heart dropped into your stomach. “Is this blog not yours, Y/N?”

“N-No,” you blurted out, denying it outright despite how clearly he could see through you.

“No?” He snickered at that, pulling up the blog, letting it stare you in the face. You tried to move away, but his arm juts out beside you, trapping you against the linen closet. You jumped as you feel the wood against your back, Jungkook’s bright screen glaring at you with malice. “But it’s got your name right in the bio. And it was airdropped from your phone.”

“What a coincidence,” you murmured, biting your lip as you blatantly lie. Your voice was quivering. You’ve never been a very good liar.

Jungkook’s scowl only deepened, and his hand gripped your jaw, forcing you to look up at him in the eye. “I wouldn’t recommend lying to me, little girl.” You shuddered at that, hands wrapping around his wrist, nails slightly digging in as you whimpered in his hold. “You’re going to tell me the truth now, aren’t you, stupid girl?” Your head was roughly jerked up and down in his hold to nod yes. He chuckled at that. “Good girl. Now, is this your dirty little blog, Y/N?”

You closed your eyes, not wanting to look up at him in embarrassment. “Yes.”

“Look at me,” Jungkook sneered, hand slightly tapping against your face in punishment. Your eyes shot up to his once again at his command. “Act like a big girl, why don’t you?”

“Yes, it’s mine,” you admitted, lip trembling between your teeth.

“Why didn’t you show me this before, baby? You should’ve shown me your little fantasies sooner.”

“Because it’s embarrassing!” you practically whined in frustration.

“Embarrass yourself for me then.” The words were an intimate purr against your ear, enticing you with the seemingly outrageous demand. “In fact, you should be embarrassed. I thought you were a good girl. Good girls don’t want to get fucked like that. You don’t want me to treat you like a good girl, huh?” His chuckle sent chills down your spine. “Don’t worry, I got the message, loud and clear.”

“I didn’t m-mean for you to-“

“To what? Discover you’re a perverted little slut? I mean look at this.” The screen was brought back to your attention. Clearly Jungkook wasn’t going to let this go, too excited about shaming you for his amusement. He snickered in your face, enjoying how you writhed beneath him in embarrassment with no where to escape. The different tags scrolled past on his screen, each one making you want to curl in on yourself in humiliation. “Wolf fucking? Stalkers? Step-Brother?” He finally placed his phone down on top of a countertop, and you’re allowed only a sigh of relief that was over with when he’s grinding against you, his hard on pressing against your thigh. Your eyes widened as you felt how big he was against you.“You touched that cunt to the idea of having a step brother rail the shit out of you? Gross little slut. You really get off on this sick shit like a fucking freak?”

You felt your cheeks burned as you thought of all the fanfictions you saved of stepbrothers teaching their bratty little sisters a lesson, fucking them like they were nothing more than toys to be degraded for fun. You regretted waiting so long out the balcony. Who knows how much time Jungkook had to scroll through your personal stash and discover your greatest weaknesses. He was basically a living wet dream, acting out the depraved fantasies you’ve only been able to imagine before. The fact that Jungkook had seen it and chose this specific scenario to use it against you only made you more hot and bothered, attempting to rub your thighs together as Jungkook further intimidated you.

Your hands reached up to grip his shirt, wanting to bury your face against the cloth to hide your embarrassment. Jungkook was cruel, however, gripping your chin again to force you to look up at him. You looked so docile and submissive in his grasp, his large hand enveloping your chin, causing your lips to form a cute pout as you stared up at him with big doe eyes.“Did you?”

“Yes…” you shamefully confessed.

“Little pervert,” Jungkook hissed, lips pressing against your neck, harshly nipping against the sensitive skin. “Don’t you think that’s a bit cliché, Y/N? I didn’t know you were this dirty.” His hands stroked beneath your shirt, fingers teasing the underside of your breasts, his thumb tracing the curve underneath. His lips slid up against the shell of your ear.“I guess I get it, though. If you were my step-sister I’d be sneaking into your room every night to eat your little cunt while you slept. I’d be finger fucking you under the table every family dinner and fucking you on every surface of the house. I’d be fucking you seven days a week, every hour, every second. You’d be my personal slut.”

You gasped at that, and Jungkook took the opportunity to slip his thumb into your mouth, his other hand pinching on your nipple, the pull rough enough to sting pleasurably. “You want that, Y/N? Like the idea of me fucking you like the bratty little step-sister you want to be so badly?”

You moaned against the thumb in your mouth, causing Jungkook to grin. “Shame Namjoon’s machines are busy. Otherwise I could have you get ‘stuck’ and fuck you without you being able to do anything about it.” He slipped his thumb out and dove in, mouth against yours to devour your moans. Your knees went weak as you felt his tongue slip into your mouth, dominating yours with ease. Jungkook was an exceptional kisser, a talent that was rare to come by. It left no room for question. He pulled away to let you catch your breath, still swept up in the sensation of the kiss. “But I think I have another idea…”

He pulled your arms up to wrap around his neck, giving you little warning as he roughly started to tug down your shorts and panties in one go. You gripped onto his broad shoulders, burying your face in his neck and squealing quietly. Jungkook’s palm enveloped your pussy, feeling the warm heat radiating against his palm. He ground the heel of his palm against you, enjoying the expressions you were making. “‘Course this pussy gets wet from this shit. Stupid slut getting all worked up?” He manhandled you, picking you up to sit on top of the rattling dryer, the vibrations giving pleasure against your wet cunt. Your hips jumped at being stimulated so much so quickly, but Jungkook’s hands pinned you down, making sure you felt every bit. His nose brushed against yours, watching your pitiful expression carefully and wickedly grinning as he watched you suffer, not letting you lift even a centimeter. “Say the line.”

“W-What?”

“That cheesy, corny line in the disgusting step-sibling porn you like,” Jungkook scoffed condescendingly, rolling his eyes in annoyance and lightly slapping your face again. “Say it if you want your precious step-brother to dick you down the way you’ve always wanted.”

Tears sprung at the corners of your eyes as you trembled on top of the dryer, Jungkook’s grip holding you firm. You internally cringed from the humiliation Jungkook was making you endure, his sadism milking every moment he could to watch you squirm in embarrassment for him. “W-What’re you d-doing step-b-bro?”

Jungkook laughed at that, a cruel howl that made you even more flushed. “You really do sound like a pornstar, Y/N. You should be proud.” His thumb slides down to your clit, the added pressure also vibrating against your core. “Say thank you.”

“T-Thank youuuu,” you rode out your orgasm, shaking as you slump against Jungkook, gripping onto his shoulders for support.

His nose nuzzled into your hair, hands dragging you closer to the edge of the dryer. He pulled your legs apart, angling your hips up to reveal your bare pussy to him. You moaned out when he slaps his hand against your mound. His palm pressed against your mouth, muffling your cry as he scowled at you. “Want our parents to hear what a slut you are? Shut the fuck up.”

He plunged two fingers into you, the digits vibrating as he curled them against your sweet spot. Your eyes were almost crossing, still feeling sensitive from your previous orgasm. You tried to moan out his name from under his palm, but he pressed it harder against you. “You’re a big girl, right? Then fucking take it.”

You’re forced to submit to his punishing pace, moan suppressed as he moved his fingers consume all of your senses. Watching his tatted forearm flex before you in an effort to make you cum was such a turn on. You bent to his whims, fluids spilling from you as you squirted, your legs spasming. Jungkook got wet in the process, a large wet spot covering the lower part of his shirt. Looks like there was more laundry to be done. He cursed under his breath, yanking his fingers out to rub his fingers quickly over your clit, making you whine. “Messy little slut. Got everything fucking dirty.”

He dipped down to give a few licks to your swollen pussy, making you cringe in overstimulation. Your thighs tense and twitch near his head, but his grip is too firm, not allowing you to close them together. He bullied his way between your legs, thumbs parting your folds to properly inspect your twitching and swollen cunt. “Jungkook, please, want…”

“Want what?” He dove his tongue into your pussy, your sensitive walls twitching around the wet muscle. “Want more? Want someone to catch you riding your step brother’s face because you couldn’t shut up like I told you to? Want to cum on my tongue and let me use you? Those sex brownies still have you horny after you squirted for me?”

“Want your cock,” your fingers curled around his locks, whining as you felt him toy with you a bit more.

“Yeah? Need it?” He licked you a little more until he was satisfied before coming up and kissing you, forcing you to taste yourself of his tongue. He pulled back, lips ghosting over yours teasingly. “Need your step-brother’s cock in your little pussy?”

“So much,” you begged, nodding as you grabbed his face, locking lips. “Want your cum.”

He growled out at that, quickly dragging you off the dryer with little patience, roughly twisting you around and bending you over it. “Nasty little bitch, begging for cum without being asked. Fucking greedy.”

You shook your hips when you felt him against your entrance, but it only earned you a stinging spank to the ass for your impatience. You couldn’t help it, though, your body throbbing with need that only Jungkook could fulfill. Jungkook bent down to have his chest press against your back, hand coming to the front of your neck to squeeze lightly. “Here’s the dick you craved so badly, dumb slut.”

It was a tight push into you, but the feeling of having him fill you up so completely was so worth the delicious stretch. Your head went dizzy as Jungkook’s grip tightened, hissing as he adjusted to the feeling of you wrapped around him. “Fuck!” He cursed, slapping your ass as you squealed and sunk down deeper on his cock. “Of course you get this wet over being used like a fucking toy. Should’ve known you were a whore, I would’ve dicked you down the way you deserved sooner.”

He tenderly kissed you, hips pulling back as he begins to thrust into you. His hand glided up to your jaw, keeping you in place as he devoured you, hungrily swallowing every whimper and moan that escaped your lips. And he called you the greedy one. “Take my cock so fucking good,” he mumbled against your lips. “Knew a dumb slut like you was good for something.”

You nodded along, feeling yourself get closer to the edge with his degradation. “Am I the first one to fuck this slutty pussy so far?” he questioned, growling out the words as he focused on battering the sweet spot inside you.

“Yes, y-you-“

“Good,” he grunted. “Your step brother should be the first one to feel how tight this wet cunt is. It’s my right.”

“Yes, it is!” You whined against him, rolling your hips against his. “J-Jungkook-“

“Gonna cum again? Horny fucking slut.” His digits travelled down to toy with your clit. “Fucking cum then while I fill you up, pretty.”

You let go, shaking beneath Jungkook as your orgasm washed over you. You felt the strange, warm sensation of Jungkook’s cum painting your walls white. Quickly, he turned you around, yanking out his cock to give the last few strokes, spreading your legs before cumming on your swollen pussy, covering your folds in cum. He let his cock stroke against you, smearing the cum against you, making you bite your lip in arousal. Feeling it drip out of you and smeared on top of you felt super degrading, like you were just something for him to dump his load on.

As if to further his point, he plunged his fingers inside, watching the milky white substance coat his fingers along with your slick. He wiped his fingers against your cum covered skin, smearing it on you to dirty you further, biting his lip as he admired his art work.

Jungkook kissed you slowly, kisses soft, calming you down as you both came down from your respective highs. He was practically the only thing holding you up, his arms wrapped around you tightly as you processed the intensity of what you just did. His hands ran over your trembling body, helping to bring you down to Earth.

“Fuck,” Jungkook muttered under his breath, gazing at your fucked out expression. “Knew you were a little freak.”

#jungkook #jungkook smut #smut #bts smut #jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenario

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fallenmonsters · 5 months

Text

red flags.

summary ➳ you’re way worse than yeonjin personality-wise, but jaejun couldn’t care less when you treat him better than she ever did, even when you’re also married and may or may not just be using him.

pairings ➳ jeon jaejun x male reader

warnings ➳ nsfw content, foul language, top!reader, bottom!jaejun, probably ooc jaejun, infidelity, mafia!toxic!reader, consumption of nicotine and alcohol, marking, possessiveness, unprotected sex, rough couch sex, pet names, choking, overstimulation, dacryphilia, shotgunning, cock warming, sir kink, jealousy, brief burn kink, mentions of murder, manipulation

author’s note ➳ toxic reader >>>>>> toxic characters

MINORS DNI !!

The scent of sex and alcohol combines together in the dimly lit room, orange hues casting shadows on furnitures as the sound of gasps and whimpers fill the arousing atmosphere. Two shot glasses and a bottle of whiskey as expensive as diamonds laid on the table, now entirely ignored by the sole persons who had previously been drinking it to no end. Photographs, which seems to have been taken in secret, scattered alongside them in random orders; one in particular captured Park Yeonjin entering Siesta Luxury Shop.

“Stay still, ‘jun. Wouldn’t want me to get more angry, do you?” You ordered, lowly and warningly, gripping the trembling man’s hips with one hand and narrowing your eyes.

Jaejun shakes, gasping when you forced him to properly sit on your lap, prepped hole stretched to the brim and completely filled by your thick and long cock. He leans back on your chest and holds both of your thighs in a death grip, biting his lower lip to contain himself from moving. You hum quietly in a pleased manner against his ear that had him nearly squirming, throwing his head back to rest it on your shoulder and revealing the hickeys littered around his neck.

Your hand that was previously on his hip moves up to trail your fingers against the purple bruises and love bites you created yourself, amusement glinting in your eyes when he shivered. “You look really pretty all marked up like this. Perhaps, you could go out with your little friends sometime with all these visible so they’ll know just who exactly you fuck behind their backs.” The humiliation in your tone makes Jaejun flush as a quiet whimper escapes his throat, trying to hide his red face by burying it on the crook of your neck. The lack of his usual arrogance and cockiness gives you a surge of pride and ego, striking you further with arousal and lust.

Jeon Jaejun was by all means not a man without power. He’s always got the upper hand, whether in business or personal matters, and didn’t like having no control over the people or situation itself. He’s been an influential figure since he was young, growing up with golden spoon being fed to him by his wealthy parents who couldn’t be bothered to teach him basic human decency, which build him up to look down upon those who didn’t get a luxury to be like him. Inevitably, it built an excessive belief within himself that there’s just no one more superior and powerful, that he’d always be on top controlling and ordering people around.

But then, you came in and shattered everything he believed in with just few flicks of your hand.

Park Yeonjin’s older brother who’s got a long history of rivalry with Yeonjin herself, everyone was shocked to find out your influence and power exceeded that of theirs with many successful businesses and connections that goes beyond anyone’s imagination, grinning tauntingly at your own sister and proudly mocking her lack of capabilities in building things for herself without your mother’s help. You were quite the mysterious man, a conventionally attractive individual that had respectful manners and sultry eyes which had an unknown glint that pulls people in. A certain confidence to the way you present yourself, cool and collected demeanour surrounding your every being with pride and ego evident but not too much to appear narcissistic. You give off a high-class, elegant, well-mannered, intimidating wealthy man at first glance with multiple tattoos inked to your skin, several piercings, and a scent of expensive woody cologne mixed with slightest hint of cigarettes.

You’re the type of person who everyone will know at first glance that held a lot of power more than anyone could possibly imagine, your atmosphere giving off a silent warning to those who are foolish enough to even consider you as an enemy. There’s a certain look in your eyes that just intimidates people to submit to your doings, forcibly putting them in their places — below you, that is — and making them stay there regardless of status. You held the lives of those around you in the palm of your hand from how much power you had on society. Terrifyingly, you had done it all by yourself without help from Hong Yeong-ae, which spoke volumes of your capabilities and accomplishments.

It’s simply impossible to have control over you, Jaejun learned it the hard way.

Besides, how could he take it back when it feels utterly good being claimed and controlled by you?

“I— fuck, sir—” Jaejun cursed, feeling desperate for friction when staying still became harder as time pass by. He tilts his head sideways with a moan when you nibble on his jaw, kissing sweetly on the spot before biting down.

“It’s only been fifteen minutes, ‘jun. Quit it.” You mutter against his ear, bringing your hand to press on his stomach that had him twitching and squeezing around you. “Feel that? Got my cock nice and warm in there, doin’ such a good job of it.” You chuckled under your breath and brought a cigarette to your lips, inhaling the intoxicating nicotine.

Tears brim in Jaejun’s eyes due to desperation, eagerly accepting the smoke exhaled from your mouth when you leaned in and closing the distance to taste your lips. You quickly slipped your tongue in his mouth, exploring and rubbing his tongue with yours, making his head cloud with pleasure. He was forced to break the kiss when you suddenly thrusted your hips up and pulled a loud moan out of him, your name tumbling down from his mouth.

“shit, fuck— please,” He pleaded quietly and arched his back to cause a little friction.

You teasingly smirk at him, “I don’t know, love. Should I really fuck you? You’ve already fucked someone else this morning, after all.” Pressing kisses on his bare neck and shoulder, you held him down with one hand to keep him from fucking himself.

Jaejun shakes his head rapidly, “Didn’t— I didn’t even fuckin’ enjoyed it, fuck! Just please please, let me have it, sir.”

You let out a low chuckle, uncaring of his growing urge to pleasure himself, too comfortable with the warmth surrounding your cock. “Why fuck someone when you don’t even enjoy it, then? You and I both know how much you love getting your guts rearranged like a fuckin’ bitch by me.” You brought the cigarette back to your lips and inhaled the smoke, holding it in your lungs for a second before releasing it, the routine feeling somewhat therapeutic.

The male gritted his teeth and grasped your left hand in his shaking one to bite on the ring finger as a slightest bit of rebellion, trying his best to shoot you a glare. “F-fucking asshole… ngh! M’gonna fuckin’ ask you the same.”

There’s jealousy evident in his tone and you glanced down at your finger that he bit, only then remembering the silver wedding ring graciously wrapped around it. “Ahh, almost forgot. Haven’t seen her for a long time, do you think she misses me?” Jaejun bites back a retort at your amused face, knowing you were only saying it to get a rise out of him, yet he still can’t help the prickle of pain that struck his heart and squeezed his chest.

You’re such a fucking asshole, even more than him, and he hated it. But he could never bring himself to despise you no matter what, not when you hold him so dearly every-time you see each other, as if you were married to him.

Your amused expression falls when he doesn’t answer and you thrust your hip up roughly, pulling a startled moan out of him as you grip his jaw in a slightly painful way. “You’re in no place to ignore me, Jaejun. You’re the one that started this in the first place, calling my sister over to your shop when I told you not to. What’s wrong with me talking a little about my wife?”

The displeasure in your eyes make chills run up his spine and causes several apologies to spill from his lips, not wanting to disappoint you more and end up being thrown away for your trophy wife just because he failed to be good. He knew there’s no one better than him out there, but you’re always capable of throwing him away to find someone else that suits your taste more. After all, you only wanted him in the first place because he belonged to your despicable little sister. Even he was not special in your eyes.

Your eyes soften at the small panic in his apologetic voice, sliding your hand up to rest your palm on his cheek instead and rolling your hips to stimulate his aching cunt. Jaejun’s apologies quiet down, whimpering and moaning softly at the pleasure you were finally giving him.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about, baby. m’just pissed it looks like you don’t know you belong to me now.” You nipped at his shoulder before harshly biting down, making Jaejun groan and jerk in pain. You licked the blood that seeped out, your cock twitching inside him at the taste. “You’re already mine, ‘jun. Not Yeonjin’s, and definitely not Hyejeong’s.”

Jaejun trembled at the possessiveness in your tone, whining desperately as his warm hole clamps down on your cock in arousal. It turned him on how tight you had a grip on him, the thought of not being able to escape your hold bringing a new sense of euphoria within his body.

Have you ever even treated your wife this way? Anyone could see in business gatherings how uninterested you are despite being tied down to her, the nonchalance, neutrality in your eyes and certain coldness in the way you speak to her, as if reminding her of her place, putting a clear image in people’s head. Jaejun almost pitied your wife in a way, being married to someone as cruel as you.

You thrusted your hips in an angle that rubbed against his prostate and Jaejun cries out, before you completely pulled out and shoved him down face first on the sofa without giving him time to process. Jaejun’s breath hitches when the smell of nicotine nears him, fear and lust evident in his eyes as he takes in the sight of your cigarette few inches away from his shoulder. He stays still in spite of knowing your intention, breathing hard as excitement rushed through his veins.

“You know this very well, baby. I’ll kill anyone who’d dare steal you away from me,” You grin devilishly and lean down, pulling him slightly up by his throat to expose his collarbones. Jaejun hisses and groans loudly when the cigarette burned his skin, precum leaking out of his cock as he jerked his hips on the rough material of the sofa. “and I’ll kill you if you ever try to run away from me.”

“f-fuck—! jesus christ,” He whimpered, feeling the burn sting and worryingly so fucking turned on by your threat.

Holding his shoulder down with one hand, you slipped your hard cock back into his hole again and shoved it all in without warning, ripping out a loud cry of your name from Jaejun’s throat. “Fuuuuck, so tight.” You cursed, licking your lips before beginning to thrust your cock in and out without waiting for him to adjust.

“w-wait—! I can’t— ohhh, oh my god!” Jaejun grips on the leather couch tightly as he moaned, electricity sparkling in his head and pleasure clouding his mind.

“Your hole’s so tight every-time I mark you up with my cigarette,” You murmured against the skin on his nape. Just as anticipated, your teeth sink in few seconds later to leave another mark that had Jaejun gasping, tightening more around you if that was possible.

“ho— holy shit! aughh—! more, fuckfuckfuck—! please,” He begged while arching his back, which you willingly fulfilled, sharply snapping your hips to assault his prostate and gummy walls.

Jaejun looked so pretty and handsome covered in your marks, countless hickeys and love bites decorating his neck, chest, nape, and back, his black robe deeming useless as it barely hung on his body. He’s nothing but helpless under you; a moaning mess who can’t do anything except take what you give, tears streaming down his cheeks as he attempted to stay coherent. His efforts are useless, of course. He’s already becoming a dumb bitch for your dick.

You slipped your hand to his throat while keeping your pace, grunting in his ear and chuckling breathlessly. “If you want me to get rid of my wife, just say the word and I’ll do it.” You whispered, making Jaejun shiver. “Unlike my bullshit of a sister, I’m not afraid to make you officially mine.”

Your words dig into his brain yet he couldn’t muster up a coherent response from all the euphoria he felt, drool dripping down his chin as all he could do was moan and whine and scream your name. He scratches against the sofa in attempt to ground himself, but failing to do so as your thrusts kept hitting every right spot, his eyes almost rolling back into his skull.

“Can’t speak properly now? Have I fucked you dumb, baby?”

“yes— yesyesyes, fuck, there— fuckin’ good!” Jaejun sobbed, his body trembling.

His tears looked so pretty on his fucked-out face. Jaejun rarely ever cries, and it made you fucking egotistical how you can easily do it with just few thrusts of your hips. His arrogance was your most favourite thing about him, but only because you get to ruin it and reduce him into nothing but your bitch. It’s amusing, really. The humiliation he gets makes him feel so ashamed, but you knew well enough that Jaejun could never handle being away from you. You had him completely under your grasp, all you had to do is just pamper him with affection and whisper love and false promises to his ear.

There’s nothing you love more than having control over Jaejun. How easily he fell into your trap, how he doesn’t realise he was being used against Yeonjin, how putty he becomes in your arms with just few words. You found him foolish yet was addicted to his presence and can’t be bothered to let go. It’s laughable how you feel overprotective of him enough that whoever flirts with Jaejun turns up dead the next day under mysterious circumstances. You had a bit of a problematic habit of burying your enemies to the ground, not like Jaejun even knows.

“fuck, ‘jun…” You groaned, “Whose bitch are you again? Will you remind me, baby?”

“Yours!” Jaejun cried out as he feels his orgasm approaching and intertwines his hand with yours that wasn’t holding his throat, as if not clinging to you would pain him. “shitshitshit, oh my god—! m’yours, fuck! Jus’ yours, sir, promise!” He babbled, mind-fucked.

“Good, you know your place well.” You praised and suddenly squeezed his arteries, making Jaejun gasp as his cock twitched against the sofa, stars sparkling in his vision. “I’m the only one allowed to fuck you like this, hear me? You fuck around again n’ I’ll make sure those losers can’t see a day anymore.” You thrusted sharply and Jaejun sobs. “That includes my fucking sister.”

“oh— aghhnn-! fuck, yes, only you— oh fuck, oh fuck, so close— sir—!” He mumbles, the coil in his stomach tightening. “please let me cum, sir. please, pleaseplease,” He chokes up.

The corner of your lips pull up to form a pleased smirk, tightening your hold on Jaejun’s throat and cutting off his airway that caused him to clench around you and squirm. “Good boy. Cum.” You ordered almost authoritatively, and as if that’s the only push he needed, Jaejun’s mouth fall open in a silent scream as he reached his climax, eyes rolling back into his skull.

You groan at the extra tightness and maintain your pace, helping him ride out his orgasm, Jaejun’s body violently shaking from the immense pleasure with white clouding his vision. Jaejun whimpered your name when you continued to move and peppered kisses on his back. His thighs quivered from overstimulation. He was entirely blissed out, hazy eyes unfocused, soft whines and mewls falling from his lips.

However, the gentle moment doesn’t last long as you pulled your cock almost all the way out and suddenly slammed it all in, Jaejun letting out a startled scream and staining the leather underneath with another rope of white cum.

“We’re not finished,” You whispered darkly against his ear and grinned at his pale face, gripping his hips so tight to leave a bruise. “I haven’t cum yet, dog. It’s rude to finish without letting your owner cum, you know.”

“W-wait— FUCK!”

You shoved him down when he attempted to crawl up, burying yourself deeper into his guts. You licked your lips and propped one of your legs up to prepare for a much better fucking.

“I fucking love you, Jaejun, you know that? So let me use you and make me cum, yeah? Then, you can spend the whole day here with all my cum still inside you. What do you say?”

You really hated vanilla — after all, what’s the point of sex if you can’t use the other to chase your own pleasure?

“……Please.”

You smiled, “Good boy.”

Cigarette in between your fingers and addictive smoke exiting your mouth, you tilt your head with curiosity and observation. The woman before you remain unfazed despite the clear disturbed look in her eyes at your resemblance with Park Yeonjin, the indifference — almost psychopathy — in your emotionless eyes aligning with her memory of the terrible bully. It’s like staring at a ghost that had something inhumane within.

“You must’ve planned this well,” You cast a glance at all the evidence of Yeonjin’s pathetic attempt at keeping her relevance by hurting those below her standard. “The bitch’s hard to keep up with, I can’t say I’m not impressed by your determination.”

Joo Yeojeong, the plastic surgeon that accompanied her out of concern, seemingly looked surprised by your antagonistic attitude to your own blood. Moon Dongeun doesn’t seem to be the case as she barely reacted, probably having already investigated you although it isn’t unknown that you have a personal vendetta against your family member.

You’re quite open to the public of your distaste to your good-for-nothing family, often answering the questions about them with too much passive-aggressiveness that everyone easily caught up on. Simply an outstanding individual that built up businesses from zero all on your own and created great reputation among the best businessmen and women without a single mention of any family member, there were rumours of the possibility that either they’re deceased or you had a fall out, and you took that to your advantage. By laying out warnings that even your family wouldn’t be forgiven had they ever cross you, you established power and authority among many influential figures and anyone alike.

Dongeun has researched you well enough to know hatred wasn’t exactly the word to describe your perspective of Yeonjin. It’s more than distaste, rivalry, detestation, loathe, or anything.

You, quite simply, wanted Yeonjin gone.

Is it psychopathy? Derangement? Mania? Insanity? Not knowing the cause of your behaviour never fails to send chills down her spine, your questionable morals and unpredictability nothing but unsettling and sinister more than your sister’s. Luckily, Yeojeong’s there to keep her nerves at ease.

“I’m not here to chat,” She says, voice wavering.

“Obviously not.” You reply indifferently, crossing your leg over the other and inhaling a smoke, blowing it over your shoulder.

Good manners, Dongeun takes a mental note.

“I’m asking for your understanding in advance,” She stated, watching your nonchalant expression slightly shift as you raise your brows. “I don’t want to run into unpredictable problems while executing my revenge. I know my place, I’ll be unsuccessful if you happen to dislike any other people going against Yeonjin. You’ve got quite the reputation in black organisations.”

She takes out another see-through file and slides it to you across the table, an amused scoff escaping your mouth at the sight of your gang’s symbol — a grim reaper, with snake circling it, holding a scythe — on the upper section of the document. Her investigation skills were impressive, to say the least. No one knows about your side job with an exception of certain people.

Deep, raspy chuckle rumbles from your throat and your companions resisted the urge to shiver. What an odd sight it was, an intrigued grin plastered over your previously blank face.

“Great observation, eh? I’m definitely that kind of type.” You shrug, “But I can assure you, I don’t give a damn about whatever you do to her. I found it ridiculous that she’s become so cocky and self-righteous these past years when Ha Doyoung and Hong Yeong-ae are the only reason she’s still relevant, and the latter’s already losing a thing to be prideful of. Imbeciles like them deserves to be put in their places.”

Yeojeong perks up at that. “Wait, does that mean…?”

“You have my blessing to make Park Yeonjin’s life a living hell,” You smirked.

Dongeun observes your body language; a deeply comfortable and relaxed demeanour with not a single ounce of remorse or guilt that you’re practically sending your own sister to an execution site. “You’re surprisingly easy to convince,” She commented.

Amusement glints in your eyes, almost accompanied by mockery as you chuckled. “Don’t give yourself too much credit, Ms. Moon. I’ve already been making Yeonjin’s life fall apart and I’m allowing you to join in. There wasn’t much convincing.”

“Why do you want Park Yeonjin’s downfall that much?” Yeojeong questioned curiously. “I thought your blood is still your blood even when you don’t see eye to eye all the time.”

You brought the cigarette to your lips and smiled, almost sinisterly, while tilting your head, an unsettling look more clearer in your eyes as you stared into their soul. “I kill people for a living, what makes you think I’ll have mercy on people who had long lost their purpose and significance in my life?”

Dongeun’s hands trembled under the table. Yeojeong swallowed thickly, the serial killer who had ruined his life before entering his mind all of a sudden due to the remote resemblance.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” As if you hadn’t been talking so cruelly about your family, an out-of-place cheerful and friendly grin appears on your face. “Jeon Jaejun is off-limits, Ms. Moon. I couldn’t care less what you do to him as long as he comes back to me alive.” You leaned in and tapped slowly on the photography of Jaejun, eyes trailing across your favourite toy’s feature.

Dongeun paused, remembering the one photograph Kang Hyeonnam managed to capture. You with your arm possessively wrapped around Jaejun’s shoulders as he talked with a certain woman, piercingly staring at her with a clear warning.

“Right, you’re possessive of Jaejun.” She remarked after a while. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say you’re in love with him.”

You let out a laugh under your breath, extinguishing the lit cigarette by pressing it on the ashtray. “Well, he’s quite an adorable dog.” You leaned back on the office chair, “But you’re correct about that.”

“Don’t you think you’re protecting him because you like him?” Dongeun genuinely asked.

The lack of malice in her tone let you know she wasn’t looking down on you, just making an assumption that she thought was possible, which is why you remained neutral in spite of your tendency to get irritated quickly. You feel like you could have genuine conversation with this woman and perhaps, even form an alliance, because not once had she gotten into your nerves this entire meeting. Her well-mannered attitude and calm, sophisticated personality did nothing but please you. It’s actually refreshing to meet someone who isn’t an obtuse fucking asshole that pretends to be something. She’s fearless, of course, but she perfectly knew her place and yours.

“Would you call it protecting when I’m even allowing you to do whatever you please with him?” You fired back, smiling almost genuinely at her. “I don’t care if he comes back to me crippled or blind as long as he’s breathing, because I simply refuse to mind someone else’s business. This is your revenge. I’ve got no plans interfering with something that doesn’t affect me nor my businesses.”

“You didn’t ask me why I’m doing this,” Dongeun wonders out loud. “Did you already know?”

“Of course,” You admitted with a nonchalant shrug. “I already had something planned ahead for the big final revelation of my beautiful younger sister,” You sneered with sarcasm. “But this is much more fitting for her. I have too much things to do to look through your evidence and figure out which ones you haven’t gotten yet, so I’ll just send you everything I’ve gathered myself.”

Slight surprise appeared on both of their faces and they exchanged a glance before Dongeun looked back to you. “That’s… helpful, but in exchange for what?”

You smiled, glad that it’s easy for her to figure out your intent. “Their absolute damnation.”

Dongeun stares at you, feeling the silent threats hanging in the air. Looking at your eyes glinting in mischief was enough; the failure to condemn Park Yeonjin and the others will result in her getting placed in the execution site with them. It was an oath from you to her, that she will gain all of your support in her plans, but can easily lose it once something doesn’t go according to plan.

You flashed a grin at her, leaning on your elbows. “Once everything goes smooth and they’re rotting either in prison or somewhere six feet under, I’ll give you a grace to be on the off-limits list in our organisation. That means you’ll be under my protection and not a single one of my men can harm you, even me.”

“What if you break it?” Yeojeong instantly chimes in, his concern evident for the woman.

“Then, I’ll cut my throat.” You don’t miss a beat to reply, making them widen their eyes. “People like us take deals, promises and oaths very seriously. Breaking them simply makes us a disgrace to the organisation, even the one that built it, so we tend to avoid going against what we initially agreed upon.”

Dongeun goes silent for a moment, contemplation plastered on her face, but gave you a nod afterwards. “That’ll be fine.” Her expression then shifts into a skeptical look, “But wouldn’t it be troublesome for you if Jeon Jaejun finds out you’re helping me?”

Your lips outstretched into a twisted smile that Dongeun and Yeojeong can’t be sure they’ll ever get used to.

“He doesn’t have to — what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him, can it?”

Jaejun would come to you for help, he was adorable like that. He’d tell you about Moon Dongeun and her revenge against him. You just have to pretend you know nothing and take care of him, like you always do, and comfort him — so he would finally realise you’re the only one he can truly rely on. Not anyone, not Yeonjin, but you.

I’m so happy you’ve come this far, baby sis.

You thought to yourself, watching as a servant poured you and your two guests a red wine.

Everything you surrounded yourself with, is mine.

I win again, so I thank you with all my heart.

You’ve always been better than her and it’s going to stay that way, even with her ex-lover.

#male reader #x male reader #x reader #the glory #the glory x reader #the glory x male reader #jeon jaejun #jeon jaejun x male reader #jeon jaejun x reader #gay #lgbtq #mlm #jaejun x reader #jaejun x male reader #the glory jaejun

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famwhy · 1 year

Text

Right Way Up (04)

Stranger Things

Yandere! Steve Harrington X F!Reader, Yandere! Eddie Munson X F!Reader, Yandere! Billy Hargrove X F!Reader

Synopsis: You always hated when your favourite characters died in shows or movies; always longed to have the opportunity to save them. So when you're transported into one of your favourite shows of all time, what else are you supposed to do besides save your beloved characters?

Warnings: Threat/violence, Gore, Mentions of sexual content (implicit), Death, Manipulation, Depictions of toxic relationships, Drugs and alcohol abuse

Note: omg guys, I came across an account that said their current favourite fic was this one in their bio. I'm acc so happy, tysm

prev part. masterlist.

04. bring unto me peculiarity

trait: e.m.

YOU blinked, jaw hung open and muscles tense as her grip around you tightened—constricting your movements and clogging your airways. Though, breathing was the least of your concerns when it came to tight hugs at the moment, not when you had your dumb arm to worry about.

As if on cue, a sharp rupture of pain spiked your side, and you winced, grunting a little before sucking a breath in through your teeth and asking—albeit with scrunched up features—"...sorry, do I know you?"

"Wha—?" She pulled away at that, and the look she gave you—oh, the look she gave you—it was full of heartbreak, emotional turmoil spanning as far as the eye could see. "It's me, baby, it's mommy."

"Mom?"

You thought you didn't have a mother.

"Yes, baby, it's me. It's mom." She smiled, pupils shaking in—and you could be wrong about this, but—what seemed like... desperation?

What's up with that?

And, if this lady really was your mother, where the hell had she been all these days?

"Y/N? The hell is taking so—?"

A strange sense of déjà vu drenched your form as your eyes followed the new voice, landing on the slightly-parted lips and wide, almost-disbelieving eyes of your second oldest brother—hands still covered by the huge, red gloves he often adorned.

Then, his features scrunched up—though, it wasn't like yours had just done—no—his were harder, more purposeful; his were clouded in a storm consisting purely of loathing so unadulterated, you had half a mind to think he was staring—no, glaring—into the form of his worst enemy.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" And as he spoke, venom spat out of his mouth, launching itself straight onto the woman still loosely holding you and causing her face to scrunch up in a pained wince. "Shouldn't you be on one of your fucking five-year-long business trips?"

"Oh honey—"

His glare grew sharper. "Don't call me that."

"I..." she trailed off and you blinked, helpless to the scene that was playing out right before your very eyes.

"I don't know what the fuck got into you but you can't just waltz in here like..." his face scrunched up, brows furrowing as he paused the sentence for one... two... three seconds before continuing, spite still as prevalent as ever, "like you belong!"

You watched as her face dropped even further at that—the barely visible bags under her eyes looking about ten times worse than they did before.

Now, you had no idea what type of past you were meant to have shared with this woman—how horrible it truly was—but surely someone who greeted you so warmly at the door couldn't be too bad?

So with that thought in mind, you narrowed your eyes by the slightest amount—a little... hesitantly—before lightly scolding, "Hey. Curt, maybe tone it down a little?"

His attention averted from the woman—hateful, dark eyes that were once throwing daggers her way, now unapologetically directed towards you. "'Tone it down a little'? Do you hear yourself, Y/N? That woman missed almost every single birthday of yours! Every. Single. One!"

Alright, so, you didn't usually consider yourself to be much of a coward, but being the recipient of that deadly gaze was enough to make you yield just this once—both of your hands flying up to rest in the air beside your head. Hey, you tried, he just didn't listen.

Besides, you were only a mere bystander in this squabble anyway. Sure, you felt bad for the woman, but not bad enough to get socked in the face by a boxer for her.

...okay, now you just sounded like a jerk.

Feeling your heart tighten slightly, you shook your head to rid yourself of those awful, intrusive thoughts and parted your lips in an attempt to redeem yourself.

Keyword: attempt.

Before even a word could breeze past your tongue, another voice entered the fray—one a lot more grounded than any other you'd heard since you opened the door—"What the hell is with all this—? Mom?"

You tilted your head just enough to catch the approaching form of your oldest brother—his figure growing with each step he took—and the closer he grew, the clearer his facial expression became.

His brows were furrowed, but instead of the hostile way that Curt's were, his were more... well, confused?—shocked, perhaps?—or maybe a better word for it would be baffled? Either/or, he didn't look like he was terribly upset with her appearance, further grinding your theory of her not being that bad into reality.

"What are you doing here?"

"I just thought that—" the sudden lack of warmth around your arms had your head whipping back, eyes watching as the same fingers that were once wrapped around you, now awkwardly rubbed the woman's other limb, "—maybe it was about time I spent some quality time with you all?"

Before you could even register what she had said—Curt's voice hastily cut through the air; a tone of finality you hadn't heard him use before laced so deeply within it, "Too little too late."

Though—if you were being entirely honest—you were starting to tune it out—all of it: the apologies, the confusion, the arguing; all of it. A familiar sense of surrealism washed over you as you witnessed the events unfold; as you watched their mouths move soundlessly—your new brothers seemingly arguing with a woman who held the looks of your mother but seemed to act nothing like her.

It was weird, strange. You weren't even sure how to feel. From the looks of things, this... mother of yours seemed to not be around much—and one of your brothers hated her for it, while the other merely seemed to... well, you weren't entirely sure what he felt yet. Hell, you didn't even know what you were supposed to feel.

Should you be sad? Mad? Indifferent?—'cause that's what you felt right now. This world wasn't even meant to have you in it at all. There was no character named Y/N who looked exactly like you and had two older brothers with a seemingly neglectful mother and who-knows-what-happened-to-him father.

Even if you wanted to copy the mannerisms of the Y/N belonging to this world, you couldn't because there wasn't one. She didn't exist.

How the hell were you supposed to react?

You could've asked yourself that question a billion more times, but the sudden rush of air that hit your face crashed you straight back to reality—just in time too, for not even moments later, an abrupt 'slam!' echoed from behind.

Confused, your gaze found Cain's.

"Give him some time. He's probably off to go fuck some chick and get his mind off this."

Slowly, you nodded.

Then, you heard it; the sound of her voice continuing to speak behind you with that broken lilt—the one she just couldn't seem to drop—laced so deeply in her tone.

"I'm so sorry, babies." The woman—your mother—reached out, and you felt her fingers graze you again, "I'm so so sorry."

"It's... alright, mom," Cain responded before you could—voice seeming almost... hesitant, "It's all good."

There was no chatter after that—not a single sound escaped their lips. That was your cue; your cue to either condemn her down to hell or forgive her for this supposed neglect you weren't even around to experience.

"Sweetie..." her voice was shaky—desperate, no doubt, and seeking the forgiveness of a daughter that didn't even belong to her, "please..."

"Uh..." you weren't sure what it was, but something was holding you back from saying anything; from doing something—

—and it looked like she noticed that too.

"It's okay, I understand..."

She seems a bit... what's the word?

With hands that were once hopefully clasped around one another, now pitifully falling by her sides, and eyes that seemed to droop just a tad bit more despite the small, ingenuine quirk of her lips upwards; her whole demeanour almost screamed...

Ah. Forlorn.

Your chest felt heavy at the sight—tight and weighed down. Some type of... guilt was it? ebbed away at you. Though you didn't know why—it wasn't like she was your real mother, after all. In fact, she was a complete stranger to you; someone who you wouldn't even bother sondering over if you passed her by on the street.

How strange.

"Y/N," the soft call of your name caused your ears to perk up, and you turned to your remaining brother, "C'mon, you're due for a change."

"A change?" You tilted your head, eyes still not all there—at least, not until—

"Your bandages."

"Ohhh."

To be honest, you completely forgot about that.

"Bandages?" From the looks of things, though, your mother couldn't pass it off as easily as you. "For what?"

Immediately, Cain's eyes locked with yours—his hues swirling with a query you were able to decipher pretty easily: 'Should we tell her?'

Should you? Well, the fact that he had to ask that question in the first place was concerning, to say the least. Maybe you'd hold off on telling her for now. Just for now. Nothing permanent.

Mind made up and eyes stopping at nothing to avoid her own, you told your mother, "Don't worry about it, it's all good."

Her lips turned down, shoulders sagging and gaze falling to the floor like a glossy river over the edge of a cliff; swift and hopeless to anything wishing to stop it.

She looked so... so...

Defeated.

"Ah, okay."

You wished you could say you forgave her—you desperately prayed to—but how could you when the words refused to come out of your throat?—when they relentlessly fought with your tongue to the point they immobilised it and unfairly rendered you incapable of speech?

You could have stood there hopelessly staring at her for hours if you so wished, but the small tug on your wrist averted your gaze, and you found yourself staring at the loosened expression of your other kin.

"Let's get you wrapped up, Y/N."

You nodded.

He then took to guiding you towards the kitchen, and the whole way there, your gaze didn't leave your mother's form—watching as her figure grew smaller with each step—shorter with each breath—before completely disappearing around the corner.

"Don't feel bad."

Your ears perked up—head turning to face your older brother.

"'Bout mom," he continued, not particularly looking your way, "She hasn't been around for most of our lives, you're allowed to not forgive her."

"What about you?" You asked, "You didn't sound too sure of forgiving her yourself."

He paused.

"I..."—a rough 'ahem'—"I'm trying to."

You tilted your head. "Trying to?"

"It's..." He trailed off and furrowed his brows, as if searching for something in his mind, before continuing, "hard. Really hard. To look after people—I mean. Especially on your own."

It was your turn to furrow your brows, lips tugging down as you took in his words and really—well—thought for a good second.

It was clear that he was trying his best to be empathetic; to sympathise with her situation. And who better than him? You didn't have to be a genius to decipher the fact that he had been the one to take care of both you and Curt for pretty much the majority of your—supposed—'life'. He probably had to grow up a lot faster than 'you' would've. In that case, he could relate to her.

But, on the other hand...

"It's not fair."

"Huh?" He turned your way, blinking twice.

"To compare yourself to her," you continued, lips still curved down, "You're completely different. While she never bothered to be around, you did. You learned how to cook, clean—hell, maybe even change diapers—"

"Maybe even? You were a little shit and you know it—"

Shit, he changed your diapers too? You were just trying to be dramatic but damn.

"Okay—" that came off a little more exasperated than you wanted and clearly he could sense it too, judging by the way he snickered right after, little shit, "—my point is, you were there and she wasn't. And it's not even your responsibility to take care of us. I get that she has her supposed 'five-year-long' business trips, but she could've made time for us. You're her son too, you're allowed to be mad that she wasn't there."

He stayed silent for a few moments, and you found your hands naturally drifting down—fingers digging into your skirt harshly; anxiously. Sweat gathered on your brow and anticipation ate at your insides, chipping away at your organs and clogging your brain with worry; worry for the elongated silence that greeted your words.

Had you said something wrong? Was he going to snap at you?

Goodbye, cruel world, remember—

A chuckle.

Your ears perked up and your eyes widened in disbelief.

"And here I thought I was the one meant to be cheering you up." His shoulders bounced in a pattern you could only describe as uneven, one hand rising up to swipe at his eye.

The sight caused your muscles to loosen up, fingers losing their grip on your skirt and eyes crinkling fondly as you watched him reach up into an open cupboard—arm disappearing within the confines before reappearing not long after with a red, rectangular bag.

The sound of a zip was the next thing you heard—accompanied by his voice as he said, "Alright, let's get you all patched up, worm."

You scrunched up your nose. "Worm?"

"Yeah, annoying little things, aren't they?"

"Rude."

Another snicker had your lips quirking up again, a swirl of warmth gathering in your chest; a hint of fondness and pride. Was this how sibling banter felt?

It's... nice.

Before you could enjoy the moment any longer though, your brain just had to ruin it, giving you a thought that had your ears falling again—stomach dropping into a bottomless pit within the confines of your body.

"Is..." you started, and his ears perked up from behind the arm that slowly tugged at the grey gauze, "Is Curt gonna be okay?"

A scoff. "Yeah. You know him, he'll be super bitchy about it but he'll come running back tomorrow morning so don't worry."

You smiled. "So long as he's—ow! Watch it!"

"My bad."

"You did that on purpose."

"I did that on purpose."

"Asshole."

"D'aww, is wittle sissy's feewings hurt?"

"Shut up, you dick!"

You took it back, sibling banter was so not nice.

But, at least it was somewhat fun—unlike what happened next.

"Sweeties?" You tensed, head turning as Cain backed away—the warmth of his hand leaving you with new, pure white gauze around your arm—and turned with you. "I'm gonna head out for the night and go meet up with some old friends. Are you two going to be okay?"

Maybe if you were actually part of this world, you would've said something petty like 'nothing new there' or 'you've already not been around for most of my life, what's one more night?'—but, you weren't, and so settled with a good old fashioned—"We'll be fine,"—instead.

She was out the door in no less than two seconds.

It quickly grew dark following that—night approaching faster than you could register—and there had yet to be any sign of Curt. Guess Cain was right when he said the younger of the two would be back in the morning.

Speaking of Cain, he had some last minute call from a client regarding car troubles. Apparently, they were stranded and in dire need of assistance, so Cain was required to go to them in order to help—though, he was quite reluctant as he, no doubt, voiced to you.

"Oh my god, Cain, I'll be fine." You rolled your eyes.

"Are you sure? This street isn't exactly known for safety," he responded, expression scrunched up with what you recognised as pure worry.

"God, you're just like Steve. Nothing will happen, don't worry."

When the corner of his lips quirked up in response to your words, you felt something akin to dread claw at your innards. "Oh, I'm just like Steve, am I?"

"Shut up, he has a girlfriend," you were saying that more to yourself than him, to be honest.

"Yeah, that he drops anytime you're within two feet of him."

"I swear to god, Cain."

He snickered.

"Just go! I know you're doing this just to stall, go find that poor person stranded by the phone booth!"

"Okay, okay, I'm going."

And as his shoulders kept jerking up and down, your hand found purchase against the bumpy texture of your wooden door before pushing at full force; a 'slam!' echoing not long after.

"Stupid piece of shit," you grumbled, though, not genuinely.

...okay, maybe just a little genuinely actually, 'cause now he put the stupid thought in your head; the stupid thought of Steve Harrington actually liking you.

Preposterous.

He probably just thought of you as a really close friend—he supposedly knew you since childhood, after all, of course he would value you over Nancy sometimes.

But... theoretically, say he felt more, what would it be like?

Would he hold your hand and pull you in close? Whisper sweet nothings into your ear as you lay against him in the dead of night?—sinking into his warmth and stuffing your face in his sturdy chest. Would his lips feel soft against the bare skin of your neck?—passionate and sublime as he marked you up as his own, going lower and lower and—

Three knocks against your door.

Ugh.

"Oh my god, Cain, how many times—? Nancy?"

Lo and behold, there stood the very girlfriend of the guy you were just fantasising about.

Honestly, you would've thought it awkward had you not caught a glimpse of her expression; just a glance long enough to bleed you dry of all your previous thoughts and scrunch your face up as a whole new set rushed in—worrisome ones.

Her eyes were bloodshot, red veins visible and bringing out the puffiness to a degree that had your heart clenching and your lips subconsciously parting open to ask, "Are you alright?"

She gulped, voice shaky as she responded with, "Can I come in?"

Slowly, you nodded—palm pushing against the door just enough to allow it to fall slightly more ajar.

"Here, come sit." You gestured to the couch, hands hesitantly ghosting over her shoulders as you guided her there—watching as she gently sat down, the cotton shifting under her weight. "Can I get you anything?"

She didn't respond: head tilted down, shoulders drooped, and overall demeanour looking to be completely put-off. The poor thing.

You figured a cup of water would be fine, she looked like she needed it.

What was she doing here, anyway? From what you gathered based on the very few interactions you'd had with her, the two of you weren't very close. Why, then, would she suddenly show up at your door so late at night?

Those thoughts plagued your mind as you made your way over to the kitchen—bare feet numb to the cool of the floor. They haunted you as you reached for a cup with one hand and twisted the tap with the other—fingers unfeeling of the pressure that rained upon them. They consumed your entire being until you were left with nothing but the husk of a person on autopilot—quietly making your way back to the living room.

It was only when your eyes landed on her form again, that you snapped out of it in a small burst of surprise.

Gone was the once sat-down figure with an air of dismay clouding her form—replaced, instead, by one that stood up straight, brows furrowed and shoulders tensed as she paced back and forth vigorously. Keyword: paced—she stopped as soon as you arrived, much to your own confusion.

"Nancy, what are you—?"

"You're thinking about Barb too, right?"

She looked you dead in the eyes, and you almost found yourself growing fidgety under her intense gaze.

"What?"

"It's just that..." she trailed off, faltering for a moment, "well, Steve mentioned you've been acting off lately—"

Shit. Steve was catching on.

"—and I was wondering if... it was bothering you too."

You blinked, parting your lips to ask for a little more—for some sort of elaboration—but her voice continued before you even had a chance.

"I mean, it's dumb that we have to keep this whole thing a secret!" She exclaimed, hands making wild gestures now. "Her family deserves to know."

You stood there, blinking in a daze that hadn't quite passed since the moment she arrived. It felt like you had just wandered into a confusing maze, with twists and turns spanning as far as the eye could see; each one riddled with its own set of confusing obstacles you couldn't quite wrap your head around.

On one hand, Nancy's words made sense, you saw why she felt that way—you heard her—and it was so much more prominent in person than over a screen.

On the other hand, as a viewer of the show and a victim of unfortunate circumstance, you hadn't a clue where she was going with this. You knew why she was telling you all of this (you were acting strange and she was feeling off so duh she would try and see if you related) but, where was she going with it? What did she want with you? Surely it wasn't just comfort.

"Do you... want to come with me to tell her parents?"

Ah. There it was.

She wanted you to join her. This was certainly quite the twist. Everything that had happened up until now had alluded to the fact that you were going to join Steve for this season—and to be honest, you preferred that over this.

Besides, she was meant to do all of this with Jonathan—if you said yes, you'd just be getting in the way of their romance and, ergo, the plot itself.

"I don't know..." you started, mind already made up but heart trying its best to ease her into it, "the government wouldn't really like that and we could get in a ton of trouble."

She scoffed. "Who gives a fuck what they think?"

You deadpanned. "Well, Nance, they are kinda the government so..."

"There's this guy," she started, cutting you off and handing you a card, "Barb's parents told me about him—if things don't work out, we can go to him."

Sure enough, you recognised the character as soon as she mentioned him—another prominent adult within the series, quite the funny one too. But, not funny enough for you to pass up spending this season helping out Steve instead.

"Look, Nancy, I—"

You were cut off when her gaze hardened, fists clenching and head shaking from side-to-side—almost seeming disappointed.

"God, you're just like him." And when she spoke, it was bitter—plagued with an icky green—"You two are perfect for each other."

The following events happened too quickly for you to register; one second, she was standing before you with desperation clear on her visage—the next?—she had snatched the card right out from your hands and stormed over to your front door, steps heavy and quaking and loud.

"Nance, wait! Nancy!"

A slam.

Well shit.

You bit your lip, brain replaying the events that had just occurred in too rapid of a succession for you to be able to even respond to them.

A small voice prodded at the back of your mind, lulling you into following after her and clearing up... whatever the hell that was.

However, a much larger, more prominent voice said, fuck it. Because—well, you were in Stranger Things for god's sake! Who the hell cared about some teen drama when there were fucking monsters to worry about?—monsters that you sure as hell weren't about to face weaponless.

Nancy could get over whatever was bothering her so much on her own, you had bigger issues to worry about.

Come on, Y/N, get your head out of the clouds and into the game.

Resolve strengthened and distractions now temporarily at the back of your mind, your feet bounded towards a familiar box mounted onto the wall, fingers wrapping around the cool metal before you punched in a number you had long since memorised over your time in this world.

Turned out, this drama was just the push you needed.

"Harrington residence."

"Steve."

It was silent for a few seconds before you were graced with a response. "Y/N? If you're calling about the dinner at Barb's, I swear—"

"No, no. It's not that, don't worry."

Another pause.

"Are you... okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

"You sure? You sound a little... tense."

Your lips quirked up. "You can tell?"

"Well, yeah. I've known you since like, birth."

Leave it to Steve Harrington to put a smile on your face where there wasn't one before.

Seriously though, you might not have actually known him since birth but... something about him noticing how you felt from just the sound of your voice made you feel all... tingly inside—like a warm cloud of pure pink coated you within its comfy confines.

"Y/N? You there?"

"Oh." You jolted, fingers halting in their ministrations with the phone wire, since when did you start twirling it around? "Uh, yeah. I just called to let you know I'm skipping tomorrow so don't bother picking me up, okay?"

"You're skipping? What? Why?"

"Just—uh, don't feel like it."

"You know you've already missed seven days, right?"

"Yeah—" you shrugged as though he could see you, "—what's a couple more?"

"...alright, if that's what you want."

"Thanks Stevie, you're the best, love you!"

You slammed the phone back into the wall before he could respond, but you imagined he released quite the long sigh after your words.

Nevermind that though, you should probably head to bed—you had a long day ahead of you tomorrow; one consisting of many preparations for the challenges that lay ahead.

First things first, you needed yourself a weapon—and no, a wrench was not ideal. You got lucky the first time, you'd rather not risk it the second.

A gun; long reach, high chances of actually killing, probably easy to use—it sounded perfect. Just the thing you'd need. The only problem you could possibly see was...

...how would you get one?

You weren't terribly familiar with gun laws—never had the need to look into them—but even if you were, they definitely changed since the 80s so you were pretty much clueless in that regard.

You could ask one of your brothers if they had one, they certainly seemed like the type—at least, Curt definitely did.

Or maybe he's the type to only fight with his fists?

Tricky—that's what this all was. So tricky, in fact, that the rest of the night was spent contemplating how you would go about obtaining the lethal weapon—

—actually, that wasn't entirely true; you sure wished it was though. Unfortunately for you however, your brain rather stupidly refused to focus on the task at hand, randomly flushing you with thoughts of both your... mother and Nancy whenever you least expected it, two huge pieces of drama that you—quite frankly—didn't feel like dealing with.

But apparently, pushing them to the back of your mind was easier said than done.

Come next morning, you figured indulging in those thoughts wouldn't be too big of a headache after being well-rested with a nice cup of coffee to aid you through your day.

Okay, so, Nancy's behaviour last night wasn't too strange; she had that dinner at Barb's—one you knew she cried at since they dedicated a whole scene to her sobbing in the bathroom. That explained why she was quick to jump to aggression you guessed.

Still, it was strange how she snapped at you (basically her acquaintance) like how she had done Steve (her literal boyfriend) in the show. Did you get something wrong? Were you two closer than you thought you were? Perhaps you had some history with her you weren't aware of.

Unfortunately, until you had more information, you were gonna have to leave that trail of thought.

Now, about your mother...

"Morning, sis."

You nodded—eyes clouded—before responding with, "Morning Cain," and then, as if just registering who you were talking to after their name spilled from your lips, your eyes cleared up and you turned to continue with a much more firm voice, "Hey, do you know if we have any guns at home?"

He paused, one hand rested against the handle of the fridge, one floating mid-air. "Guns?"

"Yeah, guns."

He turned to you fully now, eyes narrowing and sturdy arms folding over his chest as the door shut behind him. "Why would you need to know where the guns are?"

The lie was quick to form on your tongue. "For self-defence, duh."

"Uh-huh."

"Please Cain—" you clasped both hands over each other, "—I promise I won't hurt anyone with them."

Not anyone human, at least.

"You do realise they're made for hurting people, right?"

"Yeah, but I won't use them that way."

He deadpanned. "You're not getting a gun."

"Dammit."

Okay, this was fine. You could work with this. He just confirmed to you that you did, in fact, have guns in this house. All you had to do was look for them. And you knew just where to start.

"Uh, where the hell are you going?"

You paused, hand grazing the bumpy, wooden rail as you tilted your head just enough to peek into the kitchen again. "To my room, where else?"

"Don't you have school?"

"Don't you have a job?"

He crossed his arms again. "You're not skipping, shitbird."

"What?"

"I said: you aren't skipping."

Your eyes widened, jaw dropping open and stomach falling with the spoilt remains of your plan—the ashes and dust piling up enough to cause you to splutter and ask, "You serious?"

His gaze was stern, holding no hint of that playful demeanour you acquainted yourself with last night, "Completely. No playing hooky. You've already got enough absents from that injury of yours."

As if suddenly reminded of its own existence, said wound sent a shock down your arm—trailing through your veins to usher a visible wince on your face.

Before you could say anything else though—plead your case and hope to god he'd let you off—his eyes widened a little, mouth forming a circle before he spoke again, saying, "That's why Harrington ain't here, right? You told him you were skipping?"

You said nothing.

A long, highly exasperated sigh. "Just go get ready, I'll drop you off."

He didn't have to tell you twice.

You rushed up the stairs, wasting no time to burst into a room flooded with posters—all holding different expressions with one, huge thing in common; a pair of bright red gloves.

If anyone had a gun, it was definitely Curt.

Tick. Tock. You were on a time constraint so you had to be quick with this. Anything that even remotely seemed to have enough space to hold a gun inside was instantly ripped open—hinges jingling and wood slamming against wood as your hands scurried the area—rummaged through the masses—desperately seeking what they had yet to find.

That was—until, now.

In the midst of multiple hung up pieces of soft materials shrouded in darkness, your fingers grazed something cold and solid; rough and bumpy. Slowly they wound around the thing, noting its shape, before exerting a force—a tug.

Nothing. It didn't budge.

You tried again, pushing this time.

Again. Nothing.

Third time's the charm.

This time, you pushed upwards.

Bingo.

As if by magic, it fell straight into your hands, and you wasted no time to pull it into the light.

Dark, L-shaped, and a lever poking out from one side—yup, there was no doubt about it. Though, it was one of the weaker variants of the lethal weapon—it would have to do.

Now you could—

"What are you doing in my room?"

Curt. Shit.

"Scratch that—what are you doing with a gun?!"

Your wrist was seized at the entrance before you could even attempt to sneak past—his E/C eyes trained on the object in your hand, not at all paying attention to the way your expression shifted into one of unease, smile twitching a little.

"Curt, hey! When did you come in..?"

"Doesn't matter," he dismissed, "Why do you have a gun? Is someone bothering you at school? You know you can say the word and I'll take care of it, right? Like in Freshman year?"

"Freshman year?" What happened in Freshman year?

"That dickhead Senior who kept picking on you? How did you forget that already?"

You parted your lips, an excuse practically begging to be released from your tongue, but he beat you to it.

"Nevermind, just tell me who it is and I'll take care of it. There's no need to bring a gun into it."

There's no need to bring a gun but it's totally okay beating them up? Some scuffed logic there.

"No one's bothering me, Curt. I uh, I just need it to kill the wolf that attacked me the other day."

He rose a brow. "Kill the wolf that attacked you the other day?"

"Uh... yup."

God, this was so stupid. What kind of excuse was that? 'Kill the wolf that attacked you the other day'? Yeah right.

"Atta girl. That's my sister."

A good excuse apparently—it was a good excuse.

You almost couldn't believe it—the way he pulled you in, wrapping his arm around your neck in a half-hug that almost made it seem as though he was proud of you.

Surely he had taken way too many hits to the head in his profession because you had no clue how he bought that.

But, you weren't complaining.

"Hey, uh, do me a favour?"

He rose a brow. "What?"

"Don't tell Cain, yeah?"

He rolled his eyes. "Of course not, he'd have my head in a heartbeat if he knew I was condoning this."

You grinned, just about ready to give him two thumbs up leaking gratitude and appreciation—when a voice called from downstairs.

"Y/N! Hurry up!"

"A few more minutes!"

That was your cue to go to your room.

Cool air hit your skin as soon as the cotton of your sleepwear was removed—the slight buzz of pain on your arm making itself known once more with another prick, annoying but not unbearable; not like before.

The new bandages looked better than the previous ones; cleaner. Some spots seemed to have given in—allowing red to seep through their snow-white sheets; stain their pure surface. Those parts were stickier than the others, but also, few and far between.

Damn, kinda looks badass.

"I'm not getting any younger here, Y/N!"

"I'm coming! Gheez."

What was that? His catchphrase or something?

With a roll of your eyes, you threw on a top, slipped into a skirt, very quickly touched up on your make-up, and ran down the steps. Nothing too elaborate—you didn't plan on actually going into school anyway.

What? You said you'd skip, so you were gonna skip. You'd just wait 'till he drove off or something.

Actually... this could work out better than you thought.

He was bringing you to school; where one Steve Harrington currently was. And you know what else was at school? Steve's BMW—AKA, the perfect place to store your gun until it was needed.

Yeah, this could work out perfectly.

"Get in, shitbird."

You said nothing, seizing the frigid handle like you had done many a time before, and climbing straight in.

The sky was bleak—the sun invisible; covered by the vast curtain of grey clouds that seemed uninteresting but, for some reason, you couldn't stop looking at.

The pistol you held was tucked under you—out of sight; though not of mind. It felt cool against your skin, sent a shudder through you, up your spine and through your nerves. It kept you rigid.

"I would've let you skip."

You turned, observing the way Cain's gaze stayed trained onto the road ahead, one hand on the wheel, one resting on his lap.

"On any normal circumstance," he continued, shrugging, "but y'know, mom's home and—I don't know if you wanna stick around for that."

"Okay."

"You good?" Now he gave you a bit of a side-eye, one brow raised.

"Yeah, just... thinking about what I'm gonna wear for the Halloween bash at Tina's."

That was a lie, you honestly couldn't care less.

"Party, huh?" He turned his gaze back ahead. "I remember the ragers I used to go to way back when."

"Must've been fun, huh fossil?"

"Watch it, worm."

You snickered.

"Alright, we're here. Get out before I make you."

Older brothers are a piece of work.

You shimmied in your seat, swinging both legs over to the open door, hand firmly around the handle of the weapon beneath your thighs, when—

"What are you doing?"

You froze. "Uh, I don't... I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're getting out of the car weirdly." His tone was pointed—suspicious—and even without having to turn around, you could tell his brow was raised in question.

"No I'm not."

"Uh, yeah you are."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

Slowly, you found yourself able to move your limbs again—annoyance bringing both them and your own brow to life, filtering out any previous fear within an instant. "Don't you have work or something?"

You heard nothing for a few tense moments—though soon, a curt—"Just go,"—made its way to your ears, and the weight on your shoulders was relieved of you.

Once again, you found yourself thinking, he didn't have to tell you twice.

The cool air almost felt relieving against your skin when you finally jumped out—the 'crunch!' of pebbles echoing beneath you—but nothing could compare to the pure amount of genuine solace you were graced with when the sound of the engine starting up again behind you danced into your ears; the sound of wheels skidding across the ground slowly growing farther.

That was a little too close for your liking.

No matter, it was time to find Steve's BMW. While looking for it, though, you might as well review your thoughts.

The events of Season 2 had already kicked off the moment you saw Billy, which meant that while you waited for the next canonical event to occur with the teens, the main group of kids were having their own scenes play out. You were sure by now they were off trying to befriend Billy's stepsister. But, quite frankly, that was irrelevant information to you.

What was relevant, however, was the fact that one of the kids—Dustin Henderson—would end up dragging Steve into quite the predicament. That predicament being one wherein he would end up being surrounded by a bunch of grotesque, man-eating monsters with nothing but a bat to defend himself with—granted, it had nails on the end but it was still not a weapon you'd use.

Now, more likely than not, you would be by his side while it all went down—and you already established that you weren't about to die in this world, so, really, your only option was getting that gun to use in case those demon dogs changed their minds and decided they wanted a taste of fresh, alternative dimension meat.

You had seen first-hand what they were like—held scars they forced onto you on your first day. You felt that chilling fear grip you at the sight of them—chain your limbs up and strangle you enough to almost render you immovable; immobile. Their boney structure, their razor-sharp teeth, their—

"N/N? What are you doing here?"

You jumped, startled out of your thoughts to meet with two pools of brown—familiar in their warmth and softened edges.

"I thought you were playing hooky today."

"Oh, uh—" you cleared your throat, patting down the ruffles of your skirt and avoiding any eye-contact, "—I still am but, Cain caught me and drove me to school so."

He didn't say anything after that, so you took to peering up again. This time, however, you were met with a different set of eyes, ones looking a little bloodshot and inflamed—barely noticeable if you hadn't already seen it the previous night.

They were looking at you through narrowed lenses, pupils shrunk in and gaze heavy with the events of the other night—the distaste of that fateful encounter.

You looked away.

"Oh, uh, Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"I uh, left some of my lipstick in your car, do you mind if I go grab it?"

You returned your gaze to him just in time to catch the pointed look on his face, hands on his hips in that 'mom' way that just screamed Steve Harrington.

"Really, N/N? This is—what?—like the tenth time already?"

You forced a sheepish look, turning your lips up with nerves that weren't triggered by the sentence you'd just heard, per se—but rather, the pair of eyes still burning a hole through your head.

You ignored them when Steve tossed you the keys with a playful roll of his eyes; when you half-entered the car, stuffing the gun into a compartment you knew he wouldn't open anytime soon; you even ignored them as you made your way back to the duo, handing Steve his keys back and quickly denying his offer to cut class with you.

"You sure?" He pushed, brows scrunched up and lips tugged down.

"Yup!" You rose both thumbs. "Hundred percent!"

He parted his mouth open but you didn't wait for a response, turning around quickly to scurry off with those eyes still refusing to leave your backside.

Why the hell did she have to be there?

You couldn't even enjoy your successful little quest, too tense from Nancy's heavy gaze to do anything. It was as though the moment you saw her, your brain instantly replayed the events of last night—the disdain in her voice—and from the looks of her glare, she had the same problem.

Man, this sucked.

You just wanted to experience the world of Stranger Things as safely and non-dramatically as possible but noooo, you had to deal with freaking monsters and teenage girls who—

"Woah, we have got to stop bumping into each other like this."

Your lashes fluttered, eyes training onto a familiar battle jacket littered with logos a plenty—all of which belonged to heavy metal bands.

"Eddie."

"Hey, sweetheart." His lips quirked up—smile reaching his eyes so much so that they crinkled. "What are you doing here? I thought you were playing hooky?"

You deadpanned. "Does everyone know I'm skipping?"

"Well, you are kinda the Queen Bee, sweetheart." His hair bounced as he shrugged.

A thought occurred to you just then, and you found your eyes widening slightly in alarm. "Even the teachers?!"

"Well, no wastoid is exactly going to tell any teachers that the Queen of Hawkins High is skipping."

Wastoid? Wha—?

"Hey, uh—" you blinked, watching as Eddie took to throwing a hand behind his neck, rubbing against the skin as he continued, tone feigning confidence, "—I was actually planning on skipping too so, if you want, we could hotbox in my car?"

Tempting. With all this stress from Nancy, your mom, and the demodogs—weed seemed like the perfect thing to kick back to.

You deserved some time to relax, no?

"Yeah, sure, let's do it."

He perked up, excitement seeping through the grin on his lips as he dramatically bowed with one hand stretched out. "Right this way, milady."

You giggled, your own hand rising up to rest gently against his as you tried your damndest to keep from squealing because—holy shit, you were holding Eddie Munson's hand. You knew girls who would fucking kill to be in your position right now.

His skin was hot against your own; or maybe that was just your whole body heating up in general. You couldn't deny your attraction to the man—hell, you got literal heart eyes whenever you watched him on TV.

Eddie Munson—the guy who got held back in high-school for two years (well—one year as of right now). Eddie Munson—the guy who held the personality of a fun, playful ray of sunshine despite the way he dressed. Eddie Munson—the guy who sacrificed himself to save a whole town of people who abhorred him.

Yeah, you had a big, fat crush on the man.

He could literally be leading you to your death right now and you'd thank him.

"Alright," the sound of a car door sliding open perked your ears up, "I just got a new batch rolling in from Cali so—"

He cut himself off when he turned back around, jaw falling slack as a streak of red slowly crawled across his face, tinging the tips of his ears and ushering a cough straight out of his mouth.

Now, you would normally wonder why he'd reacted that way but you were too distracted by the ache of your own cheeks to—

Ohhh. The ache of your own cheeks.

You quickly cleared your throat, steeling your expression and cursing yourself for being so obvious. Gushing so blatantly in front of characters was going to get you killed in this world, you really had to get rid of that habit.

Lord knew what type of ridiculous expression you had on your face just then.

"Right, uh, you were saying?" You asked as you climbed in, willing yourself to ignore what had just happened.

"Oh, uh, I just had a new batch come in from Cali."

You perked up, interest piqued. "From Cali?! They have the best stuff."

He grinned with you, blush calming down as he rummaged around, hands digging through the many different boxes that scattered the floor.

Meanwhile, you took to shutting the door of the vehicle. Come to think of it, this van kinda looked a bit like the mystery van from scooby doo, except, without the colour.

It was a mess on the inside; if there weren't boxes of who-knows-what substances lying around, then there were various different instruments instead, nothing differing from the norm associated with a band; and yet, just the fact that Eddie was here—that all of this belonged to him—was enough to make it feel special.

You should really ask Eddie if you could sit in on one of his practices one day.

Speaking of the drug dealer, he finally emerged from the pile of boxes hidden in the corner—a plastic zip bag containing a crushed substance within one of his ring-clad hands.

He flicked it with a grin on his face, head turning up as a pair of excited pools met with your own. "Bag of peaceful bliss right here."

You watched with intrigue as his fingers got to work, rolling up the substance effortlessly, as if he'd done it a million times before—which, granted, he probably had.

"Ladies first."

Your lips quirked up, fingers winding around the roll and, in turn, brushing against his own. It was a light touch—a feathery brush—still, it was enough to run tingles down your arm.

The stick was placed to your mouth with one hand, the other curling in on itself in a gesture that asked Eddie to pass over the lighter.

His large hand slowly came to cup your own, fingers engulfing yours—sending warmth to circulate in your blood; to flood your vision in pink—before lightly moving it away. "Allow me, sweetheart."

You didn't move, staying still as he pulled the metallic box up to your face, thumb flicking against the open lid a few times before the flame jumped to life.

It was hot; unbearably so—his breath across your face. The flame was practically nothing compared to him and his proximity. And it only got hotter as you continued staring at him.

It was because you were staring at him so intensely, in fact, that you caught the way his eyes briefly flickered. It was quick, barely noticeable—but you had noticed, and you had seen where they looked.

Your lips quirked up and you took the roll out of your mouth, puffing smoke straight into his face. "Staring at my lips, huh, pretty boy?"

Your grin only grew when he spluttered.

Before he could respond, though, you had lightly shoved the roll into his mouth—lips still quirked up.

You only withdrew when he rose two fingers to rest the cigar against.

"Hey, Eddie?"

He blinked.

"You're not gonna make me pay for this, are you?"

The roll left his mouth with a puff. "Depends."

As he placed it back inside, you rose a brow. "Oh?"

"Yeah, oh."

"Well..." you trailed off, slowly shifting your hips up before plopping them back down—

—straight. onto. his. lap.

His breath audibly hitched; a series of coughs following not long after.

"Careful," you hissed out, plucking the roll from his lips and shifting in your seat—about to climb off—when a warmth snaked its way around your waist, rendering you motionless.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Heat crawled up your spine, invading your senses and hyperfixating your attention on Eddie and the way his lips grazed the lobe of your ear. Any and all previous thoughts were washed away; taking with them your breath.

His hand fell over your own again, ushering the substance back into your mouth and your eyes grew heavy as you took another puff, melting into putty in the arms of the school freak.

The car was quickly fogging up—everywhere you breathed was starting to have that strong, earthy taste to it.

Trippy.

You pulled away, mind hazy and barely able to register the way his lips tugged down.

With just a little wiggle of your hips, his arms fell and his brows scrunched up with worry. You didn't let him voice it though, quickly turning around to lay down and prop your elbows up on his thighs—arms almost immediately going lax once you got comfortable.

Your head now rested on his lap, and you peered up at him through hooded eyes. "Much better."

He smiled down at you again, finger moving to trace your cheek with that same feathery touch from before—the one that elicited a flurry of tingles through your skin.

"Tell me about yourself, Eds."

"Hm?"

"I wanna know you better."

Better than you already did, that was.

"What d'you wanna know?" He asked.

"Anything." You threw your hands up, puffing once more. "I wanna know more 'bout Super Senior Eddie Munson."

He hummed. "I plan to make it big one day."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Groupies 'n everything."

You reached up, placing the blunt against his lips as you proclaimed loudly, "I bet they would trip over 'emselves to get a taste of you."

He winked. "That's what 'm planning." Then, he paused for a minute, expression softening before another inquiry left his mouth. "What about you?"

"Me?"

What were you planning? Survival, really. But, to be honest—and this wasn't just the weed speaking (or was it? You couldn't really tell)—you just wanted to experience the show; meet the characters and bond over little things. Kinda like what you were doing right now.

"I plan on..."

The characters from this show were precious, and you loved them all to bits. They didn't deserve any of what happened to them, that was why you planned on...

"...protecting those I love."

Yeah, perfect.

His eyes widened a little—startled, no doubt, and not expecting that kind of response from you. The perfect opportunity to trip him up more.

"Wanna be one of them?"

He already was one but—he didn't know that.

You assumed he must've been too flustered to talk, because he didn't respond to that—only choosing to continuously blink at you.

This weed was sure making your confidence sky rocket.

Speaking of things the weed was doing for you—your vision was tripping majorly.

The ceiling seemed to zoom in, but also zoom out at the same time, and sometimes you swore you could see the detailed wisps of the smoke that flooded the car's inside; the very atoms that made them up.

Colours were hard to register in your mind; their names even harder—but, with how relaxed the fumes were making you and your tensed muscles, you couldn't really bring yourself to care.

And Eddie—oh Eddie—he just looked so pretty to you right now; so jaw-dropping and mesmerising. Even with how red his eyes were and the extent at which his pupils dilated, they still looked tremendously pretty. His lips were so cute, pink and begging for attention.

You couldn't help it; the way your hand reached out to cup his cheek and guide his head down. Luckily, though, you still had enough sense to tilt his head enough so that instead of your lips touching, your noses did.

If you were going to kiss Eddie, it sure as hell wasn't happening while you were high.

"Y'know," Eddie breathed into your eyes, causing them to flutter shut as you hummed, "I used to think you were a huge bitch."

That shot your eyes open.

"I mean, when you stuck around with people like Tommy H and Carol, it was kinda hard not to."

Ah. Steve's former friends.

"Not to mention King Steve. Though, I don't know if I should call him that anymore."

"'Cause of Billy?"

"Yeah." He chuckled. "Have you seen him? It's only, like, his second day and he's got girls wrapped around his finger like it's nothing."

"I'm sure it'll stay that way permanently too."

"Yeah, he seems like the type to like it."

"Hm?"

"The attention."

Your lips tugged down. "Are you implying something, Eddie?"

"...maybe a little."

Your frown grew deeper. "Y'know, Eds, you shouldn't judge people without getting to know them first."

"Oh? And I suppose you know a ton about Hargrove, huh?"

You narrowed your eyes before you spoke again—tone laced in warning—"Eddie."

He rose both hands, and you let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding in.

"My bad."

"It's okay, let's just forget about it," you said, "I came here to relax and enjoy some time away from stress."

"Stress?"

Well, you supposed it wouldn't be the end of the world if you shared a little with the class.

"Nancy said something... weird to me the other night."

"Harrington's girl?"

"Yeah... she sounded bitter."

"Maybe she was jealous."

You moved to sit up but Eddie was quick to push you back down, both hands placed firmly—yet gently—on your shoulders. "Jealous?"

"Yeah."

"Why would she be jealous for?"

He scoffed. "Oh please, you and Harrington are attached at the hip—if I were your boyfriend, I would be jealous."

For a moment, you allowed yourself to ignore the hypothetical scenario of Eddie being your boyfriend, if only to pay more attention to the apparent green creature that held Nancy by the neck.

Could it be? Was she jealous? Was that why she reacted as strongly as she did when you tried to let her down slowly?

"Hey now, whatever you're thinking, stop thinking it." Eddie's finger tapped against your cheek, sending tiny ripples through your skin. "You said it yourself, you're here to relax, not to stress."

He couldn't be more right.

And with that thought in mind, you sank deeper into the warmth of Eddie's lap, pure safety and comfort shrouding your form—blanketing you so nicely in the soothing presence that was Eddie Munson.

And as your eyes fluttered shut, you whispered one last thing with a warm smile, "This was nice. Thank you, Eddie."

@bdudette, @tanyaherondale, @killerqueenfan, @l3xiluve, @thedoubleexposurephotography, @xxqueenofdemonsxx, @briarsheart, @nickey-diano, @uselessbutinteresting, @steeldaisies, @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom, @patheticreative, @majestichugs, @eddiesbitch83, @secretdryrose, @bloodywickedvamp, @charlizekkelly, @sophiaj650, @mfnqueen1, @axionn, @harrysgoldenwatermelon, @simpfo, @adrienette715, @tippyeddy

I've been watching a lot of zombie stuff recently so I was wondering how Steve, Eddie, and Billy would react to a zombie apocalypse. I'm tempted to write an au but I need to focus on the next part 😭

Tell you what, if the masterlist to this series ever reaches 500 notes, I'll write a zombie apocalypse AU (Edit: Holy shit, it's at 400, wtf?)

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wttcsms · 1 year

Text

time, mystical time (cuttin' me open, then healin' me fine) ; simon "ghost" riley.

pairing simon "ghost" riley x f!reader word count 3.3k synopsis snapshots of the defining moments in ghost's life. content contains slight angst, mild descriptions of alcohol abuse (ghost's father) + domestic abuse (non-explicit desc., but the act itself is mentioned various times), a bit of tiny look into my take on ghost's background, nsfw content, slight size kink, breeding kink, creampie, domestic fluff, pregnant!reader in some scenes, children (dad!ghost) author's notes takes place in this au & honestly is a lot more enjoyable of a read if you read that fic (+ the other connected one shots [go on my masterlist]). fun fact: simon is referred to as simon in the scenes with only you and his family. he's ghost anywhere else.

His mother had always told him that as a baby, he was always rather quiet. Scared her half to death, she would say, ‘cause he’d rarely ever cry. Even the doctor got worried when he first came out.

Looking back at his childhood — perhaps the lack thereof — Simon assumes it’s probably instinctual. With a deadbeat drunk of a father armed with a heavy hand, being quiet probably saved Simon’s life more times than he wants to admit. He’d be knocked upside the head for the littlest of reasons, shouted at for even less.

I’m the man of the house.

His father’s slurred justifications for doling out unfair punishments ring through the dark halls of his childhood home. Simon hears it while he cowers inside his closet. His room is dark because his father doesn’t believe in nightlights, and mum got slapped hard for daring to go against his wishes and trying to sneak Simon one. She thinks he didn’t see it, but Simon sees a lot more than he should. Since then, he’s been sleeping in the dark. It’s not so scary anymore.

There are scarier things that lurk in the light, anyway.

It’s stuffy in the closet, and he knows it’s stupid to hide here because dad will find him any second now. The punishment is bad when he gets to drinking, and it gets worse whenever Simon tries to hide.

A loud thump against his door makes Simon hold his breath. Then, the door bangs open from the weight.

Kicking doors open comes second nature to Lieutenant Riley.

The loud crash of the door popping from the rusty hinges shocks the poor girls previously trapped behind them. All of them stay huddled together, staring fearfully at the loud, big men toting even louder, bigger guns. The hollowed cheeks, hopeless eyes, and array of bruises on their skin makes him sick. It’s a hot summer’s day, and Simon hates that after all this time, his observation from his childhood still stands true:

There are scarier things that lurk in the light, anyway.

A bit hypocritical, he supposes. After all, he walks around in broad daylight, and he’s certainly no saint.

With the help of the rest of his extraction team, Ghost makes quick work of herding all the girls out of this depressing underground prison and out into a free world. He’s careful to be gentle with his touches, nothing more than a gentle guiding hand. Even with his gloves, he can’t be certain he’s not tainting them. Sins don’t wash away as easily as blood does.

He’s the last one to leave, but he doesn’t exit alone.

For a while, he felt a tight grip on his arm. Someone’s been clinging onto him this whole time, and with everything that’s happened, he can’t find it in his heart to shake them off. With no other distractions present, he finally turns to see who’s gotten so attached to him.

This is it.

This is the moment where Simon Riley claims his life begins.

It’s such a juvenile feeling, he thinks. Waiting for his phone to ring, wondering why you haven’t texted or called. It’s so silly. So what he saved your life? It’s not like you owe him anything. It’s his job. He had a duty. Nothing more, nothing less.

Besides, he’s an asshole. Not the type of asshole who thinks he’s entitled to your company since he rescued you, but the type where Soap and the rest of the team aren’t too surprised he doesn’t have anyone to come home to.

He can’t sleep.

It’s been weeks since he gave you that burner phone. Surely you would have called, even sent a simple “hello”, if you really wanted to. He knows there’s not much to do in that facility. He knows that you haven’t been sleeping well. He knows that he should go to sleep; he’s got an early flight to catch in an active warzone, and there’s no way in hell he’s gonna get any semblance of rest as a result.

Instead of sleeping, he’s grabbing his own burner phone off the nightstand and staring at the screen. It’s a simple enough task, really. He can just head straight to his contacts list and click the only one that’s there. Isn’t it traditional for the guy to call first, anyway? Or is he just fooling himself into thinking that you’re waiting for him to make the first move? Do you want him to make the first move?

He’s never experienced this before. This newfound, boyish anxiety. The equal mixture of both hopelessness and hope churning in his stomach every time he sees you; do you think of him as much as he thinks of you? The question is then followed by a decisive no. He hasn’t survived this long because of blind optimism, so there’s no point in indulging in it now.

Will you come back then?

You looked up at him while asking this question, and you looked like an angel unfairly punished to walk alongside man. He wanted to spend the rest of his life constructing a stairway to heaven that you could use to make it back to your rightful home. When you look that beautiful and then proceed to ask him a question, what else was he supposed to say besides,

Whenever you want me to.

Perhaps God truly is as merciful as he is all-seeing, because after a minute of contemplation and staring longingly at your contact, his phone screen lights up with the notification he’s prayed for (the only thing he’s ever prayed for, really).

You’re calling him.

And true to his word, he’s on his way.

He’s never said I love you before, and as a result, he’s too scared to make his first attempt to do so, even though you just told him those three words yourself.

(He might tower over you, but looks can be deceiving. Simon thinks you’re much stronger and braver than him, in all the ways that matter.)

I love you.

He resists the urge to beg you to say it again and again and again, on repeat for the rest of your lives.

He doesn’t say it back immediately, but he does let you take off his mask for the first time.

He doesn’t realize that the wide-eyed, awestruck, soft gleam in your eyes as you take him in, fully, for the first time is the same starry-eyed look he gets whenever he looks at you. He has a feeling you’re well aware of it, but now he finds the courage to confirm it.

“I love you.”

And with a smile that could bring him back to life, all you have to say is, “I know.”

His mask is in your hands, after all.

“You never quite outgrow it, do ya?” Tommy’s got his hands in his pockets, but Simon can still picture the wedding band on his younger brother’s finger. He had been happy when Tommy tied the knot with Beth, if not a bit jealous.

Now, though, Simon’s got his own wedding band. It’s tucked underneath his uniform, hanging from the same chain his dog tags are. It rests against his chest, in a spot closest to his heart, right where it — you — belong.

Dad’s dead. Tommy says mum cried, but he couldn’t understand why. After all, she’s the one who faced his wrath for the longest. She’s been on the receiving end of all his harshness. She’s the one who’s taken the most hits, the hardest hits. Simon nods in agreement but doesn’t tell his brother that he thinks he might know why.

Simon knows his mother is a good woman. A long time ago, his father wasn’t the man he knew growing up. He doesn’t know when the change in his personality happened, and Simon somehow feels like it’s his fault. He was the catalyst, the trigger. While she was pregnant with him, that’s when the violence and the drinking and the anger started. He knows mum isn’t crying to mourn the man he became; she’s just finally safe to grieve about the man she loved and lost. Simon hasn’t been able to face her in a while since he’s come to the conclusion that his being born was the cause of everything horrible that has happened to her.

“No, I suppose not,” Simone says. The house feels smaller than he remembers, but when he walks into his childhood bedroom, he’s transported to darker times. The room is as big as the whole world again. This room, this damn house, is his only world. He’s nine and cowering in fear again. He’s little again. He’s scared again. He wants to run away, but his scrawny little legs won’t let him. Dad won’t let him.

Then he blinks and realizes that the room hasn’t changed all that much.

Within the next week, Simon gets the house demolished and the land sold.

“Ta-da!” You present to him a knitted, baby-blue blanket. The beginning stitchwork is sloppy at best with considerable improvement the further he looks. Between every thread, Simon can practically feel the love that’s stitched in it.

“You like it?” You ask him, looking at him expectantly.

“It’s perfect.”

“Liar!” Your laugh rings through the cabin, and Simon feels like he’s being bathed in sunlight from the warmth of the sound alone. It’s distinctly yours, and he doesn’t want to be the barbarian who just takes and takes, but he wants it all to himself. He wants to catch it from the air and stuff it in his pockets and save it for when he’s in a foreign country and can’t sleep at night.

“Why would I lie? It’s perfect.” You’re perfect.

“I messed up, like, five times trying to get this damn thing started! And it was so hard to get into a good groove since Simon Jr. thinks he’s a little football player. He’s been kicking like crazy!” To prove your point, you get closer to Simon and take one of his large hands, placing it on your growing belly. He’s sitting, surrounded by tools and pieces of a crib that he’s trying to build, and all he can do is look up in admiration at you, the most beautiful woman to walk this earth, an angel too good for this world, the mother of his child, his wife, you. Your hand is on top of his, and you squeeze it gently, and he loves the way the diamond on your wedding ring glitters in the sunlight.

“He’s a strong one, alright.” Simon chuckles, feeling the way his son bumps against your belly.

“Must get it from you, then.”

That’s funny. Simon was just about to say that he’s pretty sure he gets it from you.

When he’s with you, Simon likes to take things slow. He can be rough at times, demanding and conquering you with nothing but brute strength and vulgar compliments. Like a true soldier, you take all of his transgressions in stride.

Tonight is one of the nights where Simon will indulge and finally take things slow. He likes to savor every moment he gets with you because no matter how much time has passed, the pessimist in him doesn’t stop reminding him that time is fickle, and the future is never promised.

But Simon wants to build a future with you. Simon has built a future, but he’s greedy. So, so greedy. He wants more, he wants all of you, he wants everything you’re willing to give him. The way you part your legs for him, how you willingly — lovingly — let him in, even though nature resists.

No matter how many times he’s split you open on his cock, even with the slickness of the previous two orgasms he so happily wrung out from you, there’s still resistance as the width and length of his cock struggle to slide into your cunt.

“It’s okay, love, let me in.” His whispers of reassurance are barely heard over your little whimpers. You’re nodding, trying to be a good girl for him, but the fact of the matter is that Simon Riley is incredibly too big. He is a god among men, and you find yourself squeezing his hand tightly as the first few inches of his cock make its way into your warmth.

“I know, darling.” He mumbles, but his gentle words are spoken roughly. Desire coats every syllable, and his voice is gravelly. He’s holding back, restraining himself from giving in and giving it to you roughly. His hand, so much larger than your own, squeezes back. He’s slowly pushing more of his length inside your needy cunt, and you moan at the feeling of being complete.

You don’t realize the tears that are welling up in the corner of your eyes as he completely enters you, the tip of his cock perfectly pressed against your cervix. Simon’s always been good at mixing pain and pleasure, and tonight is a testament to that.

“More, please.” It comes out like a weak, little whine, and Simon is putty in your hands. Completely malleable to your every whim and desire. His love wants more? He’ll give you everything.

Your lashes are wet with your tears, and he watches as tiny streams of tears fall down your heated cheeks. Your face feels warm to the touch, Simon realizes, as he leans down to kiss away your tears. Poor thing. You must have exerted yourself too much when you were thrashing around earlier as he refused to remove his mouth from your precious pussy until you came in his mouth.

You’re no match for the sheer strength and power of Simon, who’s built like a Greek god and probably just as powerful. You surrender to the overwhelming sensation of his cock stroking in and out of your cunt, and you’re damn near shameless in your greed and desire for more.

“Cum in me. I want you to give me another baby, wanna grow our family with you.” You toss your head back in pleasure, feeling the way his grip on your hand tightens at your words. The two of you move perfectly together; you wrap your legs around his waist as his free hand grips your hip to keep you steady.

“Yeah? My wife wants me to fuck another baby into her?” Simon grunts, doubling his efforts to ensure that his cock hits deep enough to press against all the spots that have your walls tightening around him.

The throbbing of his cock and the allure of expanding your family with Simon, with having a part of him always, even after the two of you have left this earth, is enough to send you over the edge. The ecstasy is all-consuming; all you know is Simon. You feel him to the depth of your core, his heat pressed against your own, your shared bedroom heavy with lust and love.

He loves the way your body goes slack from the intensity of your orgasm. It lets him know that he’s fucked you just the way you deserved to be fucked, filled to the brim with his cock and his cum and all his love. He kisses you hard, savoring the natural sweetness of your lips pressed against his own. He muffles your moans as you feel the endless stream of his cum spilling inside of you, the warmth of it all being almost too much to bear.

“Mmmf,” You pull back from his kiss, just so you can look him in the eyes as you give him his favorite reminder in the world.

“I love you.”

He responds with another deep kiss. It says enough. It says I love you, too, and we’re going for a round two.

He has all the time in the world with you.

He doesn’t feel any pain. That’s odd.

He looks back to the last minute. He heard the distinct sound of a gun firing, and he stumbled a bit as fate had its cruel fun and allowed the bullet to miraculously hit him in the one area his bulletproof gear just so happened to miss. What are the odds?

He looks down. A dark stain is forming on his uniform, and the spot only continues to grow bigger. He moves a hand down to where the stain is at — it’s wet. A fresh wound. Fuck.

The sentiment is shared with Soap, who for once in his life doesn’t have anything smart to say. Ghost wants to say something cheeky, then. Just to keep him calm. It worked with Tommy.

What’s the matter? Don’t worry about me. Should’ve seen the other guy. Almost had him in the last round.

The words, Ghost realizes with growing dread, don’t quite come so easily.

It’s like his brain knows what he wants to do, but nothing is going as planned. Soap is saying something, but he just can’t quite make out the words. Johnny, speak proper fucking English, why don’t ya?

No. That’s not the issue. Ghost frowns, but he doesn’t think Soap notices because of his damn mask. He can’t speak for shit, and he can’t hear, either. Actually, now that he’s really trying to take in his surroundings, everything’s a bit hazy, too. Like someone’s put some stupid film over everything, and stuff’s all slightly blurry. Just out of focus, just out of reach.

“—get you home, alright?” The words sound all jumbled up, and Ghost only really catches the last end of whatever Soap’s blabbing on about. He’s a good kid. Great soldier. Stellar human being. He mentioned something about going home, but that’s just silly. The mission isn’t over yet, get it? They can’t go home ‘til the mission’s complete.

“—don’t close your eyes—”

Home sounds nice. Warm vanilla in the colder seasons, jasmine with equal hints of something fruity and floral in the warmer ones. You fill the house with these scents, even matching your daily perfume to it. Doesn’t matter much to him, though. He hugs you close to his body and breathes in deeply, and he can still smell just you. No perfume will ever compare.

Oh, and a busy kitchen. You’re covered in flour, his son sits on the counter, his daughter in her high chair. The entire kitchen comes to life, and every time he sees all three of you giggling in unison, his favorite sound of all, this kitchen becomes his whole world. This is what he goes to war to protect.

Baby blue walls and a crib. Crayon drawings of a stick figure family. Watching his daughter’s first steps and his son clinging to your legs.

Maybe Soap’s right. Forget the mission. He should just head home.

But first, he’s really fucking tired. He’ll shut his eyes just for a minute.

He blinks a few times, eyes struggling to adjust to the light. Light slaps against his face were the cause for his waking up. A damn shame, honestly. He rarely dreams, but when he does, it’s of you, and he was dreaming about something certainly worth remembering for the next time he’s reunited with you.

He rolls over to confront whoever dared to ruin the one good rest he’s had in a long time, only to come face to face with bright, innocent eyes the same shade as his own.

“G’morning,” his son says, the words still clumsy on the two-year-old’s tongue. When Simon doesn’t answer immediately, he resumes slapping his father’s face.

“I’m up, buddy.”

The little toddler claps his chubby little hands together in pure joy.

“Dada home?”

Like a sight for sore eyes, you appear in the doorway, gently opening the door and pushing it open. You’ve got your daughter in your arms, and you look ready to scold the young boy for disturbing Simon until you realize that he’s already awake. There’s that smile of yours that Simon loves so much, the one he swears could bring him back to life.

“I’m home.”

author's note i intended for these little scenes/glimpses of his life to be the things ghost sees as he's bleeding out on the field. get it? the whole "life flashing before your eyes" thing BAHAHAHA. don't worry, he's alive and very much well, enjoying much needed domesticity with you + your little family. the last scene is him fucking u good and well, and that's the lil dream he was having. muahaha

#ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #one shot #drabble #fluff #angst #cod mw2 x reader #cod mw2 smut #ghost smut #simon riley smut

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weasleyreidstyles · 7 months

Text

Serendipity

chapter sixteen

summary: it was only meant to be a purely transactional relationship. he would help her strengthen her abilities in return for her getting his friends out of his father's nasty path. he didn't mean to fall for her, but loving her was the easiest thing in his dark world.

no use of y/n, but your general nickname is Meadow. all characters are aged up to be over 18.

pairings: mattheo riddle x fem!ravenclaw reader; platonic!slytherins x fem!reader; platonic!golden trio x fem!reader

warning(s): cannonical death, violence, descriptives of battle/fighting, blood/injury mentions, brief allusions to torture, angst!

series masterlist; previous part; next part

The battle had been declared over as Professor Snape swept through the hallways, a gaggle of Death Eaters in tow. You're sat in the Hospital Wing, on a bed adjacent to where Bill Weasley lays motionless. The déjà vu of seeing Ron in his position, albeit less bloody, sends you into a spiralling orbit.

He's sat beside Hermione, who sits near the edge of your bed. He's staring between Bill's near fatal wounds and the injuries littering your own body, eyes laden with something akin to guilt. But he makes no move to approach you, content with gripping Hermione's trembling hands in his own.

After what had felt like ions of time, Ginny bursts through the door with Hagrid and a disheveled Harry in tow. Everyone in the room could see that they all had tears in their eyes.

Hermione was hugging Harry the instant she layed her eyes on him.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Remus' voice is soft and bathed in concern as he anxiously moved towards him.

"I'm fine." He said, and you can see that there is barely a scratch marring his skin. As if he hadn't even been faced with the threat of the raging battle. "How's Bill?"

No one answered his question and you avoided the scrutinising gaze that swept over you as it settled on where everyone had gathered around the eldest son's hospital bed.

Bill's handsome face was entirely unrecognisable. His skin was slashed and ripped apart with gaping wounds that Madame Pomfrey diligently attended to (you knew it was in vain). Scarily, it reminded you of Draco's harrowing wounds and a sick sense of satisfaction coarsed through you when you saw that Harry was clearly thinking the same thing.

"Can't you fix them with a charm or something?" Harry asked the matron, eyes skirting to your's briefly.

"I'm afraid no charm will work on these, dear." she replied despondently. "There is no cure for a werewolf bite."

Your eyes closed with guilt. If only you had turned the corner faster.

"But he wasn't bitten on a full moon." Ron said earnestly as he looked at his brother's marred face as if he could heal it himself with sheer willpower. "Greyback didn't look like he'd transformed. So surely he won't be a real-"

Remus squirmed under Ron's apt attention.

"No, I don't think that Bill will be a true werewolf," he said slowly, and he spares you a passing glance. "But that doesn't mean that there won't be side effects. They will likely never heal completely. Had Meadow not been where she was, he could be fully turned, or worse."

He doesn't have to voice it for everyone to know what he means. If you were not in the right place, at the right time, Bill Weasley would surmount to a name engraved on stone. Instantly you're brought back to the moment that could've been drastically different, had you not rounded the corner when you did.

Antonin Dolohov was relentless in his attack against you. From the moment the Death Eaters began littering the Astronomy corridors like an infestation, he had drawn an imaginary target on your back. He'd caught you unaware as you guarded the corridors, as instructed by Remus, who knew you wouldn't take 'no' for an answer when you'd asked him where you were needed. Dolohov had seen you there and he'd thought you were just a defensless girl who didn't know that she'd just walked head first onto a battlefield. Little did he know, you'd had experience fighting his people, had experience beating them.

He'd severely underestimated you.

"You're merely a sheep in a wolves' fight, girl. Give up now and you can go back to preening in your precious common room. I'll even show you mercy." He'd sneered at you with barely restrained fury and disgust.

So colour him surprised when his cocky taunting was met with a harsh clash of your own power, ebbing and flowing through you and your conduit like a gushing river as you snarled at him.

You'd hit each other with a mix of offensive and defensive spells, both of you sporting painful and aching injuries that gushed with blood. But you felt none of it as you pushed back against his onslaught of unforgivables with spells of your own unconscious making – wordlessly drawing from the magic surrounding you, flicking your wand; causing him to sprout all sorts of oddities, conjured from your imagination. From agonising boils to hulking antlers that caused him to stumble with the added weight that left him off kilter.

Injuries had scarcely evaded you. You knew that you would not walk away unscathed, but you were unprepared for just how bloody and battered you would be. Where you skin was once smooth and silky, littered with only the slightest of imperfections, large lacerations embedded within the tattered scraps of your clothing decorated your stomach, but you ignored the blinding pain in favour of pinning Dolohov to the wall with your power. His eyes were wide with disbelief as you wordlessly stunned him with a final strike of relentlessness.

You watched with a scary amount of glee as he crumbled unceremoniously to the floor.

Not wasting another second, you round the corner that would take you closer to the Astronomy tower; closer to the bloodshed. And that's when you see it.

Fenrir Greyback leaning over an unmoving body, teeth and claws bared for all to see, sticky blood gleaming in the low moonlight as they raise to make the final striking blow. But there's no one here. Only the three of you. You don't even think before you're acting upon instinct.

"No! Get away from them!" you scream, distracting the werewolf momentarily, enough for you to glimpse the eldest Weasley brother's disheveled form. Your stomach drops.

Greyback turns to you with a menacing growl before he's moving towards you at inhumane speed.

"Stupify!" You shout, wand pointing in Greyback's direction. A jet of strong red magic errupts from the tip of your wand, swirling with malicious intent, just barely skimming the creature's shoulder. He snarls at you with narrowed eyes full of unrestrained anger, before he lunges at you with an animalistic roar.

You barely manage to move in the opposite direction, his claws nipping at your side with a lethal grace you barely register. You cry out, but don't let the adrenaline rush, from your previous fight with Dolohov, run dry as you turn to him and push a wave of power that has him stumbling in place.

His beady eyes are zeroed in on you as your magic clashes with his sedulous blows, so he doesn't see the second body creeping on silent feet behind him, until Remus Lupin has knocked him out cold and binded him with a simple leg-locking charm.

"I thought I told you to stay in your designated corridor?" he says raggedly, staring pointedly at you as you lean heavily against the wall.

"Dolohov ambushed me. I couldn't very much stay there." You pant, holding a hand against your side as you stare at the unmoving body between you and your old professor. It's then that your gaze snaps to Bill, who's chest barely rises with a stuttering breath.

"Bill– Greyback was about to ki– to kill him. We have to help him!" You say and Remus follows your gaze, face paling exponentially as he takes in the jagged claw marks that have mutilated the man's handsome features. He sees you hyperventilate and makes the decision to abandon the battle, with you in tow, so that Bill has a fighting chance of getting back to his family and his new fiancé alive.

"We'll take him to the Hospital Wing-" he says resolutely, but at the look on your face, he says, "The battle will go on without us, Meadow. Come, can you manage?"

You nod, despite the pain that rattles you from the inside out. You feel the impenetrable steel of your mental shields cracking and remending itself as you fight to keep out the feeling of pain that was waiting to pounce on you, vision swimming in an ocean of dark spots as you push all your effort into dragging Bill's deadweighted body towards the ward.

You shrank under their gazes as they turned to you, Molly and Arthur in silent gratitude and Fleur (Bill's fiancé) had tears streaming down her perfect cheeks as she nodded gratefully at you. Harry observed your bloody and bruised state before he walked right up to your bed.

"You saved him?" he questioned you, as if he hadn't known you for six years of his life. Hadn't known that you would do anything for the people you love. You scowled at him in disbelief.

"Of course I saved him, Potter." you snap, grimacing at the pull of the wounds on your stomach. "I'm not a monster."

Most of the adults seemed surprised by the coldness that settled between the two of you. Not expecting the hostility that swirled in your eyes. Flinching at the way you spat his surname with distain. Remus' eyes were questioning and the twins exchanged looks of utter confusion as your friendship with Harry used to be so full of light.

Harry looks like he's about to respond to you but Ron's weak voice stops him in his tracks.

"Dumbledore will know something, right? Where is he?"

Ginny and Harry seem to collectively inhale before she reveals something that entirely rocks the axis of the world.

"Ron, Dumbledore is dead."

~∞~

You can't quite believe what you're hearing. Dumbledore is dead.

Dumbledore is dead.

There is a collective guffaw of disbelief as Order members waited for her to withdraw her statement, but you can see it in her eyes and in the way she opens up her mind for you to see the scene.

The downpour of the rain is perfect personification of the devastating loss that even the Earth is affected by.

Dumbledore's body lying motionless in the grass. Eyes closed, cheeks sullen and grey.

The way his limbs had naturally fallen, made it look as if he were only sleeping peacefully.

Albus Dumbledore is dead. Now there was no one to stand in the way of Voldemort's plans.

"How?" Remus' voice is is laden with sadness as he slumps into one of the visitors' chairs that littered the room. Madame Pomfrey was openly sobbing into Professor McGonagall's shoulder, as the latter stared unblinkingly at Harry, tears lining her eyes and falling silently down her cheeks.

"Snape killed him. I saw it happen." Harry said, and your eyes widened, remembering something Mattheo had said only hours ago.

"There are spies everywhere, Granger don't act so surprised."

You spare a glance towards the people that Mattheo had warned earlier that day; all wearing an expression similar to your own, one full of recognition and betrayal.

"We apparated back onto the Astronomy tower. He was weak but I think he realised it was a trap the second we righted ourselves. He immobilised me almost instantly."

He turns to you then, his face and tone of voice accusatory.

"I was under the invisibility cloak, when Malfoy came out of the shadows. He disarmed him and left him defenseless."

Your breathe hitched as Hermione clapped her hands to her mouth.

"More and more Death Eaters were arriving but Snape was the one to do it. He cast the Avada Kedavra but Malfoy was meant to do it."

Draco was sent to kill the most powerful wizard in Britain at the risk of losing his own life.

The echoing sound of sobs filled the Hospital Wing but Harry ignored them and turned his angry gaze to you.

"Did you know?" he asks you, his voice low. "Did you know that your boyfriend was a Death Eater?"

Your breath trembled as you only nodded once. The room went stale and icy, as if a tendril of cold shadows had swept through the ward. They were all looking at you with mistrust, as if you hadn't just risked your life to save one of their own.

"How long?" He was practically stood nose to nose with you, only the metal bed frame stood in his way. "How long have you known about all of them."

"Christmas." you whisper as tears collected in your waterline, the guilt of keeping this knowledge to yourself swallowing you whole. "I've known since Christmas."

"You're a disgrace. You knew this whole time, but didn't say a thing? And you still begged Dumbledore for help? Well look where that got him!" He says angrily and you flinch away as his wand hand extends towards you, but he doesn't get to do whatever it was he was going to do, because Mattheo Riddle is striding into the Hospital Wing with murder singing in his dark, onyx eyes.

"Get. The. Fuck. Away. From. Her." He snarls as he pushes Harry away from you, placing himself in front of you protectively.

Instantly, the Order members who are dotted in every crevice of the Hospital Wing are stood to attention as Mattheo and Harry stare eachother down, wands raised towards the other, ready to swarm in for the kill if Mattheo so much as harmed one hair on the Chosen One's head.

"You got Dumbledore killed." Harry hissed as he raised his steady wand hand towards Mattheo's stoic face.

"Oh? I recall our own Professor Snape performing the killing curse, Potter. You said so yourself. Yet, you did nothing to stop it." Mattheo retorts softly, his own wand hand poised for the kill, as he smirks at Harry surprised face.

You observed him from the bed you were confined to. Physically, he looked fine, not an injury in sight. But you could see it in his eyes, the horror and the guilt festering there.

He was dressed in the same clothes as earlier: jeans and a long sleeved black shirt that emphasised his impressive Beater built, except now he wore a billowing black cloak over the top of it, resembling those which the Death Eaters you'd just fought were wearing. You reach for the arm closest to you, his left one, and you caress it in a familiarly comforting way, fighting the instinctive flinch as your fingers graze the Dark Mark that has been burning against his skin since that afternoon.

"Mattheo? What are you doing here?" Your quiet voice knocks him from the staring contest, and his hard face softens as he finally takes a more thorough look of you. Your clothes are torn, dried blood splattered across the white of your shirt and his brows furrow as onyx eyes roam over your bandaged stomach.

"I tried to reach you." He said in a low voice that betrays the panic he had felt every time he attempted to breech your impenetrable walls. "But you weren't there."

He sounds relieved to know that you were okay. That although injured, you were alive.

"I thought you'd be impressed." You say with a light laugh that doesn't reach your eyes. "I finally managed to block you out without so much as a trace."

His own responding laughter is small and barely heard as he sits on the edge of your bed, ignoring the looks and the glares being sent his way as he takes your face into both of his calloused hands, cradling your jaw with a tenderness that has your heart weeping in your chest. His eyes dart between your own.

"I would be bursting with pride if I hadn't been so worried. I thought you could be dead, love."

His eyes were downcast and there was a sheen of brimming tears reflecting in their onyx depths. Your hand went to cradle his own cheek and he smiled as your fingers gently grazed his under eye.

Your bubble of solitude is popped when the Order members closest to you move to grab him while he was distracted and unaware.

"What are you doing?" You snap at Tonks, who moves away from you with arms raised in surrender, eyes wide as they take a step away from you.

"He's the enemy, Miss Meadow." Mad-Eye sneers at you, but you only form a barrier of indigo around the two of you, that none of them can penetrate without being burned.

"He's quite literally the devil's spawn." Another member, that you don't know the name of, says callously and you thrown her a look of malice.

"And I wonder who tipped you off before the battle even began?" You retort with an air of sarcasm that has the woman rolling her eyes at you.

Looking between the Order members surrounding you, among that annoyingly blank faces, Remus' expression surprises you the most. He looks like he's seen a ghost. Face pale and eyes wide as he stares from Mattheo to you, and back again. He's the only one in the room who looks like he vaguely understands.

"The reason I asked Dumbledore for help was because I thought he would give them sanctuary. They can't escape their families or their fate but I tried. I didn't want to see them dead." You say, words catching in your throat as a sob crawls its way to the surface. Immediately, Mattheo has you wrapped in an embrace; it's awkward and a little unconventional since he's trying not to disturb your wounds, but it's a comfort nonetheless.

Remus' understanding eyes are suddenly awash with sorrow.

"So you're saying that he got the Order to help? Riddle gave us the upper hand?" Ron sounds like he doesn't believe a word you're saying and you don't blame him, not really.

"Yes. He did." Hermione replied and everyone turns to her incredulously. "He came over to us earlier this afternoon and when I told him that Dumbledore wasn't here, he sounded genuinely alarmed."

Heads swivel back and forth between where Mattheo is sat nonchalantly and where Hermione sits. Some Order members were baffled that Hermione was willingly defending someone like him.

"I-it's true." Neville reaffirms and Luna and Ginny both nod. "I didn't quite know what to think of it. But it gave you all the advantage, didn't it?"

"We outnumbered them three to one." Tonks mused as they looked at you with newly formed consideration.

"Yes. They seemed genuinely surprised that we were already waiting for them." Remus muses and steps towards your bed, but pauses at the heat coming defensively off of the barrier that still sang malevolently between you and the Order.

"I've never liked my father's agenda. But he'd kill me and my family if I disobeyed him. The sole purpose of our friendship," Mattheo motions between the two of you, "was for the benefit of them, not me."

"Why would the friendship be mutually beneficial?" Mad-Eye prompts. He still looks untrusting of Mattheo, his voice laden with suspicion.

The two of you share a look of understanding. One that transcends levels that not one person in that room could comprehend.

He's been teaching me Legillimency.

None of the Order members flinch when you enter their minds, being adequately trained in the ability. But Remus is impressed by your level of control and skill as you talk to all of them at once, a small smile gracing his previously sullen face.

"There has to be more." Harry mumbled to himself as he paces. "What of your abilities?" He asks you and he motions towards the indigo energy field that has begun slowly dissipating as the Order members backed off inch by inch.

Mattheo squeezes your interlinked hands and you turn to smile up at him, but he's not looking at you. He's looking between all adults in the room, before settling his eyes on Remus.

"We suspected for a while that Meadow was different." He says and you startle.

What? You ask him wordlessly, incredulity spreading across your features. He still won't look at you, the only response is a tighter grip of your hand. You feel his regret cling to you like a second skin.

"I noticed that she was learning Legillimency early on in fifth year." At the looks of distrust, he clarified. "I'm particularly sensitive to Occlimency. People's thoughts are loud in my head, constantly."

The ability was practically tortured into me. He said that to you, and to you alone.

You squeeze his hand in your's, providing comfort even in the midst of wanting the answers for yourself.

"I also suspected that she had siphon-like abilities around the same time after seeing her excel with wandless and non-verbal magic with ease that only few people possess." He says, turning towards you. He fights the urge to press away the frown on your face with a kiss. He knows that what he's about to confess may destroy any of the trust he had built with you, but you deserve the truth.

Even if it costs him everything.

"When Theo told me that you were his patrol partner last year, I knew that I had a golden opportunity. So I told him to befriend you." He says, his voice low and hoarse, and he hates the way your hand loosens in his hold. "He hated the idea at first because of your affiliation with Potter, and he was only cordial out of obligation. But then something changed. He said that you were kind to him, despite his reluctance. Compassionate and understanding. You listened when he ranted about his father and you were a friend in a time he really needed it. I never wanted any of them to be a part of this, so I told him that I had a plan of sorts to get them all out.

Since the beginning of the year, under the guise of tutor sessions, I've helped her strengthen her ability as a Legillimens in the hopes that if my father ever discovered her abilities, that she would not submit to his mind control and torture. But it was also selfishly in hopes of discovering, for myself, if I was right."

"So the whole time we were searching for answers," you say in a whisper, but he heard the betrayal lacing your tone as if you'd screamed at him, "you knew the whole time? All of you?"

"Yes and I'm sorry I wasn't honest with you, sweetheart. So deeply sorry." He says quietly, his onyx eyes big and wide with the hope that you would show him forgiveness.

"What will your father do if he finds out about me?" You ask, but it's Arthur Weasley who speaks up for the first time since you all entered the Hospital Wing.

"I suspect that, if Dumbledore knew of your powers, that he also knows. It's only a matter of if he knows who you are." His words cut deep, and the look that Mad-Eye gives him tells you that he might have said something he shouldn't.

"Hold on? You all knew?" Harry asks incredulously, and you can't help but agree with your estranged friend. You look around at the adults who look between eachother with wide, panicking eyes.

"Dumbledore mentioned it in a meeting shortly after Katie was cursed." George mumbled, avoiding your scrutinising eye contact. "He'd been keeping a close eye on you. So has Snape."

Harry's attention snaps to George.

"So Voldemort probably already knows about her then."

"That stupid old man doesn't know anything." Mattheo snapped, his knuckles going white with how hard they're clenched shut. "I've made sure of it."

"How?" Remus asks softly, moving closer so that he can sit on the bed beside your's now that your display of magical power had dissipated, putting himself between the Order and Mattheo in the process.

"I knew of his return at the same time as all of you. This-" he lifts the sleeve of his robe up and you reach for his clenching hand instinctively as there are collective gasps of horror echoing around the room. You can't believe he's willingly displaying it.

"Théo-" What are you doing? You prepared to snap at anyone who dared harm him as his sleeve brushes inflamed skin.

Gaining their trust. Or attempting to, at least. By being honest.

The Dark Mark is surrounded by irritated skin where it is inked onto his forearm. The fresh scars melting into the old ones. But the mark is unaffected, twisting and curling as if laughing at his attempts to relinquish it from his body.

"This started to burn as soon as Pettigrew threw him into the cauldron in that graveyard two years ago." Mattheo continues, only locking eyes with you now.

"How do you know about that?" Harry asks with skepicism and Mattheo turns towards him. "You weren't there that night."

"No but my father showed me his rebirth, right after he greeted me, for the first time in fourteen years, by seeing how long I could withstand the cruciatus curse."

"But how is this relevant?" one Order member asks and you fight a snarl from reaching your lips as Mattheo pushes his sleeve down, concealing the Mark from view.

"He knows that there is a siphon in your ranks." He says and he mentally soothes you as you flinch at his words. "But he thinks it's a senior member. He would never suspect a sixth year to harbour so much power. We're not meant to harness that sort of skill yet."

"And how have you been preventing him from finding out?" that same Order member from before sneers and you wandlessly throw up a wall of indigo that has the man bouncing back as he steps forward a little too harshly.

You know without him having to verbalise it. Know what lengths he went to, to protect you and his family. You want to cry, with him and for him and all that he has endured.

"Did you not listen to a word he just said?" You snap at the man, who cowers under the glowing indigo of your gaze. Mattheo's presence is the only thing tethering you to sanity right now.

"The important thing," Remus says, interrupting the tense atmosphere. "Is that he does not know about Meadow. We must keep it that way."

Mattheo nods at his old professor and you can see in his glazed over eyes that they are having a wordless conversation.

She can detect horcruxes, can't she? Remus asks and Mattheo's imperceptive nod gives him the answer he needs.

"I just have one question." Fred speaks up after a lull of uncomfortable silence overtook the ward. He looks deep in thought and there's an undercurrent of curiousity in the way his cerulean eyes dart from you to Mattheo.

"Are you in love with her?"

You expected Fred to be full of jealousy, considering you had been attached at the hip in the previous year. But instead, there's only understanding in the older twin's eyes. Mattheo must see it too, because he doesn't utter a snarky reply like you expect and Fred nods with what you think is approval, at his response.

"Yes. Irrevocably and undeniably."

Your heart flutters in your chest as your cheeks flush at the admission.

You had known for a while. But neither of you had voiced those three words in fear that everything would come crashing down around you. Still, you can feel it deep in your soul as his words settle in your chest.

He loves you. Irrevocably and undeniably, he loves you.

He had been under the impression that he'd inherited his father's curse. Never being able to fall in love. But his mother must live on in him somehow. Because he can feel it like it's a separate entity attaching itself to his heart by a thread that had been slowly stitching it together overtime.

Although many of your friends are looking at him in a new light, even Ron who finds himself squeezing Hermione's still trembling hands with his own, the people in that room did not trust the Riddle heir; many were wary of the Dark Mark that marred his skin like a deathly omen. But Remus can see the ghost of another in the way Mattheo acts and he knows that Regulus Black would be proud of what Mattheo has been doing right under his father's watchful eye.

He can only hope that you remain hidden in plain sight, long enough to give them a fighting chance.

For now, he has decided that he needs to cash in an age old favour from the one person he is certain can help your friends; Andromeda Tonks was more than happy to help.

~∞~

i changed the way i approached the ending so many times lol

we're about to delve into very war-time centric chapters now (fair warning, its gonna get angsty and a little dark very quickly)

taglist:

(striked out users are ones that i couldn't tag)

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#serendipity series #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #harry potter #ginny weasley x reader #ron weasley #harry potter x reader #hermione granger #ginny weasley #remus lupin #angst

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inlovewithquestionablecharacters · 2 months

Note

Hey,

could you please write a Hannibal one-shot, where he is the guardian of a teenaged reader after her parents died?

Hannibal X Platonic! Reader: Father figure

Warnings: death, grief, murder, violence, nightmares, no use of y/n, gn reader, not proofread, angst, happy ending.

Word count:1,2K

Your screams rang through the house. Hannibal jumped from his bed, making his way to your room in a hurry. You were stool half asleep, your body contorting as you yelled.

“No! Stop it! Leave them alone!”

“Darling. It’s a nightmare you have to wake up.”

Hannibal gripped onto your body forcing you to stop spasming. It took a while but you're finally managed to wake up. Your face was streaked with tears as you gazed at him with wide eyes. Ever since your parents were killed you’d been haunted by night terrors. The first time it had happened you’d startled Hannibal quite a bit but as time went on he became used to your screams waking him up in the middle of the night. He tried to help you as best he could, performing various treatments to help you get over the traumatic events of your parents passing.

He and Will had been the ones to find you. Will’s bullet was the one that had ended the killer's life before he managed to take yours too. They’d managed to save you but it was already too late for your parents. You remembered being taken into the hospital for the gashes on your body. When you’d woken up Hannibal had been beside you, his hand wrapped around your smaller one. You’d watched him sleep for a moment, a feeling of safety washing over you for the first time in hours.

Hannibal had taken you in as soon as you were discharged. He’d set up a room for you and had told you that you could leave anytime you wanted but that he wished to take care of you as one of his own. You didn’t even have to think about it. That moment the words had spilled from Hannibal's lips you were moving to pull him into a hug.

Hannibal took his role of caregiver very seriously. He was always checking up on you, making sure you were comfortable and content. He taught you self defense, all while guaranteeing you’d never have to use it because he’d always be there to protect you from harm. There were things he couldn’t protect you from.

Your nightmares were one of those things.

They usually got worse after hypnotherapy. Making you relive what happened to your parents was meant to help you get over their deaths and while it did help you grieve it also sent you spiraling a bit. Hannibal sat at the edge of your bed, his hands moving to pull you into his frame. You inched yourself closer to his body, allowing his presence to ground you to the present. You could still see your mothers lifeless eyes in the back of your mind. You forced the sight away, taking a few deep breaths. Hannibal carseed you back, his voice telling you that it was okay, you were safe and that he was here for you.

“Sorry for waking you.”

“Never apologize for that dear. I’ll always be here for you.”

Your body felt tired from being awoken so abruptly, causing your frame to sag into Hannibals. His hand moved to caress your hair, something you’d told him your mom used to do when you were little. You closed your eyes, relaxing a bit. Hannibal's presence made you feel safe and before you knew it sleep began creeping up on you.

The next morning you awoke to the sound of birds outside your window. You got up, moving to the window. You pulled the curtains open, allowing the sunlight to fill your room. You could hear music playing outside your door. You padded over to it, exiting your room before making your way to the kitchen. Hannibal greeted you with a small smile. You went over to him, eyeing what he was cooking.

“Good morning.”

“Morning. Whatcha making?”

“Scrambled eggs. Your juice is on the counter.”

You moved over to where he had gestured with his head, grabbing the cup of juice and taking a sip. You leaned against the counter, watching as Hannibal continued to make breakfast.

“Do you have any plans tonight?”

Hannibal asked out of respect, he knew for a fact you rarely planned anything without involving him. Still, he felt he needed to let you know, even in a discrete manner, that you were allowed to go on with your life. You were allowed to go out and make friends and have fun. But he also knew you were still a bit dependent on him so he never forced you to go out.

“No, why?”

“I was thinking we could have dinner with Will and Alana today. And maybe we could watch a movie after.”

“Yeah that sounds nice.”

Hannibal gave you a smile, as he plated your breakfast. You took the plate over to the dining table, taking a seat. Hannibal joined you a moment later, carrying his own plate. The two of you ate breakfast in silence, Hannibal scrolling on his ipad as you scrolled on your phone.

“Would you like to talk about yesterday?”

“I dreamed about my mom again.”

Hannibal raised his head to look at you. He watched you place your phone down and poke at your eggs with your fork.

“She looked odd though. There was something wrong with her eyes.”

“How so?”

“They felt empty. It’s not the way I remember her. Whenever I think of her I just remember how warm her smile was and how her eyes wrinkled when she laughed.”

You smiled a bit at the memory, a sudden pang making its way into your heart. You missed your parents but the thing you hated the most was the way the killer had engraved their memory of them in your head. The last time you saw them they were dead and even with all the years of good memories all your brain could seem to grab onto was their last moments.

“The fact you managed to remember her in that light is a good thing. It means the treatments are working. You’re making progress.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

Hannibal reached over the table to grab your hand. You looked up at him, allowing him to hold onto your palm.

“You are a very strong person. It’s normal to shut down after a traumatic experience but you continue to bloom. All you have to do is believe in yourself. “

You smiled at him, moving to raise from your seat. You walked over to him leaning down to give him a hug. Hannibal wrapped his arms around you, embracing you back.

“Thanks Hannibal.”

“I’m here for you. You know that right?”

“Yeah I do.”

“Whatever you need just ask okay?”

“I will.”

You moved to grab your plate.

“Thanks for breakfast. I think I'm gonna hang in my room for a bit, okay?”

“Of course.”

“Call me if you need help cooking dinner.”

Hannibal gave you a small nod. You moved back into the kitchen, washing your plate and placing it on the drying rack. You stared out the window taking in the world outside. Hannibal was right, you were strong and you weren’t going to let this killer ruin your life. Your parents wouldn’t want you to stop living just because they were gone. You were going to make them proud and with Hannibal on your side nobody was ever going to hurt you again.

#hannibal fanfiction #hannibal lecter #hannibal tv show #nbc hannibal #hannibal #mads mikkleson #hannibal x reader #hannibal nbc #mads mikkelsen x reader #mads mikkelsen #mads x reader #hannibal x teen!reader #Hannibal x platonic!reader

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firstfirerebel · 11 months

Text

𝕽𝖎𝖉𝖉𝖑𝖊

Sumary: Part 2 of 𝕳𝖎𝖘

Pairing: yandere! adult! Tom Riddle/Voldemort x fem! reader

Warnings: dark content, yandere/toxic behavior, death eaters, kidnapped reader, hints to torture,

Same timeline as in Part 1

A week has passed since you got kidnapped by the dark lord himself, and it hasn't been an easy or calm week. Luckily, he wasn't around you often because he had so many meetings with different death eaters to give them new missions and updates on his plans. Much to his dismay. Every time he had to leave your side, he wasn't in a good mood, and everybody knew that.

Unfortunately, he intended to actually have a romantic relationship with you. Until now, he hasn't forced you to anything, but you knew it was only a matter of time or your behavior.

Even though he wanted to give you some time to get used to everything, he still insisted on sleeping in the same bed as you. It wasn't as bad as you imagined it at first, but it was still uncomfortable. Mostly, he suddenly hugged you from behind, hid his nose in your hair or your neck, and dozed off. Getting free was impossible. He almost clinched to you, and when you tried to escape his arms, he just tightened his grip.

Escaping would be a real problem. You didn't even know where this mansion was. Were you in England? Or was this in Scotland or completely somewhere else?

Was only the mansion surrounded by Death Eaters or the scenery around it, too?! Did Tom think you would try to escape or not?

Lost in your thoughts, you didn't hear the knock on the door. When the person entered, you were relieved that it wasn't Riddle. It was Narcissa.

"I knocked, but you didn't awnser. The Dark Lord wishes to meet you,"

As on your first day, you followed her. She was pretty fast so keeping her pace was a bit difficult. Once you reached his so called 'office', Narcissa immediately walked away and left you alone with him.

When Tom saw you, he basically ran to you and pulled you into his arms. His breath was so loud for you, and you hated his touch to be honest, but at least it wasn't something worse.

"I missed you", he whispered into your ear.

Suddenly you realised that you two weren't alone, the curly head of Bellatrix was behind Tom. He seemed to notice your discomfort.

"Bellatrix, leave. I want to be alone with her", she was obliviously mad at that but still left the room without a word.

He turned his head back to you.

"Better?"

You didn't do anything. Fearing that a wrong awnser would make him mad, you just hugged him again and hid your face in his chest. Hugging him wasn't something you enjoyed, but if you closed your eyes and just felt his warmth, it was a little comfort in this so cold building and every time you hugged him, it made him happy, and a happy Tom was better than an upset one.

His clothes smelled like a library, or just good old books, which calmed you a little. In libraries, you have always felt safe. With no bullies around or other loud students, it felt like heaven.

And a safe place was now all you needed. Since he even talked about having kids, you knew some bad things would come, though it was questionable if he intended to do it with you 'wanting' this or if he didn't care.

"Tom?" You had to ask him, even if it would make him mad...

Instead of saying something, he kissed the top of your head to show you he was paying attention.

"What if I'm not ready for kids? I mean, I would love to start a family with you, but I'm scared", Liar liar pants on fire, was all your brain screamed.

Instead of freaking out, Tom was really calm. He put his hands on your shoulders and looked straight into your eyes.

"It's okay, my love. Y'know I was scared too, I was scared that something would hurt you without me being able to protect you, but after I killed this mudblood. I realised that nothing could take you away from me",

So badly you wanted to scream 'I didn't and still don't want this! Get yourself to therapy, you creep!' But you didn't dare it and your question still had no awnser. Would he dare to harm you for his 'lust' or should you consider it a wish? Again he pulled you close and hid his nose in your hair.

You somehow found comfort in his touch and immediately you knew that you had to run away as soon as you had the chance. Otherwise you might not be able to keep your sanity.

This man kidnapped you! Killed people! Hurts and tortures others every day! He is mad! You mustn't feel this way when he hugs you! Especially if you didn't even want this touch!

But still, you were scared to end this hug. Somehow, Tom couldn't get enough of physical contact with you, and if you pulled away, he might freak out like on your first day.

Flashbacks of how he threw the whole table through the room made you shiver, and you knew if he wanted to harm you, he could easily do it. Obviously, he didn't even fear the ministry. What could you do against him?

Even your wand was taken away from you. You were literally helpless in this situation. Tom wouldn't just hand it over once you asked nicely... most likely giving you your wand back would be the proof of trust towards you.

But every day you had to stay here, increased the possibility of getting mad.

Maybe even the food or the drinks that were served to you had a little bit of love potion in it. Not enough for you to fall for Tom immediately, but enough so you would fall for him over some time.

This couldn't and mustn't happen!

Even one more day here could become dangerous. You had to flee! But you also had to be clever. If you would start to act weird, he might realize that you were up to something. Though some 'making him happy' wouldn't hurt as well...

"Tom, do you have one more meeting with your death eaters today? I don't want to be alone all this time..."Your voice really sounded sad, and you even let out a sigh at the end. Luckily, you have always been a good actress.

"Yes, one late at night. You'll be asleep when I return. And I also don't like being parted from you, but we'll find a solution, okay?" You nodded for a yes and even could fake a small smile towards him.

OK, fleeing when it was night was scary, but also easier. In the dark, you could easily hide from preying eyes and maybe even get a safe distance to this place. It had to be tonight. Another day here would be too risky.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once you were back in your room and Tom was about 10 minutes gone, you changed from your nightgown to a comfortable jeans and a warm hoodie, beneath you also wore a T-shirt just in case and of course a warm jacket.

Silently, you opened the door towards your room. Without a wand, your survival skills wouldn't be the best, so you had to find a wand first. It didn't matter if it was your or not. As long as you could make simple spells like 'Incendio', it was enough.

Luck was once on your side. In the office of Tom, you found your own wand in the first drawer. Back on the corridor, you conjured the disillusionment charm on yourself. It wasn't the safest option but better than nothing.

You kept running the stairs down until you were at the ground floor of this mansion. Out of the front door, you sticked to the walls just in case someone wanted to look outside the window.

Surprisingly this was much easier than you thought...

It was pitch black, which was a blessing and a curse at the same time. You could barely see your own hand, but this also meant that no other person could see you from afar and chase after you the moment they saw you.

Around the mansion was a huge fence, so you had to open the old gate that was rusty and squeaky ! Not good...

When you opened it, it didn't make as much noise as you feared. But still, you had to run now, which was very hard in the dark, but you didn't dare to make any light with 'Lumos'. In the worst case, they already knew that you were gone and made up teams or something to find you. Well, 'they' were 'him' in this case.

You ran until you saw trees around you. You weren't exactly the sportiness in person, but all the fear that built up over the days you were captured started to overcome you and gave you so much adrenalin that you managed to keep running. Fear also from the fear of him finding you again and doing worse things to you than he already did.

You felt your head becoming hot and your legs getting tired. Your vision was almost blurry, so you had to stop. Though you didn't see much, you saw three trees around you, and the floor was covered in dark leaves. You tried to calm your breath so you didn't make too much noise. You also tried to hear as much as possible.

But you didn't hear any steps or any running, nor any speaking. The only thing that was heard was the wind, the chill wind that felt like heaven. Not only because you just ran away as fast as possible, but also because you never heard the wind in the mansion. Neither did you feel it against your cheeks in the past week.

The air also felt much better. It wasn't thick and warm. It was fresh and cold, and you even smelled the forest you were in. The trees had their own smell, just like anything else did.

And finally, you felt happiness again.

You wanted to scream it out, but couldn't. So, instead, you threw yourself into this feeling and started to twirl yourself around in the forest.

Now you knew how hamsters or other small animals felt. In the past week, you were in a different kind of cage, but still a cage. You weren't able to do your own hobbies that became a need to you. No going out to hear the birds or just smell the grass. Cause he didn't want it. Somehow, you felt like a little pet to him. He could do to you whether you liked it or not. You were at his mercy. He could have just let you starve when he thought you didn't act like he wanted you to. Or maybe just lock you in a room cause he thought you were annoying. But also do anything else to of with you.

The thought made you sick to the stomach. No one should live a life like that. Silently, your eyes began to burn, and then the hot tears rolled your face down.

If he would manage to bring you back, you knew you would go crazy. You weren't some kind of thing that he could possess. You were your own person with needs and wishes, but if he would ever realize that was the question.

In fact, now you saw that Tom didn't really love you. In his twisted mind, he did, but he saw himself more as your 'owner'. He 'loved' the idea of you with him but not you as the person you were. In his mind, you weren't even allowed to have any friends that he saw as bad influence, neither would he tolerate you doing something that could hurt you.

He just wanted a real-life doll of you that did whatever he wanted, but still loved and adored him. But conflicts belonged into a relationship. Two people can't always share the same opinion.

In the end, this realization was what got you captured again.

You were so deep into your thoughts that you didn't hear the mad laughter you hated. The craziness in a voice. Bellatrix. Once she saw your silhouette, she started to laugh again. Actually, she didn't want you to return at all. But maybe she could add some bloody scratches before she returned to the dark lord. If she was the one who brought you back, he would definitely praise her! That was something no one would take away from her. And again, a 'stupor' met you, and everything went pitch black. Again...

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