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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months

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Three for One 6

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: As a customer service associate, you’re used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what’s on the shelf.

Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale

Note: I'm so tireddddd

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me 💞

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The keypad beeps and Lloyd quickly flicks the handle, kicking open the door so it hits something solid. You hear a grunt as the man on the other side stumbles back. It all happens so fast you don't get a glimpse of the code. Not much use if they lock you inside.

“What the fuck?” Ransom grabs the door and swings it open, “she got away–”

“Right here, peachy keen,” Lloyd sneers as pressure pinpoints on either side of your neck. You whine and try to loosen his hand, “she got you good, huh?”

“She’s sneaky,” Ransom mutters, “whatever. She can’t get out.”

“But she locked you in,” he snorts.

A growl ripples through the air. You’re turned back to face Ernie as he stands at the end of the hall. His head goes low as his jowls bunch up and he bares his teeth. He snarls as he slowly walks closer.

“Oh fuck,” Ransom puts the door between him and the hall, peeking around it.

“This fucking thing,” the other man utters, “tell it to stop.”

“Ah, ah,” you squeak as Ernie gets closer. “I– you’re hurting me. It’s making him mad.”

“I’m about to hurt him,” Lloyd threatens.

“Ernie,” you yipe and put a hand out, “Ern, please, I’m–” you choke, “okay.”

His thunderous warning grows louder. You reach with your fingers and he touches them with his nose. You caress the rough ridge and hush him, “please, sit. Please.”

His teeth gleam dangerously but he puts his rear down and hides his canines again. His chagrin nestles just above his usually doleful eyes and he looks between the two men; the one hiding behind the door and the one latched onto you.

“We need a fucking cage for that thing,” Ransom comments.

“And here I was thinking we need one for the girl,” Lloyd scoffs.

“Or you know, you could let us both go,” you suggest, writhing on your toes.

“Smart,” Lloyd sneers. “I can’t wait to train that mouth.” You turn your head and show your teeth, snapping them shut. His brows arch at the gesture and he gives an emphatic shiver, “I’m starting to like the feisty thing.”

“You’ve never been picky,” Ransom lets the door fall open, “get her in here.”

“Here,” Lloyd spins and flings you at the other man, “I’ll keep watch, make sure you don’t get locked in again.”

“Shut up,” Ransom grabs your arm and drags you away. He shoves you so you hit the foot of the bed. “Listen, you little bitch,” he keeps his voice low, “don’t fucking embarrass me again, got it?”

You flip your head back and gape at him. What are you supposed to do?

“And dont give me that fucking look,” he points in your face.

Or what? You swallow the words and stand straight. You face him and shrug. He’s not half as scary as the man outside the door, but both together are insurmountable.

You try to wipe away your irritation. You want this night to end. You want to go home. You don’t know how much more you can handle as your anger gives way to something more potent. Fear.

He slowly turns to the open wardrobe, peeking back at you as you cross your arms. You nibble your lip and avert your eyes. Your adrenaline dissolves and fatigue tugs at your muscles. You’re not giving up, you’re only biding your time. It might just take a little longer than you like.

“This,” Ransom tosses a furry white sweater on the bed, “this.”

You consider the outfit. The sweater is cropped and there’s a gold sequin heart on the front. The skirt is almost as short with ruffled tiers. It’s not really your taste but it hardly matters.

He slams the doors of the wardrobe and tosses down a pair of sheer stockings with ribbons wove through the top. These are just a few pieces of a full collection. How long have they been planning this? Had they followed you long or were you just in the wrong place at the wrong time?

You lift your eyes as he stares at you. You frown. He lowers his chin, “well?”

“Well, uh, can I get some privacy?”

He blinks slowly.

“Come on, pussy cat, show us some peach,” Lloyd taunts from the doorway as he peers through.

You gulp. This is getting too real. The only thing keeping you from full panic is the fact of your futility. Freaking out would only play into their game.

“Right, I get it,” you turn to the bed, “you can’t trust me. I ran. I ran and I got pretty far. So I don’t blame you for being paranoid.”

“Paranoid?” Ransom scoffs.

“You didn’t get that far,” Lloyd intones.

You ignore him and pull the clothes to the end of the bed. You put your back to Lloyd but can’t avoid Ransom. You look down at your jacket and slowly unzip it. Your scalp is itchy with sweat as you let the heat out from under the downy layer.

You drop your coat on the bed and bend to unlace your boots. You focus on the little things first. Boots, socks, your favourite red sweater with the white hearts. You lay each piece down deliberately, closer and closer to the inevitable.

You peel off the camisole you wore under the wool layer and take the furry sweater from the bed. There’s clucking from the door. You stiffen and clutch the fluffy fabric.

“Everything,” Lloyd orders.

You put the sweater back down and shudder. You hear Ransom’s breath catch as you reach behind you to unhook your bra. His eyes bore into you as the floor creaks. You sense the other man breaks the threshold.

“Little help?” The call from down the hall makes you flinch and a hum escapes Ransom. You look at him as his eyes linger on your chest.

“Shit,” Lloyd huffs, “don’t tell him.”

He leaves you alone with the other man. You take a breath and let your bra fall down your arms. You quickly swipe up the furry sweater and pull it on, but not without causing your tits to jiggle one last time.

“Those almost make it worth it,” he snickers.

You undo your pants as you keep to task. It’s so surreal but undeniable. It’s entirely clear what this is. Their intent is written in every glance, every comment. You roll down your jeans and stand in your undies and the fluffy sweater. Your thumbs hook in the elastic of your underwear as you pivot, trying to hide yourself as best you can as you strip the cotton away.

You just as swiftly step into the skirt, pulling it up to cling snugly around your waist. Ransom gets closer, petting the sleeve of your sweater as he does. His breath grits in his throat.

“Wanna close that door again,” he purrs.

You take the stockings, ignoring the proposition. Shit. You bend and roll the first one up to your thigh, the lace speckled with the little hearts. You slip on the other and stand straight.

He looms over you and shifts slowly towards you. His sole drags on the floor. He’s stopped only by a low drone from the doorway.

Ernie stands watching, glaring at that man. Your heart leaps and you do too. You flit forward to the dog and rub his ears.

“Shh, boy, it’s okay,” you glance back at Ransom, “I won’t let him hurt you.”

His eyes narrow. His shoulders drop slightly, the disappointment of your evasion clear. The close call sears down your back.

He trails you down the hall as Ernie walks beside you. You keep your hand in his fur, clinging to him for strength. It’s not about you, it’s about keeping him safe.

You enter the front room and find Lloyd scowling at a string of lights as Andy kneels in front of a box. It’s a weird scene to come upon. These two villains in such a wholesome position. Their sinister intentions could almost be mistaken.

Andy looks up and pauses as he holds a large red ornament. His lips part as he sees you. Fire blazes across your cheeks at the way his eyes dilate. He clears his throat and holds up the oblong decoration.

“You gonna come help, honey?”

You nod and let go of Ernie. He stays at your heels as you go to the other side of the box. You bend your knees and reach in, plucking out a clear ball with fake snow inside. You feel the eyes on you, waiting for a hint of something more.

Ernie paces behind you, a wall of fur roving back and forth. You want him to calm down, his energy fueling your own. You pause and turn to pet his broad back.

“Ern, it’s okay, boy, relax,” you twine your fingers into the thick strands and scratch him, “lay down… please.”

You nudge him slightly. He resists. His head moves from side to side as he looks at each man. He huffs and flops down, thumping onto the floor beside you.

“That’s cute. He takes care of you,” Andy says, “sweet girl like you, who wouldn’t?”

You make yourself smile. It’s not very difficult. You have extensive training in faking it. You step around the box and take the ornament to the tree. Lloyd is there, trying to wrap lights around the branches. He sidles closer as you reach to hang the decoration.

“Little higher,” he leans back, looking behind you. You don’t know why you listen but you do.

You stand on your toes and hook the ball over the upper tier. You feel cool air tickle the bottom of your ass, you’re not the only one to notice. Lloyd groans, Ransom chokes, and Andy exhales sharply. You feel like you’re on display, the tree is just secondary.

You put your arms down and tug at the sides of the skirt, cautiously going back to the box. You reach down, bending in your legs not your waist. Your eyes meet Andy’s as you reach for another ornament. His lashes flick hotly.

“Did I tell you how good you look, honey?” He growls.

Lloyd chuckles and Ransom joins in. You’re not sure what’s so funny or how to react. You look around and toy with the decoration in your hand. You stand on the sides of your feet, swaying nervously.

“Lawyers, man. They’ll never say what they want outright,” Lloyd remarks.

“Shut up,” Andy hisses, “I’m being nice.”

“You’re being a fucking simp,” Ransom sniffs.

“Don’t listen to them,” he says to you directly, “I mean it, you look really… pretty.”

“Well, every time she moves, her ass falls out, so I’d say she’s not too bad on the eyes,” Lloyd chortles. “How do you think she is on the dick? That sweater looks soft, let her keep it on, maybe put her in my lap–”

“Hey,” Andy tosses an ornament at him as you back away, mortified. “Don’t be disgusting.”

“Don’t act like you don’t want to get disgusting all over her. What’sa matter? The wife doesn’t put it in her mouth anymore and you can’t get past half-chub–”

“You’re both fucking pathetic,” Ransom comes forward to reach into the box, retracting as Ernie pops his head up and growls. You quiet the dog as the man drops several ornaments onto the floor in his fright.

“Pot, kettle, black as our souls,” Lloyd says.

“Let’s get the tree decorated,” Andy insists, “it’ll be Christmas soon enough…” he plants his foot, straining as he stands, “we’ve wasted enough time.”

He rounds the box, brushing by you. You don’t fail to noise how his fingertips tickle your upper thigh, along with the other men’s gazes as they note the same thing. You turn to trail after Andy and hang your decoration next to his. Another cool flow wafts up your skirt, eliciting another communal hum from the other men.

“Who’s gonna trim my tree?” Lloyd jokes crudely.

He gets only a growl from Andy as you refuse to acknowledge the comment. Ransom hovers at the edge of the room as Ernie stares him down. The large dog doesn’t get up but remains alert. You feel awful to bring him into this. He must be so confused, even more than you are.

🎀

Once the tree is decorated, your energy is completely spent. Your vigilance drains away what’s left and you lower yourself to the floor to sit with Ernie. He lets you lean on him and puts his head on your knee.

“Tired?” Andy asks.

You can only nod.

It’s a strange, almost numb hollowness. That sort of surrender that comes with just not having anything left in you. There’s that voice that tells you not to give up but it can’t drown out the blaring fatigue.

“You should lay down,” he suggests.

“With who?” Lloyd asks as he stretches his neck side to side.

“That’s not the deal,” Andy girds.

“Fucking chill. I’m kidding. Don’t worry,” he shows his palms, “I won’t open my Christmas present early.”

“Can I?” You ask as you drag a hand down Ernie’s side.

“Yeah, come on,” Andy offers his hand.

You should refuse. You should get up on your own but you’re not sure you even can. Before you can reach for the helpful hand, you’re scooped up from behind. You yelp and Ernie barks as he jumps to his feet.

“Woah, woah,” Lloyd dodges him as he holds you in his arms, “tell the mutt to cool it. I’m helping.”

“Ernie,” you eke out, hanging a hand down for him.

“Oh, pussy cat, you’re gettin’ sleepy,” he teases as he carries you past Andy, a defiant look shot in his direction, “let daddy put you to bed.”

Andy follows, Ernie too. Ransom keeps a cautious eye on the latter.

You don’t protest as you’re carried down the hall. He turns into the bedroom and takes you to the bed. As he puts you down, his hand shamelessly stops on your ass and spreads wide.

“Oops,” he feigns embarrassment, “must’ve slipped.”

“Hey,” Andy charges in and rips his arm back, “enough. She needs to sleep.”

“Look, she can sleep and I can do my thing. Multitasking–”

“We agreed–”

“Actually, you just talk at us and assume we do,” Lloyd counters sourly.

“I’m tired,” you mope.

“Yeah, well, who’s fault is that?” Lloyd snaps.

You frown and roll your eyes. You look past him as you pet the bed. Ernie bounds over and hops up, nearly knocking over Lloyd as he leaps onto the bed. He lays down beside you, his fluffy tail stretching past the end. You lay back and pet his head.

“Come on,” Andy inserts himself between the other man and the bed, “we all do our part, we all follow the plan.”

There’s silence. You peek over at the men as they stare each other down. You don’t say a word as you hug Ernie’s large head.

“I had a better one,” Lloyd hisses.

“We agreed,” Andy repeats. “We let her sleep. It’s her first night.”A sigh. Lloyd backs up and Andy looks over his shoulder at you. He gives a small smile and you nestle down into the bed. You close your eyes as your heart pounds in your ribcage. First night? Of how many?

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tarotwithlove · 10 months

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PICK A CARD 🪞ೕ how would your fans describe you if you were famous

in today’s pac we will be answering the following questions regarding your life as a famous person:

- why are you famous?

- what kind of fans would you have?

- how would your fans describe you?

reminder that this is a general reading and messages found here may not apply to everyone. take what resonates, leave what doesn't, and don't force anything if it does not fit.

BOOK A READING WITH ME · LINKTREE · SUGGEST A PAC TOPIC · TIPS ♡ tips and feedback are highly appreciated!

GROUP ONE

cards · high priestess, judgement (reversed), knight of cups, seven of pentacles, nine of wands, four of pentacles, ten of cups, high priestess.

songs · deserve by lucky daye. levanter by stray kids. slide by øzi. amnesia by kai. amazing by mary j blige.

my dear group one ♡ you are famous for the character or characters that you create - characters in a video game in particular. you may be credited with creating a character that fans of a franchise quickly latch onto or are especially horny over.

i specificy “horny over” because pyramid head and lady dimitrescu are the two characters that come to mind and i think that most of us are aware of how the fans react to the two of them.

your fans will honestly adore and admire you. you may be far less known than your creation, and so the group of people who interact directly with you may be smaller and more devout than the people who just interact with your creation. the hardcore fans who interact directly with you online will send you art, headcanons, and questions in the hopes that you will acknowledge them - or because you often interact with your fans in that way so they know there is a high chance that you will acknowledge them. your community of fans will be a creative and artistic one. this will be a more practical form of creative and artistic expression, with your fans going out of their way to create cosplay that is as close to the source as possible.

many of your fans will describe you as the person who inspired them again - inspired them to create again, to get into a hobby or get into a hobby again, to go after a goal again. some may start posting their art or may apply to art institutions/for art related jobs, crediting you as their biggest influence behind this decision. your fans will cling onto you and describe you as someone that “must be protected at all cost” - especially whenever your tweets or posts go viral or your friendly interactions with fans start to get a lot of attention.

they may also describe you as someone who must be wise with their money, because you seem to live a good and well paid for life despite only putting out a small amount of work. they may also realise that you put out a small amount of work because you get paid a good salary for it - especially after this other character or game gained so much attention and renown - and because your main focus is family above all else. even if you do not post or talk about your family often (likely to protect yours and their anonymity as much as possible) your fans will often describe you as a “family man/woman first, game dev second” - or as someone they wish was their parent or close friend or family member.

GROUP TWO

cards · ten of pentacles, four of pentacles, seven of pentacles (reversed), ten of cups (reversed), three of cups (reversed), death, ten of cups, nine of pentacles (reversed), ten of swords.

songs · better by ama lou. unsteady by x ambassadors. video games by lana del rey. dear dream by nct dream.

my dear group two ♡ you are more famous for being famous, than for any of your talents. though this, too, is a skill all of its own. you may be famous because of someone you know or date, or because someone shares their platform with you and subsequently rockets you to fame (think, a popular tiktoker collaborating with you, a popular youtuber mentioning you in one of their videos, a popular twitter account retweeting you).

you may experience an emma chamberlain turn of events where you transcend from internet fame into real life fame - similarly, too, where people will look at you and wonder, “how is this person famous again?”. you may garner more fame for being an influencer and sharing your personal life stories publicly.

honestly, dear, it is quite upsetting to see the kind of fans you would have if you were famous. your fans may have a strong parasocial relationship with you, especially because of the way you became famous and because of your strong online presence. many of them will get a kick out of rooting for an underdog, and so, they may start to turn on you when you start to become more succesful and more well-known. one particular scenario may be common amongst your fans, where a tweet of them calling you mid, boring, mediocre (or anything to that regard) goes viral, only for people to reply and quote with this you’s of this person praising you months prior. you won’t even have done anything wrong, they’ll just start to feel bitter, jealous, and entitled. many of them will just start to randomly hate you. once you notice this shift, you’ll stop caring what other people say about you. you’ll continue being your authentic self and will start to consciously appeal to a different demographic of people.

your fans will describe you as someone who was able to make a name for yourself despite how oversaturated the influencer market is. they will describe you as someone who rose above and became real world succesful not just internet succesful, despite it all. there will definitely be a split between fans who genuinely support you and “fans” who will find every reason to hate on you. some may say things like “you don’t understand them” or “you’re just jealous and looking for reasons to hate them” - especially when people mask hatred of you behind criticism of meaningless things.

what’s coming to mind is the incident with madison beer that happened a few months ago, where people were “calling out” madison beer for dancing in a bikini on tiktok. people, of course, rightfully came to her defense and rightfully presupposed that the people who were saying negative things about her were likely jealous and insecure. similar things will happen to you. you’re attractive, talented, and lucky - your fans will describe you as such and rub it in the face’s of people who dislike you just for the sake of disliking you.

your fans will also describe you as someone who gets hated on unnecessarily. they would use that “i came into the house and everybody was like, oh, pretty girl, lets hate on her” meme a lot.

GROUP THREE

cards · six of cups, ten of cups, nine of cups, nine of pentacles, ace of swords, death (reversed), the devil, knight of wands, the world.

songs · cry by chester lockhart. poetic justice by kendrick lamar. coming home - interlude by kali uchis. fulton street i by la dispute.

my dear group three ♡ you are famous for doing something you enjoy or for doing something you have wanted to do since you were a child - and while that is incredibly broad, this is most true with regard to a field that has a high focus on restoration, the body, and physical performance. some of you are famous for being a part of a sport that asks you to push your body to the extremes - such as ballet or bodybuilding. while others of you are famous for your work as a coach (life coach or online fitness coach, just as two examples) or for using your platform to influence people to live a healthier, more active life. a lot of your fame comes from your ability to make yourself or your content stand out, especially in such saturated markets.

even if you are not the best, you are creative, refreshing, and relatable and know how to not only draw positive attention but keep it on you.

your fans are people who feel as if they are at the end of the road. they may have tried everything to feel better about themselves and happy in their lives, to little or no avail. that is, until they chance upon you. your story touches them, the way you carry yourself welcomes them, and the way you live your own life motivates them.

a lot of your fans may have bought countless self-help books before, tried countless diets or exercise plans, paid for countless talks, subscribed to countless accounts and channels, but could not fix anything that they see as needing to be fixed. again, until they come across you. in a way, you help your fans break their own toxic cycles.

your fans would describe you as someone with somewhat of a “no nonsense attitude”. you are honest about your own challenges and failings, and are always open to share the most difficult things you have experienced in life - however, you are also adamant in the fact that you have never let these things keep you down or stop you from achieving whatever you set your mind to achieving. something which is evident to your fans, even just from watching you from afar. your fans will say that this motivates them to work harder, to not give up on their goals, and to go after the life they want to lead. because if you can do it, why can’t they? if you kept persisting and saw your persistence pay off, why can’t it happen for them too? especially if you are a coach or offering one-on-one sessions, your fans will appreciate that you never ask them for more than you are also willing to give or you never expect them to do something that you yourself wouldn’t do or have not in the past down.

there’s an air of transparency here that your fans appreciate. they would recommend you to other people based on this. saying things like, “it’s not always easy, but it’s worth it,” and telling others that you are someone who can be trusted. i feel as if many of your fans will be grateful, above all else describing you as someone who helped them get their life back.

GROUP FOUR

cards · the tower, the magician, the world, knight of pentacles, ten of pentacles, ace of swords, six of cups, the tower, six of swords (reversed).

songs · tokyo drift by teriyaki boyz. advice by taemin. just look up by ariana grande & kid cudi. take me to church by hozier.

my dear group four ♡ you may be famous on an incredibly small scale - more of a niche celebrity with a cult following than a household name or anything similar. you may dabble in music, acting, writing, and social media and stay somewhat unknown for a long period of time. this level of fame may suit you most, too, because you have both your real life responsibilities and your artistic hobbies - both which give you a stable enough income and allow you to live your life to the fullest. you may just be a private person by nature, keeping a lot of your art for yourself and your loved ones.

however, greater fame may come to you suddenly and unexpectedly, with something you put out there or participate in suddenly blowing up and garnering a lot of attention. it may even be something you shared or were a part of a long time ago - such as a movie or song that suddenly becomes popular on tiktok.

your fanbase will start off as a chill, laidback one. they are a small to moderately sized group for the majority of your fame and, thus, quickly become familiar with you as well as with fellow fans. they may be people who gave up on their own artistic pursuits for the traditional 9-5 and family, and find solace in your own continued pursuit of art for art’s sake.

i feel like you would attract a lot of people older than you, around middle-aged. regardless of age, your fans would use your music (or whatever art you put out, though it may mostly be music) as a means to relax and unwind. they would also respect you a great deal and make sure to send you direct financial support even though you likely may never ask.

your fans will describe you as an old soul, and as someone who is humble and down to earth. this may be why you attract a lot of older fans, because the way that you approach art and evoke emotion is of someone far beyond your years. they may share your art with people close to them, such as with their families, and so you may have a reach far beyond your knowledge - i’m thinking of a pair of young friends hanging out when your song comes on shuffle, one asks the other who it is and the replies, “oh, this is someone my dad likes”.

your fans describe your art more than they describe you, which is something that you may also like. because your art is your art and should exist outside and apart from you as a person. when you become unexpectedly popular, your fans will be proud of you and happy for you (especially because many of them are living vicariously through you and have wanted this to happen for you for years), but will also wonder if you can handle all the pressure that comes with this kind of fame. when talking about you with others, they may say you feel like the kind of person who would just disappear once you became too famous. if they see other people interacting with your art, they may talk about how they knew you before you were so famous - reminiscing about the days when your fanbase was smaller and more intimate.

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sunonyoreface · 1 year

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He Knows - Simon “Ghost” Riley Pt. 3

Hi there, this is a series about Simon Riley from COD. This series does not follow any of the established plots or timelines from the games. While I use the names of some characters, they are different from the ones in COD.

Summary: You’re held captive by 141 for reasons unknown.

Word count: 2568

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: military setting, violence, explicit language.

PT4: https://at.tumblr.com/sunonyoreface/he-knows-simon-ghost-riley-pt-4/g299e2a9fj7s

When the van slows to a stop, Soap reaches over and snags a hand under my seatbelt clip to release it before undoing his own. His gloved knuckles brush against my stomach and there’s a slight pressure as he undoes the buckle. As quickly as he reached over, he disappears.

“We’ll wait ‘til everyone else’s off,” he says quietly, but I catch it immediately. There’s no one else he’d be talking to right now. Soap didn’t speak another word the entire ride, even to Ghost. No one else needs to hear his quiet words, they’re solely for me.

I nod in response, but I don’t know if he catches it.

The blindfold stays on as I descend the steps leading out of the van. A startling wave of icy air whips around me. All of the warmth I gained on our ride here is stripped from my body and I already feel the goose bumps rising on my arms.

“Fuck it's cold,” I mutter under my breath. My feet land on an uneven surface that I think is gravel. I can feel a layer of snow sticking to the bottom of my socks. The fabric freezes to the surface and sticks with resistance when I try and lift them. I can hear people unloading equipment from the vehicle and somewhere behind us another two or three vehicles pull up.

“Fair jeelit out,” Soap states to no one in particular. I don’t know if I heard him right and I’ve no clue what jeelit means, but it must refer to the cold. His reassuring hand once again finds its place at the back of my upper arm to quickly guide me inside.

It’s warmer inside, but only because there’s no wind. I follow Soap’s directions as he leads me to a room somewhere to wait while the team unloads. Inside is out of the wind, but not much better. Everywhere is freezing. Where the hell are we? It’s only November. It shouldn’t be this damn cold.

In the room alone, I can finally take the mask off. It’s a dim, bleak room with no windows and no furniture. A single fluorescent light hangs from the ceiling. It feels like the strange lighting plays with my eyes and forms shadows that aren’t really there. As I exhale, my breath visibly hangs in the air, illuminated by the light. I find myself drawn to the back corner of the room where I take a seat against the cement wall. I feel like I’m in a prison cell being punished for a crime I didn’t commit.

My stiff fingers untie the plastic bag to grab the blanket they gave me. It’s thick and rough, but warm. It wraps fully around my body, providing a refuge from the cold. Balled up in the corner of the room and wrapped in the old blanket, I’m finally able to relax enough to doze off. Being in a constant state of fight or flight is exhausting. I can almost feel the buildup of cortisol in my blood from the last several weeks. I’ve yet to catch a break and it’s taking a physical toll.

I don’t know how long I’m there, but when someone finally comes to the door, it’s not Soap. The sound of the latch unlocking startles me from my slumber. A large, dark figure looms in the doorway. He fills almost the entire space and is only a couple inches away from the top of the frame. A small pit in my stomach begins to grow. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light before I see the outline of the skull mask.

Ghost holds onto the sides of his bulletproof vest as he observes me in the corner. His wordless presence changes the entire feeling of the room. Everywhere he goes, Ghost brings with him the threat of violence. A dangerous ambiance floods the room as I’m reminded of our interactions last night.

I wait for his husky voice to fill the room with an order, but it remains silent as he watches me with those cold, calculating eyes. I feel like an animal of prey backed into a corner by a predator. There’s a lot about Ghost that’s predatory. His stature alone is built to kill. He’s the tallest man here only next to one other. But that man is slim compared to Ghost, who is broad and built with thick muscles gained from years of experience with hand-to-hand combat. Although he’s built like a machine, he’s incredibly stealthy. I wouldn’t be surprised if his call name originated because of how quiet he is when he moves. When he walks behind you, you don’t even know he’s there. His footsteps are utterly silent and he somehow blends into every room he enters. You don’t notice him until you see that terrifying skull mask staring back at you and by then, it's too late.

Ghost also seems to have an expansive understanding of people’s body language and facial expressions. He knows where a conversation is headed before it reaches its destination. He seems to know the next move of the people around him before they’ve thought about it themselves. He does this all based on how they hold themselves and where they’re looking. It takes him just seconds to catch a lie being told to him based on your micro expressions and tone of voice. He leaves no rock left unturned and is incredibly detailed. When Ghost looks at you the way he is looking at me now, you can almost be certain he’s reading your thoughts.

He's confident in the way he holds himself. Ghost knows his capabilities and what he brings to the team. He has more than earned his title and position on this team. The men he works with have unyielding respect for him and rightfully so. He’s technical, mechanical to the point that you might think he isn’t human.

There’s a darkness to him that makes him suited for this profession. He’s experienced and committed violence that most men can’t even imagine. Something has happened in his past that makes him choose this lifestyle - this violence over and over again because even it is better than what he knows from his past life. The old Ghost has died and what remains is the most efficient of killing machines.

So yes, when I see him standing in front of me, analyzing every shift and micro expression, looking for ulterior motives, it terrifies me. Because even though my only motive is to learn about my parent’s past, he already seems to know more about them than I ever have. When he looks at me, Ghost knows more about me than I will for years. And that, is a terrifying thought.

“Where’s soap?” I ask.

“In a meeting,” Ghost responds.

“Is this another interrogation?” I shift in my spot to see him better and wrap the blanket tighter around my shoulders.

“It could be,” his voice deepens as he fully steps into the room, silently closing the door behind him. The pit in my stomach begins to grow. I straighten my posture as I sit on the floor and bunch the blanket in my hands with nervous fists.

“I thought I was cleared,” my throat is tight and my voice goes up an octave when I respond. Ghost stalks closer to me, clearing the small room in just a few slow strides.

“No. You were deemed non-violent,” he says. “People with clearance don’t walk around wearing cuffs,” he stays standing as he approaches me. I find myself craning my neck to look up at him. Ghost stands directly in front of the fluorescent light. Rays shine down around his shoulders causing him to appear as a silhouette. I have to squint my eyes to make out his mask. Cold eyes stare down at me. I adjust the blanket again, but it’s no use.

“I don’t want to be here. I just want to go home,” I have to be careful or my voice will break. “Why can’t you guys just put me on a plane to New York?”

“You’re not going back to New York,” his voice is certain.

“Why? I’m no use to you guys. In fact, I’m the opposite of useful. You have to spend the extra money and manpower to feed and watch me. We’re both better off if I leave.”

“Useless things don’t last long around here,” he states as he crouches down to my eye level. Ghost’s forearms rest on his knees as he removes the gloves from his hands. He slowly and deliberately pulls on each finger of the glove as he maintains eye contact. My eyes are drawn to the alluring sight of the veins on the back of his hands. They ripple under the dim light as he flexes his hands after freeing them from their restraints.

“Does Soap know you’re here?” a sound of annoyance escapes his chest at my question. My stomach twists. Shouldn’t have asked that.

“Soap doesn’t need to know I’m here,” Ghost pauses, leaning in closer so our eyes are level. “Soap answers to me. Not the other way around. I say jump. He asks how high,” Ghost’s eyes carefully scan over my face, taking in every detail. His voice is low, serious, and unyielding. “Stop asking about Soap. He can’t help you. The only person who can help you right now, is me.”

I force a swallow before nodding. All the while I never break eye contact with him. Once our eyes meet, it’s hard to look away. His gaze is paralyzing and even when I tell my eyes to look elsewhere, I can’t.

“Understood?” his voice is just above a whisper.

“Yes sir,” I respond as the world around me blurs. All I can see are those hypnotizing eyes that demand your attention in all of it’s entirety.

“Right,” Ghost says as he stands back up and paces around the room. “Yesterday you said you were researching your father’s past. What did you find?”

“I was able to get in contact with one of his cousins on Facebook. I was hoping to reach out to more relatives, but she said she wasn’t in contact with anyone from that side of the family. She also said that she cut herself off from our family for a reason and that I’d be stupid to try and establish that connection again. She warned that no good come would come from it.”

“Have you met this cousin before?” Ghost asks.

“No, but both of my parents spoke of her and she knew information about our family that isn’t public,” I respond. “Even though she didn’t support what I was doing, she gave me the mailing address for one of my uncles, Dimitri Makarov, so I wrote to him next,” I continue, but notice a shift in Ghost's demeanour when I mention his name. “I never got to read his letter though, I had just picked it up from the post office and that’s when I was kidnapped.”

“What do you know about Dmitri Makarov?” He asks, pacing back towards me.

“Nothing. My father never spoke of his brothers. I wouldn’t doubt they’re part of the reason he left. I asked several times about them as a child but learned quickly it was a sore subject. For a long time, I kept my questions to myself. Snooped when I could, but never found anything interesting,” I think of all the times I’d go through my parents’ mail as a kid - looking for letters from our family; Christmas, birthday, anniversary cards – to only find an endless supply of bills. “Do you know that name?”

Ghost chooses his words wisely before speaking. “It’s a name familiar to 141.”

His response isn’t reassuring.

“My parent’s changed their last name when we immigrated. It doesn’t really feel like we’re related at all. I can’t even remember meeting most of my family.”

“What’s the other brother’s name?” Ghost skips over my last statement.

“I don’t know. I didn’t know Dmitri’s name either until I started digging,” Something about his expression leads me to think he knows more than he’s revealing, but I’m in no position to be asking questions. There’s something new to Ghost’s eyes. This conversation contains information he wants but I’m just not sure why. Is it possible whoever my father and his brothers were involved with are known to 141?

“Has your father ever flown back to Russia?” he asks.

“He went back for my grandfather’s funeral a few months ago. I wanted to go with him, but he wouldn’t allow it,” I think back to all of the times he’s travelled. It isn’t a regular thing, but a couple of times each year he goes on business trips. My parents make an effort of going on a trip once every year or two. Sometimes I get to go with them, but not often. I don’t know where he goes when he travels, he’ll tell me one place, but in hindsight that doesn’t mean much without proof. “You know, he’s never specifically said that he went to Russia, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t.”

Ghost’s expression remains stoic. I wish I could see the rest of his face, just for the chance to read his reactions. What does this all mean? My father left that life; surely Ghost doesn’t think that is a lie?

“Do you think he’s involved?” my voice wavers. He doesn’t spend much time considering the question. In Ghost’s mind, he already knows.

“Can’t say,” he says as though he’s unsure of the possibility. He isn’t being truthful. What else has he misled me about? The realization that my father could possibly still be involved with the life he supposedly left behind starts to sink in. My emotions begin to tangle in themselves. The urge to cry pricks at the corner of my eyes and I have to close them to prevent a tear from escaping.

“This is so fucked up,” I mumble. I wait for him to ask more questions, but they never come. Ghost watches me closely as I process everything. With a sigh, I finally bring myself to look up at him. His deep brown eyes meet mine and for a moment, neither of us says anything. I can almost imagine his brows furrowing as he tries to determine what I’m thinking about. In reality, it probably doesn’t take him much effort to determine my thoughts. I grab the blanket and use it to wipe the bottom of my nose. “How long do I have to stay here?”

“As long as it takes,” his tone is reserved.

“As long as it takes for what?” the urge to cry returns. At this rate, I’ll never get to go home. Ghost gets up from his position without answering me. He heads to the door and pauses when it opens.

“Soap will get you once he’s free,” he looks back at me once more. There’s something almost hesitant about the way he holds himself. His hand grips the edge of the door and for a second, I think he’s going to say something else. But then he intentionally knocks on the frame once with his knuckles before turning and pushing off. The loud clang of the lock echoes through the empty room.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley cod #cod ghost #ghost imagine #ghost x reader #COD MW2 #soap cod #soap x reader #MW2 #MWII #mw2 imagine

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littlebugs · 1 year

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lady ren

summary: you're kylo ren's wife. the resistance thinks he's taking advantage of you, but little do they know... warnings: reader goes by she/her pronouns, short reader, major character death, no y/n use, reader was a jedi, kylo ren is a warning himself.

(my works are diverse to all races and ethnic backgrounds, as a mixed race girlie i feel yall's pain my fellow poc's)

a/n: i've been gone far to long, but i've discovered the beauty called kylo ren. also he looks so hot in that gif.... love dat emo space daddy.

When Rey first saw you, you were on Jakku. Surrounded by The Knights of Ren, you looked tiny, your arm latched onto Kylo's waist as he towered over you, looking brooding in his mask. You had vanished shortly after, but Rey had gotten a glance at you. Beautiful. Shiny hair, glowing skin. But not...evil. You didn't look like you belonged with the First Order. In fact, you gave off an aura somewhat like a Jedi.

Little did they know... you had been. You and Kylo were both trained under Luke Skywalker to become Jedi, and had become close friends, although Skywalker had tried to split you up. The darkness in Ben had slowly grown into you, and the night that Luke tried to kill him was the breaking point. You had ran and joined the First Order. At first you kept mostly to yourself. Following Ben- now Kylo, wherever he went. As he slowly gained respect in the First Order, and caught attention of Supreme Leader Snoke, so did you. You were both praised for leaving the Jedi, and soon people became afraid of Kylo... but they might as well have been more scared of you.

You were quiet, but you were also funny, even in the gravest of situations, which was somewhat disconcerting. Although you usually listened, rather than talked, when you did have something to say, everyone listened. Not to mention the fact that you bested some of the First Order's most prized soldiers. You were Kylo's closest confidant, his only friend, and the only one who could calm him down (especially when he decided to wreak havoc on some poor lab tech's control panel.)

It was no surprise when he asked for your hand in marriage, and you got engaged. Kylo wanted the wedding to be perfect, waiting to become officially married until you could both return to his home planet, Chandrila. But there was much to do before that.

Rey told Leia and Han of their son's mysterious mistress. The beautiful woman, standing in the heat of Jakku. Of course, they were shocked, at the mere thought of their son having... anyone. But intead of elation, as a mother might usually feel for a son, General Organa felt worry. She had no idea who this woman was, if her son was using her, or if it could be the other way around.

Han had been worried too. But it was his nature to be more curious. So when he first saw you, watching from a bridge above, guarded by two of The Knights of Ren, he had to wave, and you waved right on back. You tapped the ring on your finger and smiled, doing a little dance. But wherever you were, Kylo was always nearby, and as you watched Kylo storm onto the bridge to see his father, you grimaced and pointed at the flurry of darkness.

Rey and Finn watched you, perplexed, as to how someone could take the entire situation so lightly. "Who does she think she is?" Finn had asked, slightly annoyed. "I don't know" Rey replied simply, watching intently as Kylo approached his father, and you leaned over the railing slightly smiling.

Kylo turned back to look up at you, just before approaching his Han, and you audibly giggled. Rey had scoffed. Rey and Finn's eyes bounced between the scene unfolding before them, with you, talking quietly to the two knights, Ushar and Vircrul, and Kylo and Han, seemingly... rekindling?

And finally... Kylo took his helmet off. It dropped to the ground. He quickly looked at you, and you winked, biting your lip. Vircrul probably snorted (but he would never admit it.) And just as Kylo was about to shockingly give his lightsaber to his father...

Rey and Finn watched in horror as the lightsaber went through Hans. They were both frozen in shock, and looking up, expecting you to see the same. But you weren't terrified. You weren't even shocked. You simply smiled down on Kylo, and made your way down to see him. As Han's body fell of the bridge, you squealed in delight. You picked up Kylo's mask, rose up on your tippy toes to give him a kiss on the nose, and simply placed his helmet on his head again.

As Rey rushed to escape, followed by Chewie and Finn, she thought she couldn't have been more wrong about the Lady Ren.

#star wars #kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren x fem reader #kylo ren x y/n #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren fluff #the force awakens #kylo ren blurb #kylo ren x wife reader

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capcavan · 26 days

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🗣️ (also sorry this got long, turns out i have thoughts) so like riko is one of the weirdest fandom cases i've ever seen. i've been in fandoms where characters who commit actual war crimes and genocide are badass babes or uwu soft bois, and even spoiled mafia brats who commit terrible crimes against the heroes for daddy's attention that get love and redemption. it's so weird to see just how isolated from all that riko is to me.

i do think it's partly how aftg is written, and that's also partly because niel's pov is not at all forgiving of riko, while is entirely forgiving of people like andrew. but i also think it's because of how riko himself is written. he's one of these characters that's better on paper than he is in the book to me. because he's never presented as smart enough to fall into the magnificent bastard trope where everyone applauds how devious his plans are, but he's not outright hammy enough to just be a fun read, he doesn't even get the same stupidly dramatic flare as andrew. and while we're told he's powerful and doing dangerous stuff, he's presented on page, more often than not, as a petulant child that neil is just done with or a guy who likes to torture people who neil is also done with. neil is never actually scared of riko, or even particularly threatened by him, and i think that hurts him and makes his position in the narrative weaker. especially when nora is trying to play him as a villain and a threat in a mafia story rather than a good old fashioned rival in a sports drama. for example, his first impression on the kathy show should live up to the hype of this imposing charismatic villain who broke kevin's hand, but instead loses him temper, forgets all of his media training and lets a nobody like neil goad him into losing control of the interview, and then his payback, things like shoving neil around and seth's death, are basically brushed off because neil doesn't really care that much. it's not given the weight to be a seriously omg this guys a threat first impression. and this isn't uncommon, lots of media hamstrings their villains at the start by making sure we know the main character is too sassy for them and can humiliate them, without thinking about how weak that can make the villain seem. it feels sometimes like nora wanted riko to be this chess master villain or tragic child who's lashing out at the world, without committing to it fully to either, or was just not an experienced enough writer to have known how to write either of those things in the pov of someone who hates riko's guts, which is understandable, writing is hard and that sort of nuance takes practice, especially if you just go by the books and not the extra content, and i do wonder how differently nora would have portrayed riko if she rewrote the main trilogy now with presumably a lot more practice under her belt. in the end riko ends up in this weird grey area to me where i understand why he's not popular, given he has none of the usual obvious traits that fans like to latch onto when redeeming a villainous character, and even the ones that are there are glossed over pretty quickly because of neil's pov, and a lot of his more interesting pieces are on paper not actively presented in the book, and not everyone reads super deep, but i also don't understand the amount of hate. i have literally never seen a character in any other fandom i've been in have this much fandom wide hatred.

See I have nothing to add here because you single handedly dropped the best analysis of Riko's character in the series I had pleasure to read so far and summed up all my feelings about why and what of the fandom. If the goal was to write a character that is impactful yet easy to hate then that goal was achieved but for me it real takes away form the magnitude of feelings Riko could evoke in reader and questions he could provoke in narrative if he was given bit different presentation that woudl still align with the lore we already have.

#aftg #riko moriyama #all for the game #tsc #the sunshine court #reference #villains in media #writing

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honeybeefae · 1 year

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Finding Home (Lucien Vanserra x Reader)

Summary// Lucien had always felt like he was a wandering soul, never having a true place to call home. It was hard to deal with, to see others belonging and happy while he tried to find something to cling to that gave him the same feeling. It wasn’t until Starfall, when you gifted him something truly special, that he finally found out where he belonged.

(Poor little Lucien needs all the love in the world and I thought he was perfect for this prompt. I hope you enjoy!:))

Prompt: Character A gifts Character B something heartfelt.

WARNINGS: None

Lucien sat with everyone at Rita’s as they passed drinks around, conversation flowing easily between them. Well, all except him. He was at the very edge of the table, fiddling with his glass of amber liquid while looking towards the door every few seconds.

He didn’t even understand why he went to these things. Feyre always invited him but he constantly felt like he was intruding on them. No one really talked to him besides maybe once or twice, too engrossed with their friends and mates to notice that he was still there.

And while he liked to think of himself above the need to have friends, deep down he was lonely. Tamlin was lost, his brothers were monsters, Feyre was busy with her own life, and he didn’t connect with any of the others besides acquaintances.

It was the same day in and day out, leaving him wondering if he truly belonged nowhere, until you joined their group. You were a friend of Nesta’s that ran a local bookshop in Velaris, your cheerful demeanor making it easy for you to fall in with the rest of them. He had expected to simply exchange pleasantries with him and move on but for whatever reason, you latched onto him.

“Hey guys, sorry I’m late! Took forever to close up shop.” You apologized as you walked in the door, breaking him from his thoughts as several people greeted you warmly. “Have I missed anything?”

“Not much, Cassian and Rhys are seeing who can outdrink each other while Nesta is already showing both of them up. I think Azriel and Elain are out dancing?” Feyre shrugged, handing you a spare drink. “Other than that it’s been a pretty tame night.”

“For once.” You wink at her, looking over and finding Lucien sitting by himself. He perks up when you drag a chair over beside him, clinking your glasses together with a smile.

“And how is my favorite fox doing?” You chirped, taking a sip and enjoying the warm burn the alcohol gave you.

Lucien rolled his eye, his body immediately relaxing in your presence. “Better now that I’ve got someone interesting to talk to.” He replied, noting the way your cheeks slightly pinkened.

“It’s not my fault you refuse to play nice with any of the others. Perhaps if you stopped brooding away in a corner, people might actually approach you.” You teased with a wink, looking around the bar casually. “Hells, you’d be surprised at the people you can pick up from this place.”

“Oh, you know something about that, do you? And here I thought you were a spinster content with books and cats.”

You stuck your tongue at his jest, hitting his arm playfully. “I know more than you think I do, thank you very much.”

There was a tension that was now swirling between the two of you, the conversation taking on a much more suggestive tone that was about to cross a line of no return. He stared at you, trying to not let his imagination run wild right in front of you before you awkwardly cleared your throat and looked away.

“So, are you looking forward to Starfall?” You changed the subject quickly, taking another sip.

“Uh, I guess?” Lucien responded hesitantly, rubbing the back of his neck and looking out the window at the night sky. “Not so much for the party.”

“Oh, that’s the best part! The music, the food, the atmosphere, it’s enchanting. I haven’t met anyone that didn’t enjoy it.”

“It’s just not for me. I don’t fit in with the rest of them that enjoy it.”

Your mouth twisted into a frown at his words, a look of pity in your eyes. He saw it and scoffed, looking at you sternly and saying, “Don’t give me that look, Y/N. I don’t need your pity.”

“It wasn’t pity, Lucien, I just hate that you feel that way. You know it’s not true.” You said earnestly, placing your hand over his in a moment of tenderness. “I think you just need-”

“I don’t need anything, Y/N. I’m perfectly happy as I am.” He snapped, looking away when you flinched at his tone. “Sure, after Jurian and Vassa became a thing and I got kicked out, I was once again by myself, but apparently that’s just how the Mother wants me to be. I can deal with that, I don’t need sympathy.”

His words were harsh and he didn’t mean half of them, he just had a hard time whenever someone felt sorry for him like he was some sort of lost child. It hurt his pride and it reminded him that despite his protests, that’s exactly what he was. No home to return to, no family to miss him, and some nights he would just yearn for someone out there to care about him.

It made him feel pathetic, to want something like that.

You weren’t entirely buying his macho act. Anyone that had been through what he had been through would feel at least some pain from it. And although you hadn’t known Lucien as long as the rest of your friends, you knew he struggled with it.

However, you didn’t want to push him anymore tonight, raising your hands in surrender before finishing the rest of your drink. He watched you carefully, feeling guilt gnaw at him from the way he had attacked you for simply being concerned.

“I’m sorry.” You apologized, standing up to go join the rest of your friends who were now dancing. “I didn’t mean to overstep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He wanted to hit himself over the head when you walked away, feeling like the world's biggest asshole. This was the reason he didn’t have anybody in his life, this was the reason people didn’t stay with him long. It wasn’t the cauldron cursing him, it was his own damn self.

The music was loud as he gathered his things and left the club, looking back just long enough to catch you chatting up a man at the bar before forcing himself to leave to go back to his apartment. He was already dreading tomorrow.

Starfall, House of Wind

It was crowded and loud, full of people he didn’t know as he lounged against a balcony rail. The sky was already dark as well as the rest of the city, everyone gathered around as they impatiently waited for the souls to rain across the sky.

You hadn’t shown up yet, not that he should be looking for you after what he said to you. Feyre and Rhys had given him a cordial welcome, as well as Cassian, but other than that he was by himself. As the minutes ticked by he started to contemplate just going home and watching it from his window.

That was until he felt a warm hand slide down his arm, making him turn in surprise. You were leaning beside him, one of your arms tucked behind your back and a coy smile on your lips.

“Being a wallflower again, Lucien?” You teased, goosebumps rising on your arms from the chilly air. “It took me a while to find you.”

“Y/N, I didn’t think you would show up.” He breathed, standing up to fully face you. “I wanted to apologize for last night, what I said was harsh and-”

“Hush, I don’t want to hear you grovel to me. You’ll ruin Starfall.” You said sternly, moving your arm from behind your back to reveal what you were hiding. It was a small yellow box, with a ribbon tied delicately on top. It fit in the palm of your hand and Lucien was very confused.

“Who is that for?” He questioned, glancing around to see if anyone else was exchanging gifts. “Is it someone’s birthday?”

You huffed in frustration, grabbing his hand and prying it open before laying the box in it. “It’s for you. Honestly, how you are an emissary is beyond me.” The jab made him smirk, his fingers holding the box as if it were made of glass.

“You got me a gift?”

“It’s a Starfall gift. Some people give gifts to their loved ones, some don’t, it’s a personal preference.” You shrug, anxiously looking between him and the box. “Open it!’

Lucien stared at it, processing what you had just said. Loved ones. Was that what he was to you? Or was he reading too much into it? Would it be awkward to ask you that now? He suddenly felt like a schoolboy again, afraid to talk to the pretty girl in front of him.

He gave you one last cautious glance before slowly undoing the bow on top, tucking it into his coat pocket before softly opening the box.

It was a small key, made of light bronze with an intricate design on the top. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, trying to figure out what it was too. You bit down on your lip, hoping the dots would connect, but when he just stood there staring you groaned loudly.

“It’s a key to my house, Lucien.” You explain, grinning from ear to ear when his mouth dropped open. “I thought it would be nice for you to have somewhere to go to if you didn’t want to go back to the apartment.”

The silence was deafening and suddenly you were worried you had just completely screwed up your relationship. He was just standing there, staring at the key, and as the seconds ticked by your anxiety grew.

“If it’s too weird or you don’t like it you can tell me, it won’t hurt my feelings you.” You said softly, wrapping your arms around yourself as he continued to be speechless. “It’s a stupid gift, here I can take it-”

Suddenly you found yourself being crushed into his chest, his arms wrapping around tightly in a hug that immediately made you relax. Lucien’s heart was overflowing with different emotions, his mind trying to sort through it all as he held you as close as possible.

You had given him a key to your home, your life practically, inviting him to share it with you. Even though he had pushed you away and put up that barrier, you had seen right through him. You had just given him a home.

Lucien pulled back and looked down into your eyes, tilting your chin up so that you could see just how happy he was with your gift. “Y/N, you have no idea how much this means.”

A blush crept onto your face as you smiled bashfully. “I just wanted you to know that no matter what, you had a home to go back to. Everyone needs that.”

People around you gasped and you turned to look out into the sky, cheering when the first few souls raced across the sky. It was just as beautiful as you remember, your entire body leaning forward as the souls grew and grew until the entire sky was lit up.

The music started up shortly after that, people dancing and glasses clinking as the celebration began. You didn’t notice how Lucien was staring at you, watching as you stared in amazement into the sky.

“I mean, how can you not think this is heavenly?” You sigh, resting your chin on your hand as you looked at him. “This is why I love Starfall.”

He looked out towards the black, inky night and took it all in. The souls, the music, your gift, you, it was like he was in a dream. Lucien bent down beside you, taking your same position, and nudged your shoulder with his as he said, “I think I’m starting to love it too.”

#starfall #starfall week #lucien vanserra x reader #lucien x reader #lucien #lucien vanserra #lucien x reader acotar #lucien vanserra x reader acotar #acotar reader #acotar fic #lucien fic acotar #lucien fic #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #fluff

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sexybabystevie · 2 years

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Up to the Gods

Protective Best Friend!Steve Harrington x fem!Reader

Tags and Warnings: Only Mild Volume 1 Spoilers, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arguing, Self-Sacrifice, Possible Character Death, Slow Build, References to Depression, Vaguely Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Anxiety, Angst with a Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Best Friend!Steve Harrington, Protective!Steve Harrington

Word Count: 9057

Summary: The time you have left to save Max is speeding away, so you come up with a last-minute plan. Your best friend Steve, however, isn't so keen on you following through with it.

A/n: Please read warnings for possible triggers. This is my first time writing for Steve (and writing on this account) so I hope you enjoy! If you want a part two, please let me know, and if you have any feedback at all, then tell me! I love hearing from my readers!

Steve Harrington Masterlist

It had been two hours since Max revealed that her headaches and nightmares had started five days ago, which meant that you now had approximately 17 hours to find a way to save her. 17 hours and 24 minutes, not that you were purposefully counting down the minutes – seconds even – but your anxious mind was running out of things to do that could effectively distract you as you sat on an old, dusty couch in the Wheelers’ basement, so one of the only things you could do was periodically look at the watch on your wrist.

To everyone else, it was obvious that you were a ball of anxiety. Your left leg was bouncing rapidly against the hardwood floor, one hand at your mouth as your teeth bite your fingernails down to the skin, the other thrumming your fingers against the itchy material of the arm of the couch. Your eyes blankly stared ahead of you, unconsciously boring holes into the back of Dustin Henderson’s head.

All of the kids sat together on the floor, crowded around Max. The room was silent as everyone was both unsure of what move to make next and was also exhausted after spending yet another day trying to keep Hawkins and its residents safe from the Upside Down’s wrath. However, you were all too on edge to make any attempt to sleep, so the heavy air in the room remained the closest thing to communication among you all.

The smothering quietude and your own nerves made you feel as though you were floating, like you were somewhere far off into space, an astronaut abandoned by their crew, left to swim among the bright stars, instead of a helpless teenager who was about to lose yet another friend. If you were more in touch with your emotions, you might say that it was almost relieving.

About to lose yourself to your murky mind once more, you were brought back to your haunting reality by Steve Harrington’s hand resting on your knee, sending a sense of warmth throughout your body. You tentatively look at your best friend, who you had forgotten was next to you on the Wheelers’ couch, and you can tell that he’s as uncertain as you are from how his hand slightly shakes against your skin and from the way his bottom lip is partially buried in between his teeth. One of your first instincts is to cover his hand with your own, to intertwine your fingers with his in the hopes that maybe it could provide the both of you with a little comfort, but your mind is too tired to even think about dealing with the surge of emotions that would evoke in you.

Suddenly Steve’s hand is feeling too warm – like a blanket that was once comforting but quickly became uncomfortably, suffocatingly hot – and you softly brush his hand away and stand up a little too rapidly. Your head is spinning and you latch a hand out onto the wall so that you don't fall over, eyes closing tightly to try and steady your dizzy head.

“You okay?” The concern in Steve’s voice is more obvious than ever, and you make an effort not to turn around so that you can avoid seeing his face. You don’t want to think about how the inner part of his brows are probably raised, how his lips would be slightly downturned as his eyes would be softly squinted at you, scanning your features before meeting your gaze in an attempt to read you. You don’t want to even entertain the idea of him directing his protective nature towards you, not when everything is going to Hell and poor Max is in grave danger.

Taking a deep breath, you compose yourself and stand up straight before conjuring the least ridiculous and most believable excuse for you to get up.

“Yeah.” You nod at the stairs ahead of you, still incessant upon not meeting his gaze. “Just gonna go get some water.”

You only receive a noise in response, something that sounds half like a grunt and half like a hum, and then you slowly climb the stairs to the Wheelers’ ground floor, your knees popping and aching at their sudden movement.

A dim lamp hanging over the kitchen sink is the only thing lighting your way as you step carefully into the kitchen. Hushed whispers bounce and echo off of the walls, and you’re met with two shadowy figures who are bent over a small table residing on the outskirts of the room.

A quick glance confirms your beliefs; Robin and Nancy are seated at the little breakfast nook, hunched over with tired eyes and hands grasping coffee cups. It takes them a minute to notice you in the dark atmosphere – you also froze at the sight of them, previously hoping that you wouldn’t have to interact with anyone else – but they welcome you with tense smiles and beckon you over.

You hold up a hand, signaling that you’ll join them in a moment, and walk over to the cabinets to scavenge for a clean cup. You were going to use the water excuse as a way to avoid talking to other people, both Steve and the two girls, but ironically a glass of cold water seemed pretty good right about now.

After filling the cup with water from the kitchen sink and taking a few long gulps, the cool water soothing your dry throat more than you expected, you approach the breakfast nook again.

You sit your glass down on the table and pull out one of the metal chairs, cringing as the sound of the legs against the floor squeal louder than you anticipated. Robin’s face scrunches up at the sound and she instinctively covers her ears while Nancy just flashes you a sympathetic look.

“Sorry,” you mutter, awkwardly taking your seat and running anxious fingers against the fabric of your pants.

Nancy shakes her head and takes a sip from her coffee cup before speaking.

“It’s alright. My parents went to sleep hours ago, and there’s this weird draft upstairs that pretty much makes it impossible to hear anything that happens down here.” Her eyes glance towards the basement opening. “The only ones we have to worry about waking are ourselves.”

You scoff at the thought of anyone being able to sleep when faced with your current predicament.

“Yeah, everyone’s just about as awake as the two of you are,” you say, gesturing towards the mugs held in the girls’ hands.

Nancy nods, as if she already expected that answer to a question she hadn’t even meant to pose, and Robin fiddles with the handle of her cup before releasing a short and mirthless laugh.

“Yeah no, this is Sprite,” she speaks with a sense of urgency which you chalk up to her typically excitable personality. “Coffee makes me so fidgety and anxious that I feel like I have to pee for like three hours after I drink it. Plus, I don’t really like the taste. Even with lots of sugar and creamer and stuff, it tastes too bitter.”

Her words bring an involuntary smile to your face. You just can’t help it; you can’t possibly imagine a more fidgety version of the girl ahead of you. Not that it was a bad thing – in fact, you quite enjoyed her random ramblings when you, her, and Steve had unbearably long shifts at Family Video. Many boring nights of taking endless inventory were slightly more manageable thanks to her bumbling on about whatever thoughts entered her head.

You had known Robin for months now, thanks to being coworkers and bonding over making fun of Steve and complaining about your boss Keith, and while you weren’t as close to her as you were to Steve, you liked being around her and interacting with her. It was easy to get along with her because she knew about you via the grapevine – also meaning that Steve had talked about you so much that she practically knew everything about you except for your Social Security number – and was quick to bond with you when she found out that the two of you shared a sense of playful snarkiness. You could easily call her your friend, one of the few you had that were actually your age, and you were usually quite comfortable around her, but something in tonight’s air made you hold back from engaging in your normal banter. Maybe it was the looming weight of the situation you all would have to face in less than 24 hours, or maybe it was the other girl who sat at the table with the two of you.

You were shocked as you had watched an unlikely friendship form between Robin and Nancy a few days ago. The two were seemingly incompatible; Robin was energetic, passionate, and could sometimes get carried away quite easily when around others that made her comfortable. She had a cooler, more calculated side as well – one that you had heard about and witnessed briefly during last year’s fall of Starcourt – and was always exceedingly smart and was quick to grasp new topics, something that you oftentimes envied her for. Meanwhile, Nancy Wheeler was quiet and kind, but never was one to waste time on bullshit. She was headstrong and brave when she needed to be, and often was persuasive enough to get others to see things from her perspective. She was a girl who really wanted to be someone and who held the potential to be someone who could do big things, and while Robin was just as capable as she was, she wasn’t as deeply motivated in the same ways that Nancy was.

But then again, you weren’t as well acquainted with Nancy as you were with Robin, despite knowing the former for longer.

You had known of Nancy back in high school, your impression of her a good one as you considered her one of the few people in Steve’s original crowd that were tolerable. She never spoke to you, allowing you to fade into the background as the others did, but you still found her more approachable than anyone else. You thought that maybe, if you ever made the effort, she would have spared a glance and a few words for you.

Your impression, however, was tarnished and faded a little as you met Steve. It was at the Halloween party, back when the two first started having more obvious relationship problems. You watched as Steve stormed out of the party and your curiosity got the better of you, so you followed him. Somehow, at the stroke of a mere miracle, he was hopeless and tipsy enough to spill what had happened to you – all of it. You were shocked and had wondered for a split second if this was some kind of Halloween prank, but that broken and worried look on Steve’s face forced you to believe that this was reality. You tried to provide some comfort, although you weren’t the best at it, and that had just been the beginning of the two of you having some very chance run-ins until you started to hang out willingly, both surprised to find out that the other was actually a pretty decent person.

You were there when Dustin had dragged Steve to his house to find and kill Dart; you were there when Steve found out about Nancy and Jonathan’s unnervingly close company; you were there when Nancy finally broke things off with him and ran off to Jonathan, something that you expected but were nonetheless disheartened to see. You were there as you and Steve became surrogate parents to a group of pre-teens that were left without supervision, and you were part of the reason why your venture into the tunnels beneath Hawkins was successful in burning up the roots of the Upside Down.

You were there for so much of Steve and Nancy’s breakup, alongside Steve, that things between you and her were still awkward, despite both of you having expressed your acceptance and willingness to move forward from the situation. You had never spoken about it and sometimes wondered if you were the only one who felt it, but it was like a constant thickness in the air and a tenseness that was held in both of your voices whenever you spoke to one another. You had always just assumed that things were too awkward for you two to ever make a true attempt at bonding.

Still, as you sit with her and Robin inside of the shadowy kitchen, you feel like maybe this could be a chance for you to try and work together with them – maybe the three of you can come up with some kind of way to take action to save Max.

You leave your thoughts behind and clear your throat; even if Nancy Wheeler did hold a distaste for you, collaborating to save your redheaded friend was worth far more than holding some petty grudge.

“Have either of you thought of something we can do?”

You don’t have to specify what you’re talking about; you’re sure that it’s the most prevalent thing on everyone’s minds at this very moment, whether they want it to be or not.

Silence falls between the three of you, and no one has to make a sound for you to know that that is an answer in itself.

“I want to,” Robin reveals, voice steady and sincere, “but it turns out that intercepting a secret Russian message and decoding it is a lot easier than trying to figure out how to take out a cross dimensional wizard guy.”

You nod in understanding and suddenly feel guilty that she’s been brought into all of this. She’s just a senior in high school; the worst thing she should have to worry about is passing economics class, not wondering if an innocent young girl she knows is going to make it through a fight with some evil being.

But then again, you think, Max doesn’t deserve this either.

She’s been through enough the past few years, having unfortunately moved to the biggest literal hellhole in the entire United States and then being promptly thrown into being some kind of hero for it. Not to mention the worst part, which was that she lost her stepbrother Billy during the disaster that was last summer. You had known Billy from high school, and admittedly you weren’t a huge fan of his jerkish behavior, but that didn’t mean that you thought he deserved to die. From how Max had completely retracted herself from others and changed into a totally new, much more gloomy person, you could tell that she wasn’t taking it easily, despite the fact that she revealed on multiple occasions that she hardly even really knew him at all. You couldn’t imagine the thought of losing someone like that and being left to wonder if you could have been closer if only you had made the right steps, and so you always tried your hardest to be there for Max in the little ways, like driving her to school and taking her out for dinner so that you could make sure that she got at least one meal a day.

The truth was that, in your shenanigans with Steve, the two of you had grown to love and provide for these kids almost more than their own parents. They were witty, snarky, and unabashedly hilarious. Most of the time they seemed to be more capable with their intelligence than even you and Steve, but that just gave you yet another reason to admire them.

It was this bond between all of you that had you so anxious; you couldn’t bear to lose any of them. It was your job as their older-sibling-but-also-parental-figure to protect them and make sure that they were being properly taken care of, and this mishap was not an exception. You had to save Max, if not because of your role as the kids’ caregiver, then because you personally didn’t want to even imagine a life where she was gone and you couldn’t sneak her out to get fast food during her lunch period at school. You had already lost El and Will – you understood why they moved away and were a bit less worried about their wellbeing because you trusted Joyce’s judgment as a mother, but at the same time that didn’t completely resolve the way you dearly missed them – and you knew you wouldn’t be able to cope with really losing one of them.

Just as your thoughts were dangerously close to spiraling into heartbreak territory, a fleeting idea crosses your mind and your eyes widen like saucers. You force yourself back into reality and flicker your gaze between Nancy and Robin, eyes sparkling with hints of hope that causes the two girls to give you a questioning glance.

“I think I might have an idea.” You speak with such excitement that your words tumble out of your mouth and onto the table, blending into one extremely long and warped noise. It takes your companions a few delayed moments to comprehend what you said, but when they do, their faces mimic yours, surprised and auspicious, so you waste no time in continuing your thoughts.

“What if we can distract Vecna?” You’re aware of the way the girls’ faces scrunch up in confusion, but it feels like maybe you’re onto something and you don’t intend on stopping until you’ve shared with the class. “Obviously he’s targeting specific people, but so far he can only actually attack one person at a time, no matter how many he has partial control over. So… what if we can somehow get someone to break into his mind? Like, we send someone in as bait to keep him preoccupied… Kind of as a way to either stall him or maybe attack?”

Robin chews on her bottom lip and her eyes look distant, as if she’s racking her brain for something that could be of help to you, and Nancy furrows her brows in thought and gently shakes her head.

“The best person who we could send is Eleven, and even if she did have her powers, she’s with the Byers in California.” Nancy seems to be skeptical of your idea – which honestly makes your heart plummet into your stomach – but when she continues speaking, it seems as though maybe she thinks you’re more capable than you realize. “She would be our best shot at taking him down normally, but…” She pauses and looks up at you, meeting your gaze with a small, tiny nod of agreement. “It’s the best plan anyone’s thought of so far.”

You swallow the lump in your throat that had formed previously and nod back at her, taking a deep breath of relief. Whether or not you were liked by Nancy Wheeler wasn’t one of your top priorities, but knowing that she approved of your half-baked idea filled you with an odd sense of pride.

Robin, however, makes a quiet grunting sound and blinks her eyes several times before looking at you. Before she even utters a word, you can tell that she’s found some sort of hole in your plan.

“Vecna only takes people that he wants, for whatever creepy reason he has. We would have to make sure that this person is of use to him or he will just discard them.” She softly sighs and fidgets her hands around her coffee cup again. “It has to be someone with trauma, and from who the other victims were, it seems like it has to be some pretty shitty trauma. I just don’t know of anyone else that we have here who could possibly be effective bait…”

She gives you a small frown, as if she’s sorry that she’s potentially ruined your one shot at being able to protect Max, but you hadn’t told them everything yet. The truth was that you had someone in mind the minute the idea had fully festered in your head, you just weren’t sure if Nancy and Robin would think you were crazy.

Throwing all caution to the wind, you decide to tell them. After all, like Nancy said, this was your best shot at a plan.

“When I thought of all of this, I had someone in mind. Someone who fits all the criteria and who Vecna might take instead.” As the remaining pieces of the puzzle fit together inside your brain, you leave Nancy and Robin to wonder in anticipation as your feet are rushing towards the basement stairs. You quickly turn around and yell, “Sorry, hold on! I’ll be right back!” before you’re bounding down the steps.

When you reach the basement, you ignore the way that all of the children look over at you, heads tilted as they no doubt question why you were both running down the stairs like a madman and rushing towards the pile of bags and backpacks that’s against a closet door. You can feel Steve’s eyes on your back as you dig through the mountain of everyone’s things – he’s staring hard enough to cut into your very soul – and you feel guilty, as if maybe he can somehow telepathically understand your intentions. Your hands run across the familiar leather of your purse, and you take it before you rush back up the stairs to explain yourself to Robin and Nancy. You don’t acknowledge Steve or the kids, you just stomp right up those steps again and feign ignorance. They won’t react well to your idea; plus, you don’t really have the time to fill them in. You’re limited now, time ticking down to less than 15 hours before Vecna strikes.

As you reach the kitchen again, you approach the countertop next to the sink and set your bag on it. You unzip the main zipper on the purse, widening the opening and plunging your hands into it; it’s too dark to see clearly, even under the lamp above the sink, so you use your fingers to search for that ridged cap that you know is hidden inside.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the two girls leaving their places at the breakfast nook, hesitant yet curiously stepping closer. Your gaze flashes back to your current task at hand, and if you had only paid more attention, then you would have noticed the addition of another set of booted footsteps.

“What’s going on?” The tentative voice of Steve Harrington finally registers in your mind, but you’re determined now – you have to do whatever you can for these kids – so you say nothing in response and let Nancy and Robin explain for you.

“(Y/N) has an idea,” Nancy relays. “She thinks that maybe someone can distract Vecna from going after Max.”

“Yeah,” Robin cuts in, “and she ran downstairs like crazy to get her bag and hasn’t said a word since.”

As you continue looking through your purse, now opening other side pockets and navigating your fingers throughout them, Steve is nearing closer to you until he’s in the center of all of you, Nancy and Robin further in the back as there are only two or three steps between you and him. He’s about to speak, to ask you if you’re okay, but you mutter “Finally!” under your breath and turn around before he can.

You have a small, accomplished grin on your face as you showcase an orange pill bottle in your hands, the rough, rigid edges of the lid pressed into the skin of your fingertips.

The two girls just stare at you, blinking with blank, perplexed faces. Nancy narrows her eyes at you – you can imagine her verbally asking you if this is a joke – and Robin just is completely silent, her mouth slightly agape as she seems not to have a single coherent thought.

It even takes Steve a few minutes to recognize what you’re trying to do, but when he reads the tiny font on the side of the bottle – Paxil – it hits him like a freight truck. He looks at you with gaping eyes, almost in disbelief.

“No,” he says firmly, already shaking his head at you in the same way that he shakes his head at Dustin when he insists that he’s old enough for Steve to teach him how to drive. “Absolutely not. Are you insane?”

You can see Nancy and Robin giving each other tilted glances in your peripheral vision, communicating something to one another only through their eyes, but you ignore it. With Steve’s current disdain present in his narrowed gaze, the last thing you’re worried about is coming fully clean to the two girls behind you.

“We don’t have any other plans, Steve.” Your voice is low and quiet and you flash a brief, uncertain glance towards his face, maintaining uncomfortable eye contact for barely a second. You had hoped to see his features softening – maybe that would mean that he would give you a solid chance to explain – but they don’t. He remains stern and still, like a soldier reporting to their general.

“Then we find something else. We come up with a new plan.”

“You know it isn’t that easy. We’ve spent hours trying to come up with something, and this–” you shake the bottle in your hand for emphasis, “–is all that we’ve got.”

You’re beginning to lose your patience. You expected a fight from him, for him to be upset and worried about the implications of your suggestion, but you also thought that he would trust you enough to let you follow through with it. You know it’s risky – anything relating to the Upside Down is – but you know you’re right. You don’t really have much of a choice, but Steve is more stubborn than he’s ever been throughout your lengthy friendship.

Of course, he’s losing his composure as you are, and you feel your throat tighten as he raises his voice at you.

“Then I’ll think of something!” His voice cracks as it increases in volume and you think that for a single moment you can recognize hints of desperation burrowed into it. Still, you’re too frustrated and tired to even consider dealing with the possibility.

“Why does it always have to be you?” you ask, body trembling against your will. “Why is it that, when I have an idea, suddenly it’s you who has to come in and try to come up with a better one? Why do you always act like I’m completely incapable of anything when I’ve been around for more than enough of this hellish shit to know what I’m doing?!”

Steve just rolls his eyes and scoffs as if he can’t believe what you’re saying.

A fleeting thought crosses your mind – that this reminds you a lot of the entitled way that he acted during his ‘King Steve’ phase in high school – and you push it away before it causes you to become emotional enough to angrily voice that thought.

“Well, maybe when you come up with an idea that isn’t completely stupid, we can go along with that.” His tone is cold and almost uninterested, and it causes you to falter. Your face contorts – mouth twisting downwards and brows rising as your eyes quickly scan over his, searching for a sign that maybe he regretted the words that just spewed lethally from his lips like molten lava spurting from a volcano – before your pain and disorientation forge into rage.

Robin anxiously steps forward and makes you realize that you had fully forgotten about the two other people in the room with you and Steve. She bites her lip as she stands between you both, hands with black painted fingernails holding the two of you away from one another without touching. She takes a long, uneven breath before speaking.

“I know you’re both angry,” she starts, head turning back and forth so that she can maintain eye contact with you both consecutively, “but let’s try to take a deep breath and calm down. Arguing isn’t going to help any of us.”

You close your eyes and do as she instructed, several deep breaths in and out. From the heaving noises you hear in front of you, you can tell that Steve is doing the same.

When your eyes are opened again, you nod at an expectant Robin in order to signify that you’ve gotten yourself handled. She gives you a small, friendly smile prior to shifting her attention to cooling Steve down. After he mirrors your actions to her, she mutters a few hasty ‘okay’s under her breath, as if encouraging herself to continue playing mediator. You don’t blame her for being so frazzled; you and Steve had never fought like this before.

“First,” she says softly, glancing at the orange bottle still gripped tightly in your hand, “what the hell is that?”

You lift the container in question up and display it in your palm before explaining.

“It’s an old medication my doctor recommended to me.” You tried to keep your gaze centered on Robin, knowing that any kind of interaction with Steve would probably go sour, but you still see him wince at your words. You try not to think about how it makes your stomach churn. “It was supposed to help with… some things, but it ended up making them worse.”

“Yeah?” Robin nods enthusiastically, probably just satisfied with the fact that you haven’t started arguing with Steve again, but another voice pipes in and interrupts.

“Sorry, but what does this have to do with distracting Vecna?” Nancy takes a step closer to the three of you, leaving her place among the awkward and uninvolved shadows. “You said you had a plan that might work, but I don’t think I’m following what this has to do with that.”

You freeze and look down to your feet.

This is it. This is when you have to reveal just how reckless and absurd this entire plan of yours is. You knew Steve was right when he said that it was dangerous and stupid – you just didn’t want to admit it. But saying and elaborating on this… that was admitting that this was risky as hell, and you were suddenly worried about how they would react.

You could see Steve looking at you expectantly, wondering if you were going to say it. Wondering if he was right in what he assumed you were going to do.

But he already knew he was right, and you did too.

“The medicine gave me severe night terrors and headaches, along with hallucinations.” You meet the calculating eyes of each of your friends and chew on the inside of your cheek. “Consistently.”

The room falls painfully silent as everyone processes your implications. You can practically hear the sounds of the pieces of the puzzle connecting together in their brains, and you try to calm down your hammering heartbeat.

“That’s still not everything,” Nancy says, one brow arched as the other is furrowed against the skin of her forehead. “Chrissy, Fred, Max… They all have one other thing in common with each other that Vecna likes to take advantage of.” She doesn’t have to say it, you already know exactly what it is she’s talking about, but she does anyway. Ever the detective, was Nancy Wheeler. “Trauma.”

Everything is silent again, but this time it’s filled with a deeper heaviness, as if the air itself is carrying the weight of the world on its shoulders. Steve’s brown eyes are bouncing between you and the other two girls – he knows something that they don’t – but you can’t read him. His face is flashing through emotions like a parent snapping thousands of photos at their child’s kindergarten graduation, and you have a feeling that Robin and Nancy might be coming to the realization that there’s much more to this endeavor that they aren’t yet aware of.

Everyone’s eyes are on someone else’s; Nancy’s flipping between looking at you and Steve, Robin’s watching her, and Steve is staring at you with the intensity of a military grade, high-beam flashlight. Your own gaze fixates among all of your companions, feeling like a deer caught in between the headlights of three different cars at once.

“I told you this was a bad idea.” Steve’s whisper bounces off of the walls until it reaches your ears, and while he seems much more calm and collected than he was prior, the fact that he still doubts you – still doesn’t see just why you’re so adamant about this – causes frustration to bubble up into your veins.

“It isn’t.”

“It is.”

“Not when it’s the only way!” Your voice wavers despite how loud it is and your lip quivers between your teeth while your chest fills with an ache that you can only describe as pure desperation.

Your outburst shuts everyone up, too stunned and concerned and perplexed to muster up their voices. Quietude covers the room like a fresh fallen snow, freezing time and extending it all at once, and you can’t decide whether you hate this awkwardness that keeps hold of your tongues or if you want to relish within it.

The tension of the room is broken by the creaking of the stairs and your head shoots around rapidly, worried that you had completely screwed up by waking Nancy’s family. The last thing you wanted was to be on anyone’s bad side, especially the people who were so kindly giving you a place to stay as the world was becoming a living nightmare.

However, Karen and Ted Wheeler didn’t stomp downstairs with fuzzy slippers and lavish robes on, roaring and ready to lecture you about respectfulness and noise levels before ultimately deciding to kick you from their home. No; in fact, the culprits behind the case of the squeaky staircase happened to be a set of three heads that were peeping around the edge of the wall, carefully looking at you with widened eyes and fretful frowns.

With one shared glance between them, Robin grabbed Nancy’s hand and led her towards the children, rounding Max, Dustin, and Lucas back down the steps with reassuring whispers and gentle, guiding palms resting against their shoulders. Through the echoed sound of descending footsteps, you hear the kids grumble various words of protest, insistent upon their worry for you and Steve. Regardless of how upset you are, you feel your heart swell momentarily.

Only half of your group remains, leaving you and Steve in a silence that’s both more awkward than before and more comfortable. Being around him never failed in making you feel as if you were safe and accepted for who you truly were, but the absence of Robin and Nancy also meant talking about the inevitable. It wasn’t as if you really had any other choice, so – argument or not – you ultimately just want to get this over with.

“I don’t know what you think I’m trying to do, but I’m not trying to senselessly put myself in danger.”

Steve’s mouth opens, as if he’s already prepared to speak in protest of you, but you hold up a hand and stop him before he can.

“Just listen to me, okay? For just a minute?” you ask, sighing into the gap betwixt the two of you.

Luckily he nods, an almost sheepish look crossing over his features, like maybe he’s starting to realize that you might have some kind of end goal here that doesn’t have to do with getting yourself killed.

You feel a tiny bit of guilt when you see how his lips downturn slightly, and you try to lighten the mood a little.

“I promise I’m not crazy.” You send him a genuine, playful smile – the kind that are as familiar to him as the strands of hair on his head – and he chuckles in response.

He smiles fondly and shakes his head at the ground in front of your feet. “Yeah, that’s not true.”

You release air you didn’t know you were holding in and softly giggle with him; it isn’t even really funny, you both just need something to get rid of some of the tension that’s still clouding the room like smoke. The moment ends all too soon, though, and he looks at you with eyes that are painfully expectant.

Swallowing a nervous lump in your throat, you begin, “I know it seems unnecessary and stupid to you, but I meant it when I said that I don’t think this is dumb.” You can see the uncertainty flickering through his warm, brown eyes, but you continue on anyway. “If it can save them, then it’s worth the risk.”

He’s completely still while he processes your words. You can see his eyes swap through emotions under his furrowed brows; he’s fully and wholly unsure of what exactly to say and how exactly to feel.

He sighs and runs his hands anxiously through his hair, and after a few more conflicting facial expressions, he caves.

“This is important to you,” he starts, establishing direct eye contact in the soft way that he does whenever he’s about to tell you something that he knows you don’t want to hear, “and I get it. I mean, I’d do anything to keep the kids safe too, but I just don’t think this is–”

“–Steve.” You harshly interrupt him, knowing in advance how his sentence is going to end, knowing that he’s once again tossing your idea to the side. You want to be angry, to argue and scream and shout at the tops of your lungs, but you just don’t have the energy, so you settle for showing how you truly feel – exhausted.

“Why don’t you trust me? We’ve been best friends for years and you always do this,” you start, annoyed and angry and confused, but most of all, just so sick of this. “When we were going underneath that farmland to set those vines from the Upside Down on fire, you made me stand back with Dustin ‘so I had someone to protect me.’” Your hands make sarcastic air quotes as you recall his exact words.

“Back then I just thought that you thought I was incapable because you didn’t know me that well, because we hadn’t known each other for very long... But you still do it. You wanted me to stay with Dustin and Erica instead of driving back to Starcourt with you and Robin so that we could help Eleven. When you were first translating that secret Russian code, you tried keeping it a secret from me for days before Robin finally told me, and when we got stuck in the Russian base underneath the mall, you let Erica – an actual ten year old – help out more than you let me.”

Your breathing staggers and you clench your fists so tightly that your fingernails dig into your palms. You feel tears threaten to fall from your lids and down your cheeks, but you can’t bring yourself to care as you bring your gaze to settle on his.

“You treat me like a child.” Voice strained, eyes watery, and chest drumming with anxiety and hurt, you feel as though your friendship with Steve could be ruined by what you say. And yet you don’t stop; you’ve gone too far into your feelings to leave the rest of it unsaid. “You treat me like a helpless, useless child. A child who has no freedoms and purpose, because, hell, even any other kid around has more value during these kinds of things than I do.”

You hold your stance firmly as Steve says nothing, just staring at you without any apparent emotion. The worry and apprehension from before is gone, and all he has left in front of you is himself. An unreadable version of himself. You don’t know what you expected, but this ambiguity is almost heartbreaking; from your perspective, it really didn’t seem like he cared about a single word you had just said.

Minutes pass and there’s still nothing; no words from Steve and no emotions from him either. You purse your lips together and squeeze your eyes shut; if this is how it’s going to be, you only have one last thing to say.

When you open your eyes again, you ignore the stray tear that cascades down the hill of your cheek.

“I just wanted to help. That’s all I ever wanted to do.” Your voice is an unintentional whisper, which isn’t that surprising since you wouldn’t consciously trust yourself not to quiver either. “And I want to keep the kids safe. That would be my way of helping… So please, Steve. Just let me go through with my shitty plan so that we can buy Max some time.”

To your unwavering disappointment, Steve heaves a sigh and somberly shakes his head at you. You can’t tell if the ghosts of teardrops that you see at his lashline make it worse or not.

“You don’t understand.” He speaks softly and tranquilly, which is more than you expected from him, but it still doesn’t resolve things between you. It still doesn’t make you feel any less useless.

“Then make me understand!” you beg, voice crumbling under the pressure of its own volume. “If I don’t understand then just tell me!”

Steve’s gaze snaps to yours and stays there, his mouth pressed and trembling against his teeth that are chewing on the inside of his lower lip. While you assumed that he would be more angry, more defensive, as he’s standing in front of you now, he just looks like a sad, young boy who is petrified at the thought of losing his best friend.

“I can’t just sit here and let you take those meds because you know that it’ll do much worse than give you nightmares and headaches,” he reveals, tone hushed and fervent. “It’s dangerous because you’re at risk by putting yourself in the hands of a bloodthirsty villain from another dimension, and you’re at the risk of your own hands.”

You shake your head quickly, ready to disprove his point.

“I’ve been doing better, Steve. I haven’t done anything like that or had thoughts like that in months, I can–”

“No,” he says sternly, using the voice that you know means no more negotiation, and then his hand snatches the bottle of pills out of your hand. You’re fuming as you realize that he intends on trying to use intimidation to get you to cower, but your rage falls a little when you watch a tear fall from his pleading eyes. The combination of guilt and panic that you see in them makes your brain completely disregard how his knuckles turn white at how much force he’s using to grip the orange bottle, makes you forget that he even took the bottle from you in the first place. Finally seeing how this is all really affecting him, you let your anger fall away.

“I watched as you started to hate yourself more and more every day. I waited when you kept ditching our movie nights and our parties with the kids because you thought that you deserved to isolate yourself.” He pauses, face contorted in nothing but agony and dread. “I watched my best friend turn into someone that I didn’t even recognize anymore, and I can’t… I can’t do that again.”

He grunts to try and cover up the way he’s sniffling up his unfallen tears, and you feel your heart collapse into your stomach. You knew that he hadn’t reacted well when all of this went down, but to this extent..? You believed him, though, at such a vulnerable state it was disrespectful to even suggest otherwise. Plus, if your roles had been reversed, you would have felt as frantic and hopeless as he did.

Your throat tightens as you start to realize that maybe you’ve both been unfair to one another. That maybe you both should have been more honest instead of resorting to angrily upholding your pride.

“Steve, I–” You try to apologize, to explain yourself – you’re not really sure exactly what all it is that you’re trying to do, but you feel the need to fix this somehow. After seeing Steve like this, you’re certain you’d do anything to reassure and comfort him, but he misinterprets your resignation for defiance and doesn’t give you the chance.

“No!” There’s something raw in his voice, in the way that he’s almost too quick to snap his face to look at yours, and it’s as if the words that have been spewing from his mouth have been shards of glass, slicing the insides of his throat until he’s hoarse and drowning in his own blood.

“I don’t care, okay? Whatever argument you have against me is nothing because I won’t let you go back and relive that night in the hospital again.” He tries to be authoritative with his tone but it fails, and suddenly everything he’s saying is sounding more like a set of desperate pleas than a nonnegotiable demand. “I won’t sit there and be some useless bystander again while you’re barely hanging on to a thread of life.”

Steve opens his mouth and then halfway closes it, eyes flickering and features conflicted. He wants to say more; you know what he wants to say, but you also know that even he – as clueless as he sometimes can be – understands not to cross that line. Not to shout at you about your past turmoil like it’s your fault, because he’s fully aware of the fact that it isn’t.

He also keeps his tongue bitten for your own dignity, to keep the kids and your few friends from hearing about this without you being ready, and regardless of how your current relationship with him is fairing, you find yourself mentally thanking him for holding back.

You make a move to close the smothering space between you two, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder and rubbing your thumb along the edge of his collarbone. Surprisingly, he relaxes into it like he would any other time, when you weren’t in the middle of an argument that could potentially mess up everything.

“Steve,” you say his name slowly, sickeningly sweet as it tumbles from your lips, as if you’re trying to tell him so much with just his name – ‘I understand,’ ‘I forgive you,’ ‘I’m sorry,’ and something else that you’re not quite ready to admit to yourself that feels like falling and flying all at once.

You don’t say anything then, knowing that what you’ll have to say won’t be what he wants to hear, so instead you keep your eyes on his, praying that somehow your thoughts can telepathically connect to him like they do when Vickie walks into Family Video, a sweet smile on her face as she asks Robin about her movie preferences. With pouted lips and brows tilted upward in concern, you hope that he gets it.

Minutes pass, and then you see the first sign of acquiescence – his face eases a little as his eyebrows straighten. It’s hardly anything and it would have gone unnoticed by anyone else, but it was enough for you to know that his insistence was starting to crumble.

“It’s for the kids,” you whisper, gaze floundering all over his face so you can monitor each feature that changes. You could say more – that these kids were thrown into the mouth of Hell at the ripe age of 12, bearing witness to more destruction, death, and heartache than anyone should ever have to – but you don’t have to. Steve already knows; it’s part of why he does all that he can for them. “I would do anything to protect those kids.”

Without a single beat passing, Steve replies, “And I would do anything to protect you.”

It’s quiet, hushed and whispered into the room as if it’s a secret for only you to hear, although anyone else could see it with their own two eyes, plain as day. It’s soft and warm and ever-comforting, like when you wash your sheets and immediately cover yourself in them when they first get out of the dryer, shrouded in familiarity and the steady feeling of returning home during the holidays, the promise of a warm meal and your own bed no matter where you roam, forever there and forever yours.

And suddenly everything makes a little more sense. The uncharacteristic stubbornness from Steve, the anger and hesitance and fear that radiated from his disposition; because that’s what it really was – fear. The looming sense of doom that filled the boy’s head and heart at the thought of you going against Vecna alone.

It was a fear that ran deeper than any he had felt before – even when the Russians under Starcourt had taken you hostage to try and strip you of your information and pride – amplified by swirling thoughts of your hand brushing against his as you sorted movies at work, the sound of your shared footsteps and giggles as you hid in the back room of Scoops Ahoy to sneak far too many ‘free samples’ of ice cream, and the feeling of you pressed against him – crying and breathing and safe – after you reunited as the smell of fire filled both of your lungs.

You and he, alike, had come to self-realization, but uncertainty and a different kind of fear had kept you from acting upon it. Unsure of one another, of where you stood among the thin line between best friends and something more, until now. Until you heard it in his voice, in that same little admission that was an enigma just for you, and you just knew without him even saying it. You knew.

Your arms are around him in an instant, grasping at the soft cotton of his t-shirt and burying yourself into him. His eyes close as he pulls you impossibly closer, hands at your shoulders and his lips soft against your forehead in an eternal kiss. Warmth floods throughout you, filling your chest until it feels like it might be exploding, filling your lungs until breathing is a little easier, a little harder.

“I can’t lose you again,” he whispers against your skin, his breath hot and tingly, “not even for a second. Not even partially.” He doesn’t have to add in the next part, you already know and he does too, but he does it anyway, a murmur that you can barely make out against the white noise of the Wheelers’ loud refrigerator. “Don’t you get it?”

And you do.

You don’t have to look up to see the fondness in his eyes or to watch the way that a small tear rolls down his cheek and lands on the top of your head. You don’t have to hear him say it because his fingers tighten around your shoulders and he takes a long, deep breath; you can practically hear him repeating a mantra in his mind – You’re here, you’re here, you’re here…

Overwhelmed with emotions – far too many of them – your own eyes start to water again and you move yourself to rest your nose and mouth across his shoulder, both at an attempt to ground yourself and because teardrop stains on the shoulder of his shirt would be less uncomfortable than having them against his chest, not that you thought he would mind at all.

You steadily inhale the fabric of his t-shirt and the smell that can only be described as him, an intoxicating mixture of sweet patchouli and faint vanilla that has an inkling of his floral-scented laundry detergent.

You’re both doing the same thing: breathing and living and holding one another up and together, like the roots of two trees that have been intertwined for decades, now having to branch into one after the wake of a tornadic storm. You’re in the middle of your own thunderstorm now, with everything around you spinning and yelling and uncertain and tumultuous; all you have and all you want is one another, to stay as tightly interwoven as you’ve always been, so you clasp your bodies together in hopes that it will see you through the eye of the hurricane.

You hold each other until you’re slightly sweating and your bodies are beginning to grow stiff, but you never falter, hopelessly devoted to each other like the sun and the moon, lovers forever in pursuit of their counterpart without ever touching, but without ever receding either.

You’re sure he can feel it in your touch – or in your gaze or your words like you could see it in him – but you want to say something anyway, so you whisper, “I know,” with your lips close to the smooth skin of his arm. You want to push the thin cloth away and preach it into his bare flesh, over and over again so that he remembers it forever, but you don’t because it won’t save you.

It won’t save Max. As much as you might want them to, the feelings and fears that Steve holds for you – that you hold for him – are not capable of turning into soldiers that can defeat Vecna and the Upside Down. So far, there’s only one person who you both know that’s ready – as ready as you can be for battle with a great unknown – and who might have a shot, and that’s you.

But, like everything else that remains comfortably unspoken but not unacknowledged between the two of you, Steve knows this too.

“I have to do this,” you mumble, feeling the most regret that you had the entire night, “for them.”

Steve doesn’t argue this time. He swallows the lump in his throat and wills his few tears away, aware that this is your choice to make – not that there really is much of a choice to make. With one last overbearing inhale against your forehead, as if he’s branding the scent of you and the very sensation of you into his brain forever, he slides something into your jacket pocket that rattles as it lands – the orange pill bottle – and ignores the very crushing of his heart as he gives the fate of his most beloved person up to the gods.

#steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things 4 #st4 #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #stranger things four #stranger things fic #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington angst #steve harrington hurt/comfort

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echantedtoon · 7 months

Text

Adaman x Fem! Reader

(Hey everyone. I just wanted to thank everyone who read this far and liked my story enough to read it to it's end. I had a lot of fun writing it and it makes me happy knowing some people loved it enough to read it fully. If you liked this consider checking out my other works. Thanks to everyone for reading this, adding it, or leaving a nice comment. And thank you to Nintendo for creating such wonderful characters for us all.)

That work needed finishing. It was the only reason he got himself to get out of the arceus forsaken bed he was comfortable in. He felt terrible, like he couldn't keep anything in his stomach, everything was too hot, too dizzy. Too.....Sickly. By Arceus was he sick!?...He shook that off rather quickly. Didn't matter. Work was needed. Work was the thing driving the car today and if he crashed off the road of sanity so be it. He might've already been losing it anyways with how much he was coughing and how sore his throat felt. He might as well been one of the walking dead as his body spun between heavy and lightheaded with how he looked. Wheezes and coughs were what came out of him and the only language he spoke right now was lack of no sleep and 'I need coffee'-nese, and he didn't even LIKE coffee. He winced as his sore throat throbbed and suppressed the urge to cough as it would only hurt more. Darnit he just had to get to the dam kitchen area. He KNEW he should've stayed in bed that day...but he was so close to being done. He knew if he just got enough caffiene he'd be able to make one more day and finish. He tensed in pain from his chest as he coughed a little, face scrunched up. He LOATHED being sick Hated anyone around him being sick....Speaking of which where the heck was everyone? It was unusually quiet for their camp sight \ in the middle of the day. He sniffled again, slumped footsteps echoing out the entire empty place as his runny nose got the the better of him.

Wow...He really did have a cold didn't he?

"ACHOO- ow." The body of the man shook as the sounds of a sneeze echoed through the entire place and if it weren't for his hand quickly latching onto a doorway he was passing, he would've suffered more than just stumbling and landing into the wall...he let out a whimper from his sore throat and head that the sneeze made throb. He scowled. Whatever. If everyone was out doing something he couldn't care less. Right now he had more important things to attend to, like getting his butt awake and figuring out if he wanted to dunk his head in cold water or just see how that Jubilife coffee worked out for him. Another sneeze wracked his body resulted in more scratchy voiced whimpers and mumbles as he walked his way somehow back into his tent with his blurry vision and spinning head. The cold floor sent a shiver down his swaying form- "ACHOO!!" He stumbled and threw his hands out thankfully grabbing onto a shelf, gradually pulling himself along towards the upper cabinets. He reached up a hand and felt around for any spare cups of theirs lying around. Sniffling as he did light headed. Eventually his hand wrapped around a simple white mug and he was able to easier reach it with his slumped body against the counter. ".......ACHOO!!" He shook his head and sniffled. Man he hated having a cold-

"Adaman-"

A glass shattering rang from the sink as porcelain mug pieces scattered about on the floor. Feet stumbled and at long last he was too slow to reach for the counter instead tumbling to the floor with a thud and sore heap as he laid there...Head spinning. Whimpering. Body sore...and only a cough escaped the sore throat causing more whimpers and sniffles. Footsteps approached but he could only weakly shake. Great Sinnoh! He felt like almost crying-

"AH!! DONT TOUCH DONT TOUCH!! ACHOO!!" He rasped out in a croaky voice that sounded like he was smoking for fifty years as a white flash of pain passed over when two hands grabbed his side out of nowhere all of a sudden, his head slumping as the headache throbbed again from another sneeze.

"What's wrong with you!? Are you ok!?," a voice sounded above him and he winced from the loud volume. "ANSWER ME YOU " Her answer? Another loud sneeze making him whimper and curl in on himself on himself even more and she leaned back a bit before groaning. "Of all the things you can get yourself into you get yourself sick?!"

Hey. That voice sounded familiar. He turned his head slightly up and his vision was too blurry to make out who it was but he had a good idea of who it was. ".....Y-Y/n?"

"Yeah, it's me." She groaned shaking her head. "the one time I stay behind and I find you sick."

"Is not my f-f-fa- AHCOO!" She quickly leaned away as he coughed and sniffled again from the sneeze. "F-Fault..*sniff*...W-Where is everyone?"

She made a cringe face and stared down at his weak form. "They left already. Y'know for the harvest? Did you forget?"

"M-Must've s-slipped my mind. I-...I-I-AHCHOO!!" He whimpered again and curled in on himself until he was in a pained ball. ".....I hurt...."

Her whole demeanor immediately softened as she watched him wriggled on the ground clutching his stomach as he did sniffling. Her hands coming to hover over his body but not touching him due to his past reaction. "Are you ok?!..Can you get up?"

"ACHOO!!....*sniff*" He gave a small hopeful nod to her as the swimming/light headed/spinning feeling intensified and forced him to close his eyes as tears brought him up to the for front. He couldn't act like a wimp in front of her. So whimpers aside he began to push himself up, stumbling and leaning more and more against the counter as his arms shook fumbling around for purchase against the cold floor. A worried and annoyed feeling coming over himself as Jirou didn't move from her spot, as if afraid he'd fall over- "ACHOO!!" His chest let a large pang of pain as he started coughing up again- "AH-" His legs gave out as he doubled over, in a bent over position, one hand gripping the shelf and the other covering his mouth as the coughs kept coming and his body lit ablaze with hellfire! He couldn't stop! It was too much! Dear Almighty Sinnoh make it stop! Black clouded in-

"ADAMAN!"

......

...........

......................Well THAT could've gone better.

In panic, she did the only she could've done at that moment. Go get help! Luckily help hadn't been too far away and was quick to get Adaman's unconscious form to the clan healer quickly and find out what was really wrong with him. He was sick and exhausted with a fever and runny nose. Well it was a relief to her at least, and not too long after the man was carried back into his tent and half woke up enough to blow his nose and take whatever medicine was given to him before clonking out again. While relieved, she was still worried so decided to stick around. Not like she had any plans for the holidays anyways. Which turned into her just reading and checking on him every few minutes...which became every one minute for the past hour still finding him fast asleep under the blankets where they left him. ......He looked cold. She'll go get a blanket after a lil bit....Which in reality was five minutes. Hesitant steps came down the hallway back down towards the bedroom. A blanket resting under one arm. The footsteps soon stopped in front of one door on the right and the boy paused. It took a moment before he was able to reach a hand up to knock on the door.

"Adaman?", a voice forced out almost a whisper. No one answered so she knocked again a bit louder. Just to see if he had woken up while she was away ...Still nothing. So she gently grabbed ahold of the door knob and turned. "Adaman? I-I brought an extra blanket-....Oh."

The dark room made it hard to see but she could make out the sleeping figure over in the corner. His chest rose and fell slowly in his sleep and a smile was present on his sleeping face. She hesitated for a moment, but decided it was best to keep her silent promise of getting him the extra blanket. So slowly stepping in, she gently closed the door behind her with a soft click- She froze when he made a groaning noise but he didn't wake up, only buried his head halfway under the blanket. She sighed in relief before silently walking up to the bed, taking the blanket in both hands she flung it out. Then over the bed in the air. It gently floated down until it draped over his sleeping form. She stared down at the sleeping form of her friend for a moment, before gently smoothing the wrinkles out from the covers-

".....Y/n?"

She froze. .....Slowly her eyes shifted up towards the bedframe. A pair of eyes blinked back up sleepily at her, wild blue and light tan bed head around his face.

"What are you doing?"

"Oh. I..Uh-" She quickly pulled himself away from the bed embarrassed and cleared her throat. Finger twirling around one of her locks of hair. "I-I-I was just delivering t-the blanket cuz you're sick and I t-thought i-it might help. *ahem* ....I-Im sorry if I woke you."

he blinked at her for a moment, before shifting his eyes down to his body. Indeed a new blanket was over his. He then looked back to her with a smile that made her heart skip a beat.

"It's ok. I don't mind. S-Sorry I fell b-b-back there...Must've been e-embarrassing."

"I- uh-.....N-NO! Of course not. You w-were just sick. It happens." Sinnoh she could feel her cheeks growing more pink by the second. His patient eyes and smile always seemed to make her forgive the doofus faster. Luckily he new exactly what to do- "W-Well I-I-Ill let you get back to sleep-" She froze when something grabbed her hand. She soon found out what when Adaman, now slightly sitting up in bed pulled her back a little more.

"Um- Hey. W-Would you mind if we-..." His eyes shifted to the side. Wait. Did he sound nervous? "Cu-.. Cuddle? Y-Y'know. J-Just as friends! I-Im s-still pretty cold from the fever and I thought- ..."

"Uuuuhh-" Her eyes went back to them still holding hands.

" I-I mean. I-Its ok if y-you don't want to. " he let go of his hand-

"What?! NO NO!" she froze when she regrabbed her hand and looked back into his eyes. He seemed to freeze for a moment himself. "I-....I mean I d-don't mind it. I just...I'm not sure if you would want to."

...he smiled. "Well I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't ok."

"Oh. W-Well...Who am I t-t-to deny a request from you...b-but you better not get me sick?"

He chuckled. "I make n-no promises."

he smiled again, before shifting over to make room for another, patting the spot next to him. She hesitated for a moment but gulped down what worries she had left and slowly lifted the blankets, before climbing in. He sat there for a moment un sure, but his face lit up like a million stars when he felt her reassuringly huddle up against his side. He swallowed, hard, before allowing himself to lay back and lay a shaking arm around her. In response she shifted to lay into him more and sighed in comfort.

".....ACHOO!!"

"DANGIT ADAMAN!!"

#pokemon adaman #pokemon legends arceus #Pokemon adaman x reader #adaman x reader #Adaman

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cuntstroworld · 1 month

Text

Tainted

TW- This is a fan made fiction based on a the character Taiju Shiba, I do not condone anything I write in this story. Read at your own risk and enjoy.

The follow story includes

Choking

Fear play

Slapping

Degradation

Crying

Face smushing

Manipulation

Sex in public places

Sex in Religious places

Things from the Bible

“Please father forgive me for I have sinned” Sitting in front of the priest, I put my hands in my lap toying with the hem of my skirt. Raising my head up ever so slightly I could see the small cross around his neck. The silence was deafening only having the slightest sound from the ticking clock that sat on his desk, the only voice that could be heard was the sound of my own self-conscious telling me to say something. Opening my mouth to speak I hear him speak first.

“Own up to your sins and say it out loud for God’s forgiveness” His voice deep with seriousness made me look up at him, I usually would talk with one of the nuns but Father was my last resort. He was a very scary looking man, the rumors about him only made him look scarier. I nod my head at him as I slightly clutched the cross around my neck “um..well I’ve been having thoughts again.” Avoiding his gaze I looked around the room for something I could look at before saying what I was about to say.

“It’s rude to not look at the person you’re talking to.” The vibrations of his voice echoed in my ear. I could hear him standing up, the sound of his footsteps thumping against the hardwood floor of the office stopping at the window on the left side of the room. He closed the blinds and turned on a small lamp that sat on his desk illuminating the room with its bright light.

I watched him walk over to the bookshelf and pull out a bible, coming back over to me he dropped the heavy book on the wooden desk “Read chapters Matthew 5:28 it talks about those thoughts you so famously have” both of his hands on the desk his necklaces dangling on the side of my face, I could hear his slow yet steady breathing in my ear as I opened the book, and flipped through the contents of the chapters.

“Chapters Matthew 5:28.. um it says” I make sure to read it in my mind before saying it out loud, for some strange reason I looked over at him just to actually see how close he was to me. Jumping slightly there he was staring directly into my eyes, it was as if he knew about my thoughts before I even got to tell him myself. The more I stared at him the more I realized how big Father Shiba was.

“Don’t just sit there and look stupid read it.” Father Shiba’s voice sounded annoyed, so I looked over at the Bible verse. His hand quickly covered it “no you already proofread it now say it” the palms of my hands grew sweaty from nervousness “But Father if I may we haven’t really gone over this” his eyebrows furrow the vein on his forehead showing visible from his impatience in my stalling.

Shutting up I tried my hardest to remember what I just read “But I say to you—um.. that everyone…” stumbling over the words I felt my body jerk out of the chair I sat in, letting a quick yelp I felt something latch onto my throat. My reflexes weren’t fast enough to comprehend what just happened to me, a sharp pain could be felt on my arm as I looked around the room.

“Did you know y/n the eyes are the gateway to the soul.” Listening to him I looked into his eyes, his hand around my neck squeezed tighter, my free hand grabbed his hand trying to pry it away. His body towering over mine, he backed me up against his desk. Vision blurred from the lack of airflow and now being blocked from my tears.

“Please—I’m so sorry” his body language showed no signs of being forgiving. He quickly overpowered me shoving me onto the desk “Tell me is the temptation getting to you again? I thought I took care of these thoughts last time.” Sobbing I felt his knee pushing open my legs, his hand let go of my arm.

Taiju’s Pov

“Lord please forgive me for I am about to sin..” I looked down at the smaller woman, my grip still tight around her neck. Leaning down I took in her smell, she smelled pure like lavender leaving a soft aura of silence, devotion, and serenity. Looking at her face made the bulge in my pants twitch hastily.

Tears scattered down her cheeks, as I sat back up I noticed her clutching tightly onto her cross losing my grip from her neck. I look down at her skirt, lifting it up slowly. “temptation is what all sinners like you are going to hell for, do you wanna go to heaven y/n?” I looked at her nod her head yes “yes father I wanna go to heaven”

Listening to her voice so pure and beautiful like music to my ears, letting go of her neck she let out a deep breath coughing as I looked down at her. “Is doing this worth going to hell over” I looked in between her legs a soft wet spot coated her panties.

Grabbing her face forcing her to look at me I spoke softly as I stared down at her “You’re not stupid so don’t play stupid games with me You’re a slut y/n and sluts like you who commit sins like adultery burn in the deepest pits of hell” My thumb pressed against her clothed clit, rubbing the fabric on the bud slowly.

She whimpered when I changed directions from circling to up and down “God didn’t bring you back to me y/n, put you in this position, made you have those thoughts and feelings. It was Satan, I’m only doing what God tells me too—you have been tainted.” her eyes laid on the ceiling and both hands now clutching onto her cross repeating the last word I spoken “I have been tainted”

Moving her panties to the side I used her slick coating to slip my fingers in slowly, I watched as her mouth opened and her back arched against my desk. “I’ll fix you..because God told me to fix you y/n you’ve been tainted by satanic Spirits” she grinds on my fingers her eyes low “this isn’t right Father…” I let out a deep sigh.

I couldn’t believe she had the audacity to fix her lips to say something like that, quickly grabbing her face squeezing her cheeks, I leaned into her spreading her legs opened as I kept pumping my fingers into her using my thumb to stimulate her delicate clit “this isn’t right Father” I mocked her tone staring her right in the eyes “If it isn’t right then why do you keep inching your legs open for more? Why are you grinding on my finger Y/n?”

She stammered and hesitated to give me an answer to my non ending questions making her cry again, repeating the same words over and over again. “I am tainted”

Eyes red and puffy she nodded her head as her eyes looked at me “I wanna be saved…please I can’t go to hell Father— please I don’t wanna be tainted anymore please save me” she sounded scared clutching that cross I almost started to feel bad for her.

Y/n’s Pov

his words seemed harsh yet true, after the first time; he's helped me as much as he could, I feel as if I'm throwing all my forgiveness away just to feel his touch on my skin, but he was built up to provide and help the sinned. I wanted him to myself, I needed him to be mine. “Father—Taiju..” I wanted to feel his presence in me, his fingers hooking inside me cutting off my speech.

Moaning as his fingers pumped in and out of me, my hands started to hurt from all of the pressure that I inflicted from clinging to my cross. I wouldn’t dare let go in fear of being tainted any further, his finger pressed that same spot that he touched last time.

Arching my back more, my eyes met with the huge painting of Jesus. It felt as if he was judging me, my eyes watered from the feeling of my climax edging closer “I’m so close..” I said as I let out a deep sigh, I was almost there before the sensational feeling suddenly came to an halt.

“Sit up” Taiju said as he took his fingers out of me feeling a little disappointed I sat up and looked at him “Why did you stop? I thought you wanted to help me.” My voice sounded annoyed and bitchy. His eyes glared at me “I thought god said to help” before I could get the rest of my sentence out, a stinging pain on my cheek, tears beginning to fall again as I looked at him.

“You dare question me?? You question God's judgment of me? Fine then stay tainted and burn in hell” his voice was loud and strong, it looked as if he was turning away from me. Hopping off the desk I got on my knees and started begging. “Please don’t leave me here I won’t question you again- Taiju Please just save me from being tainted” I held onto his pants legs staring at my cross dangling in front me.

I felt my body being lifted off the ground as I was placed back on the desk but this time I met eyes with the same painting. “Don’t you dare question my judgment about what God has me to do.” His whole body weight pushed up against me making me nod in agreement with him, I didn’t speak much after that slap.

Touching the side of my face where he slapped me felt weirdly warm but has a numbing effect on it. I’m sure I’ll feel the pain later on in the day, his weight lifted off of me and my skirt being lifted up again, my panties hanging onto my ankle, I heard his pants unbuckle and unzip. An airy drop from his pants could be heard as they fell to the floor.

His fingertips were rough as he grabbed my waist, he slowly lifted my leg up onto to the desk “I want you to think about the sin you have committed by coming here today y/n” he slowly pushed inside of me I heard small grunts and groans, I couldn’t look at that painting anymore so I held my head down.

Taiju’s Pov

She felt warm on the inside. I felt bad for lying to her but I needed this more than she needed it, I watched as she held her head down while I pushed my length inside her. She too was looking at the painting, almost judging me for lying to the girl, but I didn’t care about that. I wanted her for myself, to not be judged by others.

I wanted to be the only one to touch her, I pushed myself into her fully groaning in the process, she was clenching around me already “lord forgive me for this..” I whispered quietly as I stiffed into motion. Her moans sounded like moans of an Angel, giving me the momentum to make her finish.

I parted her ass with my hands and watched my cock disappear and reappear as I thrusted in her “Taiju..save me from this sin..” my name rolled off her tongue so smoothly, I liked that sound. I only liked it when she said it. I was zoned out. I didn't even notice I picked up speed, huffing I pushed her head into the desk making her moan louder.

The sound of skin slapping together quickly increased, I couldn’t control myself, drilling deeper into her, grunting I grabbed her hair pulling her closer to me, wrapping my hand around her neck I made her look at the painting. I sat my head on her shoulder “you’re doing this for him.. so look at it and beg for his forgiveness.” I was close and I could tell she was close as well. She clenched around me like crazy.

3rd person Pov

Y/n held onto the desk as Taiju’s grip tightened around her neck, pounding into her cunt she choked on her own moans as she tried to speak. Both looking at the painting, Y/n finally reached her max. Legs weak she cried as she asked for forgiveness “Lord please forgive me for all of my sins… I am a sinner and I don’t deserve your forgiveness but please forgive me” she begged as her orgasm took over her body.

Taiju was satisfied with her performance and came to his max as well, the sensation in his sack came quickly. He held her tighter, shoving himself in her deeper, moaning together as the sounds of their climax’s rhythm began flowing through the air, the both ended the night finishing together.

#anime #headcanon #tokyo revengers #taiju shiba #taiju x reader #taiju smut #taiju x y/n #tokyo revengers taiju #tokyo rev smut #tr taiju #smut #anime smut

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otherworldlygate · 1 month

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Once again it's Regal appreciation hour by which I mean day by which I mean year by which I mean lifetime.

I was very much prepared to not write any fanfiction this year, but I cannot divorce myself from how awesome my favorite Symphonia blorbos are and so I am writing yet another stupid fanfic. I feel feral about these characters in general but Raine gets quite a lot of attention (because she's wonderful, obviously) so I don't want to focus on her too much. Regal, on the other hand, has been underappreciated in the ToS fandom since the game's release day, so I must advocate for him.

I've been RPing as him for the last year or so, and together my RP partner and I have written about 320,000 words of a story. I'm having a blast, and a big part of that is because Regal is, despite the flaws in the storytelling of ToS as a whole surrounding him (and how all of the Tethe'alla characters kind of fall flat), a rather well-conceived and implemented character. Yeah, his clothes are dumb (I'm happy to retcon that outfit with zero regrets) and the game blows through his story at such a breakneck pace he doesn't get the space or the arc he deserves (he should have taken his shackles off as part of his 'sacrifice' to fight the angels), but he is a genuinely fascinating character who feels, just like many of the others do, as if he belongs very specifically in the world he was created for.

I know a lot of people like to write him as this sad sack of shit just absolutely lost in the grief sauce (see the part about how he didn't get the arc he deserved), but I think that's a mistake. See, the biggest bump in the road for Regal was his lack of understanding of what was happening and why. When you think about it, he was faced with having to kill Alicia seemingly out of nowhere. Like one day he's just minding his business and the next Alicia is gone and very quickly after that she's a monster trying to kill him AND HE HAS NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT IS GOING ON. He has no answers. All he knows is that he killed her, and his autistic* brain latches onto that detail because it's all he has.

You have to think, too, about the fact that the game gives him nobody. His parents are dead. George, the only person even remotely close to Regal--someone he's known his *whole life*--betrayed him. (George didn't mean for things to go Like That and he's sorry he did it, but HE STILL DID IT.) Regal doesn't have friends and the extra material makes it clear that he was literally raised, specifically by his father, to be a workaholic. Do you think anyone came to see him in prison? He fought in a coliseum for his life for YEARS. He was on friendly terms with some of the other inmates but the guy had eight years to just sit there and get stuck in the loop of knowing he killed the one person he'd let himself get even remotely close to.

Which is something else people always downplay for some reason. The shit with Alicia isn't just "guy is sad because he killed his girlfriend." It's very much, "guy was born and bred to take on the family legacy" except in this case the family legacy is a company, an island, a noble bloodline, and also the absolutely insane idea that work and profit is all that matters. Everyone else is out to get you. Keep the workers dissatisfied but keep them hooked just enough that they'll never leave. Take no time for fun or friends or merriment. Everything in your life is a business transaction. Don't ever forget it. It's us vs. them. You're alone and you have to make this your entire life or it'll all fall to pieces and it will be your fault.

The drama cd in particular really honed in on that way of being raised and it makes his entire character make complete sense. At a relatively young age his father died and he ended up on top (though it's stated he had to work as a CEO before he was elected via a board to the position of President). Having no other guidelines other than what he was taught--and what George himself adhered to--Regal followed that path...until he ended up miserable, because, despite the way he was raised, he's a goddamn empath**.

After literal YEARS of occasionally running into Alicia and talking to her, he starts forming a connection to her--which is important because he's never allowed himself to do this before. And at one point he realizes he doesn't even know her name...which comes as a surprise to him...and brings with it shame. After this, he starts living for himself. He listens to his employees--something his father never did. He starts enacting rules to protect his employees, particularly from things that would hurt them in the field, because part of what was making him so miserable was wrestling with the empathy of their terrible working conditions on top of just hearing his father's manta repeating itself in his head all the time.

I cannot stress enough how important this is. Alicia, despite being a love interest and someone he was interested in seriously dating and perhaps someday marrying (the details of their relationship are never known but it's almost more tragic if they were just starting to be serious), WAS STILL HIS EMPLOYEE.

He was supposed to protect his employees. He was doing so much to ensure his employees would be safe. And then he killed Alicia.

Alicia, the one person he allowed himself to get close to.

Now, consider the fact that he was raised as a tool and not a beloved son; he was not allowed to have friends and not allowed to make merry. He was under his father's thumb until his father's untimely death--a death, by the way, that only surprised him with its suddenness; he did not grieve that man!! Regal, as a 25-year-old man, had ZERO coping mechanisms. All he had was the truth he was raised under and the fact that he went against that truth AND WAS NOW BEING PUNISHED FOR IT. How can someone like this think of anything except that they are the reason George was put in a position where he had to get rid of Alicia? That the only reason Alicia was experimented on and turned into a monster was because of her connection to Regal?

IT MAKES ME FEEL SO FERAL!!!

The events of the game open his eyes to the ACTUAL truth, to what actually happened AND WHY IT HAPPENED TO ALICIA. In the end he learns he had NOTHING TO DO WITH IT. If he had not befriended and started falling for Alicia, she still would have died--it's just, if she hadn't had a more direct connection to Regal, who knows where she might have met her end. Alone, forgotten? At least someone knew her as she was; at least someone can tell Presea the kind of person her sister was.

The ToS fandom has always loved joking about how Regal's just into punishment as a kink or whatever (and I'll never forgive the shitty non-canon-in-my-heart sequel for leaning so hard into that angle, fuck you fuck you fuck you) but let's be serious about it for a hot second. Yes, I think learning this information puts him on a better path, but you can't erase 8 years of self-loathing and fear instantly. Did you guys really think this man would just forget about the darkest years of his life and start frolicking in fields of flowers?

The trauma he's endured goes so much deeper than "I killed the person I loved," and boiling it down to that really does the character a disservice. The "born for a specific purpose, not allowed to exist outside of that purpose" bit is also given to Colette and Zelos, but while their role is being a sacrifice whose only use is dying or procreating to continue the line to have more sacrifices (absolutely also traumatizing btw), Regal's situation feels a lot more like indoctrinated religion and, very specifically (and no I am not kidding), religious trauma. Again, he endured that very controlled lifestyle complete with a mantra from birth into his early 20s, and the MOMENT he broke away from it too far, his life came crashing down around him in a very painful and traumatizing way.

Now, you might think the religious trauma parallel is unfounded, if not also the indoctrinated religion aspect of it, it could just as easily be a parallel for an abusive and controlling relationship, right down to the betrayal from someone who is supposed to have your best interests at heart the moment you step outside of that control to the feelings of shame and self-loathing and "you did this to yourself."

So whenever I see people joking about what a sad sack of shit he is or whatever, I'm just astounded, especially if it's coming from someone who loves literally any other character in the game. Like, you'll definitely have your blorbos, and I totally understand if Regal just ain't it for you, but I find it really disconcerting that someone might find (for example) Yuan's trauma deeply meaningful but see Regal's as stupid or silly.

I'm pretty sure I started this post to talk about how easy it is for me to RP as Regal because he's just such a great character to sink into and write about, particularly because I like to imagine that, starting in the post-game, he deeply regrets some of the choices he's made in his life, and, rather than lean into the things that have already transpired, he seeks to do what he can to better the world around him with the resources and power that he has.

It's like the ultimate fuck-you to the way his father raised him. He's not wasting the skills he's developed, but he's also not using them to hurt people or for personal or Lezareno profit.

I think most of us love writing about characters who have to work through their trauma, but there's an extra layer here that I particularly enjoy with Regal. With Raine I'm all about her inability to trust easily and her struggle to feel truly comfortable around other people, but with Regal I think it's maybe specifically related to the fact that he has had a lot handed to him that he didn't necessarily want, and his self-sacrificing nature lends itself to him feeling obligated to take it. I fully believe Regal would be happier and better off stepping away from Lezareno and from his family's toxic ass legacy*** (or at least not working it full-time as the acting President) but I can't ignore the fact that...these things are all he has and all he knows. So writing about him attempting to get back into the swing of things, maybe struggling to find time for himself, falling into workaholic patterns by mistake, learning to set boundaries between his private life and his job...all while not being fully satisfied and finding more fulfillment in charity work and other pursuits, just makes him feel like a very well-rounded character. Like...it's believable that he would continue to work a job he didn't particularly love specifically because not only does he not know anything else, but he knows with this position of power he can make a lot of things happen that would be impossible if he just twiddled his thumbs on the sidelines--like financial assistance going to Palmacosta, or his duties as a nobleman to try to get better laws passed in Tethe'alla, etc.

This was a pretty clumsily-written post and for that I am truly sorry. I've just been absolutely insane lately thinking about Regal and I had to get some of why I think he's such a wonderful character out into the world.

*this is just my headcanon but a lot about Regal screams autism to me.

**this is canon as far as I'm concerned. I wrote him this way far before I ever heard the drama cd, and the drama cd just solidified it for me tenfold.

***there's a scene in the hotel with Lloyd I think where Regal says his family's legacy on Altamira started when Tethe'alla flipped over to being a flourishing world last, which means they were in a position of power great enough to build an empire on Altamira already at that time (800+ years ago). I don't want to get into how awful this probably was or how evil the family was because I think you can all imagine that for yourselves. Also, nobody ever mentions the fact that Regal is the last of his family line, but it's a very convenient built-in control tactic to guilt someone into doing as they're told or risk bringing shame to a family that's been going strong and unbroken for over 1,000 years.

#regal bryant #tales of symphonia meta #tales of symphonia

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billpottsismygf · 1 month

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Episode 7 (The Very Long Stairway)! I didn't put it in my last review, but I had a strong feeling we were going to get a flashback to the start of Edwin and Charles' relationship in this one. I had wondered if it would start with it, Good Omens style, so when it didn't happen immediately I thought maybe I was wrong. I was vindicated, however! And I love the use of the Night Nurse's already established powers as a framing device for it. I got so into what was happening, though, that I forgot that was how it started and was surprised when the camera panned to her watching everything.

So, oh my god, Edwin sat and talked with Charles as he died!!!! Edwin is so incredibly kind to him and it's heartbreaking that he knew this boy was going to die in front of him, and decided to make sure he had the most calming death possible. And Charles instantly decided to stay with him. I think it's very telling that he latches onto Edwin so quickly. Charles is someone who values kindness and helping people - he literally just died because he saved another boy from being bullied - so when he understands what Edwin did for him, he knows this is a person to hang onto.

I had wondered for a while if Charles had been the one to rescue Edwin from hell, given that they met 30 years ago, the same time he got out of hell. Turns out that no, Edwin had already just got out of hell by himself, but this was still a really satisfying flashback. Speaking of their relationship, we also finally got the love confession. I really didn't want Edwin to say anything, but it went about as well as it possibly could have. Still, gah, reeling from the secondhand embarrassment and the fact that this is not the time, Edwin! I was about to be so annoyed if the thing 'worse than a demon' had caught them because they spent so long dawdling on the staircase.

The scenes in hell themselves were really effective. Loved the page ripping punishment, very Sisyphean, and in fact the entire scene that followed with Simon was so touching I had to watch the whole thing again immediately. He was a stupid boy who didn't know what he was doing, and their reconciliation reminded me a bit of Pat forgiving the boy who shot him in Ghosts. Anyway, it seems that everyone has a crush on Edwin apart from the one boy he wants. Still, Edwin and Simon reconciling and Edwin telling him that 'if you punish yourself enough, everywhere becomes hell' but that being queer doesn't have to be a punishment, was incredibly moving. Again, Edwin has empathy for him and shows him kindness.

Relatedly, I also loved the scene with Despair. The moment she came on screen, even with her face obscured, I realised who she was. She barely features in Sandman, far less than Death anyway, but I recognised her instantly. Obviously I'm intrigued about the whole 'I'll call you if ever I need you' thing, but for the purposes of this episode I really love how that scene solidified the importance of Edwin having compassion. Edwin can be very bitchy (which I love him for), and he had every right to be mean to the boy who sent him to hell, but he chose kindness instead.

Conversely, Crystal got to choose violence and I love that for her. It was very satisfying seeing her literally get to bury David. It's fitting, as well, that David once overpowered her mind and now she's using her mind to overpower him. It is, of course, 'bad for the tree' if he stays there long, so I wonder if we'll see repercussions from that further down the line.

What else? Oh, the opening scene! The Cat King is such an interesting figure. He's creepy in the way he pursues Edwin, but it feels like they're on slightly more level ground now. He's a wild card character who's not exactly a villain, but will always act in his own interests. I'll be interested to see where his character goes from here, especially now it's been established that he's less powerful than Esther. His line about how strong and great Edwin is and who does Esther think she is trying to beat him, while obviously a problem in terms of giving her ideas, was also interesting in its own right. He clearly knows a fair bit about Edwin and genuinely thinks highly of him. Until this point we've only really seen him interacting with Edwin, where he taunts him the whole time, so this has made me all the more intrigued and invested in him.

Small things:

Edwin explaining to Charles that he doesn't fall through the floor because of the vague and weird ghost rules once again gave me strong Ghosts vibes.

I continue to love Mick, so really hoping he'll be okay after his confrontation with Esther.

Maxine in hell was interesting! I thought we'd learn more about her after her death, but it was a very fleeting appearance.

I thought Jenny might actually learn about ghosts and demons and psychics (oh my), but it seems not, alas.

Simon got a blue light after Edwin left, so does that mean Death came to him? Can people in hell get closure from unfinished business and move on? Or is it something Edwin specifically is good at doing for people?

Monty's still around and doing Esther's bidding! Someone turn him back into a human, please! Maybe Crystal?

I loved Niko getting to save the day (for now) through the power of reading comprehension!

#dead boy detectives #the case of the very long stairway #final episode next!#dbd #mine #dbd mine #reactions

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 9 months

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All the Good Girls Go To Hell 17

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, power imbalance, injury, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You come home for the summer but your break is not as relaxing as you expect.

Character: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

Note: people are testing me today.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You idle across the street from your mother's place, staring at the white siding and dreading your next move. You don't know what to say even as you rehearse a dozen different takes in your head. You can admit you’re wrong, but that’s the problem. You’re not. Something inside you wants you to resist but you never been very good at being stubborn.

Naomi leans against the door, half-awake. You're worried about her too. She's still out of it. Even after eating, she barely has any energy.

You shift into gear and slowly pull into the driveway. Better to just get it over with. You don't have much of a choice. You need somewhere to stay. If only your father would answer his phone.

You play with the dangling keychain and leave the keys in the ignition. You won't bring Naomi in right away, that'll only trigger your mother. One step at a time.

"Hang out here," you turn up the radio, "I'll try not to be long."

She murmurs and nestles into the door. How did your summer end up such a mess? You want to blame her but she's just so pathetic. Steve definitely caused a lot of shit too. He seems like the most obvious culprit in all of this.

You get out of the car and as you head up the walkway, you hear your name behind you. Speak of the devil. You ignore Steve as you march up to the door. He catches up and latches onto your arm. You face him as he holds a cardboard tray of coffee in his free hand, barely keeping it from tipping as you try to wrench away.

"Let go--"

"Wait a minute, sweetie, I just wanna talk."

"I don't want to talk to you--"

"And you think your mom wants to talk to you? You haven't even called these last few days. You hurt her. I'm offering you a favour here, I can make her listen to you."

"What are you even talking about? How about I tell her about your wife? Maybe she'll listen then."

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, looking towards the car, "and what are you going to tell her about that slut? Hmm? Your mom wouldn't be very proud to have you hanging out with some OnlyFans whore. She certainly wouldn't appreciate those photos of you in front of the mirror."

"What photos?"

"Don't play dumb, honey," he lets his hand slide down your arm, "she was showing them off at the party. Everyone saw you with your tits half out."

"Stop!"

"I'm tryna make you a deal. You keep your mouth shut, I'll do the same," he winks.

You yank away from him and puff out, "whatever. She's my mother. She'll believe me."

"Did she believe you before?" He asks as you spin on your heel. "When you lied about me the first time?"

"I didn't--" You keep from arguing as you approach the door. You let yourself in as Steve follows. You quickly shut the door and lock it from the other side.

You wander in cautiously, listening to the silence of the house. You enter the kitchen as you hear the faucet running. Your mother stands at the sink rinsing out a carafe.

"Hey, mom," you squeak.

She turns her head and looks at you from the corner of her eye. She doesn't say a word as she returns her attention back to her task. You exhale and come closer.

"Mom, I'm... I'm sorry. Really. This summer's been so weird and I think-- maybe I overreacted. About Steve? It's a lot of change--"

"I know it's a lot of change," she slams the faucet off and plunks down the carafe, "I got a divorce, I had to be alone in this house for months, and I find someone to keep me company and you have to try to ruin it all."

"No, mom, I wasn't. I swear, I just... there's something I need to tell you about Steve."

"I don't want to hear it. Whatever lies you've come up with now."

"I ran into him last night and I have to tell you--"

A pounding comes at the door and Steve hollers through, "hello!"

"Save it," she waves you off and storms out of the kitchen.

You trail her as she goes to unlock the front door. Steve strolls in, presenting his tray of coffee, "hey, hon, thought I'd surprise you with a good morning."

"Oh, sweetie," your mother fawns and gives him a kiss as he tilts his head down.

"I thought I saw you," he nods at you past your mother, "welcome home, kiddo."

You frown. Your mother turns back to send you a bitter look. You give a helpless shrug.

"Mom, please, listen to me. He's not what he seems."

"Stop," she warns.

"I won't. I'm trying to protect you, okay?" You throw up your hands, "ask him about his wife."

Silence. Your mother's forehead wrinkles and she lifts a single brow. She gives a guilty look and peeks at her feet evasively.

"I know about his wife, sweetheart, alright? That's how we met. In a group. We're both divorcing so naturally--"

"He's not divorcing her. I saw them last night--"

"Look, Yvette, I didn't want to worry you. Wanda called me last night. She got wasted again and I had to drive her home. I know, it's awkward but I just felt bad leaving her somewhere in that condition," Steve says somberly, "you know, I thought separating might clean her up..."

"Oh, sweetie, it's okay. I understand," your mother preens at him, "you're so caring and she takes advantage of that--"

"No, I saw him with her. They were--"

"Why don't you tell your mom where you saw me carrying out my drunk ex? Hmm? I'm sure she'd like to know about the old man you've been entertaining. The one who bought you those shiny new glasses."

Your mouth drops open. Oh no. Oh. That sounds a lot worse than the truth. You sputter and look your mom in the face. She's mortified.

"Old man?"

"No, I was at Naomi's, I swear. My glasses broke so her dad--er, Bucky, he--"

"An older man? Her father? You..."

"No, mom, it's not like that. I didn't do anything with him. I wouldn't. He's like... he's Steve age."

"And that makes it even more nasty, he could be your father."

"Noooo, no. No. I'm not-- I'm not involved with him. I was just hanging out with Naomi--"

"Oh, and such a good influence she is," your mother hisses, "she's really rubbed off on you, hasn't she?"

"Mom!" You shout.

"Do not raise your voice with me. I have put up with you long enough. Running out, disappearing on me for days, lying to me, and on top of all that, making those gross allegations against Steve," she snarls, "You are not welcome in my house."

"Mom," you gulp.

"That might work on that old man you're messing around with but you're an adult now. You can take care of yourself--"

"Mom, no, I didn't... I wouldn't... you can't really think that I'm like that?"

"I don't know what to believe with you," she sniffles, "you just can't stand to see me happy, can you? You're just like your father, you're selfish."

"Please, list-en--"

"Stop! Stop! Stop!" She shrieks and covers her ears, turning and devolving into quaking tears. Steve puts down the tray and swiftly wraps an arm around her, pulling her head to his chest. He smirks at you over her head, "you've done enough. Oh, Steve, get her out. Get her out!"

You're stunned. Speechless. You've never seen your mother like this. Her and your dad argued but she was always so calm. What did he do to her?

"Yvette," he says softly, "at least let her grab some stuff before she goes."

Your mother whimpers as she clings to him, "oh, you are too nice, Steve, too nice..."

"It's okay, I'll make sure she goes after she packs a bag. Come on, why don't you go outside and have your coffee," he reaches for a cup and pulls it free of the cardboard tray, "let me get you settled, alright?"

Your mother blubbers as Steve carefully leads her away. You shake your head and stomp towards the stairs. You can't believe this. That man is a psychopath and he's got your mother all twisted.

You go to your room and find it in a state. What the hell? Your panty drawer gapes open and several pairs are strewn on the floor. You sift through and grab a handful, shoving them into a bag with some shirts and a couple pairs of jeans. You don't have a plan beyond filling your duffel bag.

You go to your bed but keep from putting the bag there. You notice the white string crust only your pillow. Ew. Oh my god. He-- You shudder and back away.

Laptop, charger, a bunch of odds and ends before you head for the door.

Steve meets you at the bottom of the stairs. You stop a few steps above and glare at him.

"I'm leaving. Move."

"Sweetie, if you need somewhere to go..."

"You are deranged."

"I'll take care of you. Wanda would really like you, I think."

You suck in air and barrel down, shoving past him. He curls you up in his arms and pulls you against him, flush to you as he rubs his pelvis against you. You squeal and wriggle in his grasp.

"Feel how hard I am? Not as bad as when I came in your bed. Fuck, I nearly choked on your panties--"

"Get off!" You elbow him and he releases you reluctantly.

"Think she'll let me fuck her in there? I mean, so far, she's let me do whatever I want--"

You swing your bag at him and stammer. You are repulsed to your core. You feel as if you could wretch. You don't want to leave your mother with him but you have no choice. Just as she said, she's an adult, she can take care of herself.

"I would never touch you. You're a disgusting old man," you yell and bluster away, "I hope you rot."

You charge out the door and try to escape the lingering warmth of his touch. He makes your skin crawl. You’ve never felt anything so visceral and vile. You open the back door of the car and toss your bag in before slamming it and plopping in the front seat. As you hit the locks, Naomi taps her finger on her phone and tucks it under her leg.

You blink and look at her. You grip the wheel as the card idles, the AC cranked to full blast. You exhale and let your shoulders slump. “We can’t stay– were you talking to someone?”

“Uh, yeah, Harry,” she wets her lips with her tongue, “he’s having a party.”

“Oh, a party,” you face forward and buckle your seat belt, “do you think that’s a good idea? After last night?”

“Why not? It’ll give us some time away, to hide out. What were you saying? That we can’t stay here? So, where else do we go?”

You nod and frown. You wish you had a different answer but it seems she has the only one. You really don’t want to go hang out with her old crowd but the alternative is hardly preferable.

“You have to promise me to pace yourself. Naomi, I don’t want to be peeling you off the floor again.”

She’s quiet. You rest your hand on the shifter and look at her. She has the grace to look guilty.

“Why do you care so much?” She asks; not accusative, more disbelieving, as if you’re wasting your energy.

“Because you deserve it. You’re a person and I like you, Nay. You’re a bit lost but you’re my friend. To be fair, I’m a bit lost, too.”

You pull the stick back and push down on the pedal, reversing out of the driveway. You crank the wheel and set yourself straight. You languish in the dull buzz of the radio, the volume cranked just above silent. You furrow your brow as your memory tweaks sharply.

“Naomi,” you say, “did you show Steve those pictures?”

“What pictures?”

“The ones from the bathroom. He said–”

“No, I told you, I wouldn’t. Those were just for me. For both of us.”

You grip the wheel tighter, “ but how did he know about them?”

She clucks and sits back. You glance at her from the rearview. She seems genuinely perplexed as she holds her forehead.

“Do you think maybe Bucky told him about it? He walked in on us. Maybe he didn’t see the pictures, maybe he just heard?”

You roll your tongue and think, clamping your lips together. You know you can’t trust Steve or anything he says. She could be right. He could be exaggerating for effect, just like he does with your mom.

“You aren’t lying to me?” You ask sternly, stopping at the red sign.

“Really, I wouldn’t… I might be okay sharing my pictures but I wouldn’t do that to you. Those pictures… they’re special…” she puts her hands in her lap and twiddles her thumbs, “you’re so gorgeous in them.”

Your cheeks heat up at the unexpected compliment. You steer on and chew your lip before mustering an answer, “thanks, that’s sweet.” You roll past the next intersection, “um, Nay? I don’t know where Harry lives?”

“Yessss,” she claps her hands, “we’re going to have fun. Forget about all that drama.”

You nod, hoping she’s right. You’d give anything to not feel, to not think, to be bound up with the knots of anxiety clustered in your chest and stomach. Maybe Naomi’s way is better. Just one night of fun can’t be bad, right?

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