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bonny-kookoo · 8 months

Text

Jungkook

𝐑𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 [Part 1: Goldrush]

There's always a certain sense of childish sadness in a man consumed by rage and anger- because in a man like him, those feelings are simply born from the pain of the past, and the crushing fear of what the future might yet make him face.

Tags/Warnings: Mafia!Tiger!Jungkook, Deer!Reader, mentioned abuse, mentions of underground fights, graphic descriptions of violence, a gun oh no, Jungkook in a suit, it's pretty dark read at your own risk, there is like a hint of fluff?, just let me cook I promise it'll be worth it, do not read this if you're easily triggered/upset by dark and violent themes please thank you

Length: 6.5k Words (oh boy look at the size of that thing)

There is no taglist for this fic.

A/N: Haha remember when I said it'll be 3k words per chapter? well I lied oops

-> Masterlist

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Jungkook met you after his first fight for the Golden House.

Humming a tune you'd almost danced through the kitchen- though you were mostly focused on helping the other maids and cooks prepare the food for the higher up's currently invited for dinner at the estate. He remembers he'd scared you- probably due to his rather beat up face, none of it having been treated most of the time, just so he could scar up and look tough on the outside.

It had worked- somewhat. Though his hybrid genes had made it rather difficult to hurt him enough to permanently scar- all of them eventually fading, needing to be remade, night after night.

The look of fear in your eyes had been something he got used to- or maybe he simply didn't notice it after a while, maybe it became normal to see you in a constant state of fight or flight. He never saw you rest, only saw you work- but when you were away from the Boss and only amongst yourself or him, you had a certain sense of lightness to yourself. Like a feather, as cliché as it sounds.

If it wasn't for your hybrid features, Jungkook would've sworn you were more of a bird than a deer- put in a cage, fear used against yourself to lock you in and to the Golden House forever. Just like he himself was shackled up, bought and owned by the highest man just so he could have some amusement watching the tiger hybrid fight in the ring.

He was a toy to him. Just like you. Just like any other hybrid at the Golden House.

Sometimes, when no one was paying much attention, you'd visit Jungkook in his room. You'd clean his wounds, and most of all- you'd talk to him like an equal. You'd tell him of dreams you had at night, of thoughts you'd come up with during your chores, or with fantasies you had about the world outside the walls of the estate. And he'd listen to all of it, quietly, your voice soothing his wounds more than any medication ever could.

Maybe your fear towards him didn't just become normal to him, so he didn't notice it. Maybe it disappeared, slowly, and that's why it left your gaze. You didn't fear him. Didn't see him as an enemy. And maybe that's what really changed.

It was winter when he found out about the consequences to your actions.

He'd spotted you outside in the snow, white flakes falling steadily onto your head and clothes, feet naked and red from the cold. It was punishment- for caring for him, doing something you weren't told to. You'd hidden it, kept it a secret so he probably wouldn't feel bad- but the true nature of it was more selfish than that. "I don't want you to stop talking to me." You'd said when he'd confronted you about it. "I don't want you to ignore me like everyone else does." You'd cried. He hadn't even spoken much to you at all, and yet the few words he'd gifted to you were more than you had ever received before.

And so he had to compromise, and instead tried harder not to get injured in the ring, so no one would notice when you'd help him heal.

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He knows that you saw the signs when his mind had started to slip. When his anger grew, and his sanity took a backseat inside his head.

Especially when the Head of the estate had decided it would be a delight to make you watch Jungkook fighting in the ring every time he had to as a way of trying to make you stop your foolish actions of helping the fighting hybrid- to show you how cruel and brutal the otherwise quiet and reserved tiger could really be, as he'd dislocate limbs and break bones night after night with a certain sense of bloodthirst in his gaze, eyes no longer kind but cold. How he'd bite and scratch with pure intent to hurt and end the fight in his favor, no matter the outcome for his opponent.

Jungkook knows that your view on him changed back then, even if you did not tell him that. He could feel it, in the way your hands would begin to tremble before touching him, or how you'd suddenly no longer reach out to him.

Gone was your attachment to him, murdered was any emotional connection you'd been creating.

At the end of the day, you had been nothing but a puppet to the head of the Golden House, nothing but a doll fed with orders because no matter what, you'd do it if it meant you'd survive another day. You would've probably even killed him if it had been asked of you- even though he wouldn't have let you.

You wouldn't have stood a chance against him.

The kiss you'd shared had been more than questionable, and he does feel bad about the circumstances back then.

He knew that it could've gotten you killed if anybody had ever caught you both, and he also knows that if it wasn't for his own initiative, you would've never made that step either. But he loved you, he loved you so much it hurt, and he hated being hurt because it was a constant for him he could never escape.

Everything he did, every situation he found himself in, every waking moment had been nothing but pain in one way or another. Nothing could soothe that ache in his body, could somehow make that burn in his bones feel a little lighter.

Nothing but your touch.

You cared. Even though he knew that you feared him, you still cared. And he hated it.

Why didn't you push him away, make him angry at you so he could have a solid reason to just get rid of you? The only reason he continued to endure wasn't so he could survive- he never gave a fuck about survival, none at all. But the heartbreak in your eyes, the fact that you'd be alone, the memory of you crying so bitterly about being ignored and put aside was continuously making him pull himself back up whenever knocked down, to win the fight and come back to the Golden House-

where you'd wait for him, soft hands on his skin relieving his rage just for a moment. Giving him a second to breathe. Where you'd kiss his wounds, and lift all the weight off of him for just a second.

And then you betrayed him.

"Thats a train ticket! I got it from Chun, she said it'll take you to busan." You'd told him, panic in your eyes as you'd pushed the slightly torn canvas bag filled with clothes and other necessities further into his arms. "After your fight tonight, there will be a dog hybrid named Min Yoongi in the locker room. He'll take you to the station.!" You said.

"And you?" He asks, dreading the answer he'd inevitably get.

"I'll be your insurance." You'd smiled.

"He'll take all his anger out on you-" He'd worried, and you'd nodded, and never looked so brave.

"I know." You'd told him. "But you'll live- and that's enough for me."

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"Flake has been replaced with Dohyun. The people aren't very happy with it, but he'll make them accept the change soon enough." Namjoon offers, setting some papers down in front of Jungkook, who looks like he might be asleep- face resting on his hand, arm perched up with his elbow on the armrest of his chair.

"Hm, they're never happy when a hybrid's on top." He mumbles lowly, eyes not opening. "I assume Flake didn't go… voluntarily." He asks.

"No." Namjoon responds. "Was executed on his balcony."

"Classy. I like it." Jungkook chuckles, eyes slowly opening as he takes in a deep breath. "Hm, I'm hungry-" He starts, looking at his watch on his wrist. "-let's hope Hideo doesn't piss me off tonight, or I might just have to swap him too." He growls, slowly getting up to prepare for the dinner he has to attend with the human gangleader.

Jungkook had the chance to get out. He's been given the chance after all, by the only person he's ever really considered he 'loved'- and yet his thirst for blood wouldn't let him go. The need for revenge was way too big inside him to be just satisfied with living his own life away from his past- but he couldn't.

They took everything he ever had away from him. They took you away from him. And he'd never forgive that.

So he began to convince Yoongi to join him in his plans, took the first few pillars out to make the fundamentals of the underground gang life crumble. He shook up the entire game, and began to 'swap out' human leaders with hybrids from his own rows- a gang he'd build up himself, consisting of almost exclusively hybrids of all kinds. He knows he's not doing any good with the way he's doing things- but he doesn't care.

If he can't change the game, he'll become the best player instead.

And currently, he's definitely on the road to take the seat as the king.

"Jungkook!" The rather eccentric man stands up, opens his arms for the hybrid who does not attempt to return the gesture or accept the invitation at all. "My favorite big cat, come take a seat!" He laughs it off, sits down with Jungkook, who keeps his face stoic and expressionless. "Can we have some chairs here please? I'd hate for your friends to stay standing while we eat-" He tries, but Jungkook shakes his head.

"No need. I'd rather have them pay at attention." Jungkook responds, and Hideo laughs in front of him.

"Always so on edge. Never change my boy!" He jokes, before the food is being placed on the table. "So. I heard you let Flake tumble down his balcony like a dramatic movie-climax." He chuckles, cutting into his steak. Jungkook nods, begins to eat as well, but keeps his eyes on the man in front of him. "Quite the spectacle. Made the higher up's a little nervous." He tells him.

"Good." Jungkook simply answers, and Hideo laughs.

Hideo is one of the only few human leaders left in his original spot- mainly because the man is rather interested in surviving, and keeping his head in one piece. He's smart, albeit a little bit unhinged- sometimes even causing Jungkook himself to feel uneasy around the man. He's a wildcard, and does what he wants whenever he wants, only follows rules if they're in his favor.

So Jungkook is wary of him, and doesn't trust that man as far as the bridge of his own nose.

"They say his minions aren't too happy with your new choice." The man mumbles, shrugging his shoulders however, clearly unbothered. "But they just don't like the change. What you should worry about however, is the money you're loosing." He says, making Jungkook's eyes sharpen.

"What money are you talking about?" He asks, finishing up his plate.

"The money you're not aware of." Hideo chuckles. "Flake had two daughters, and rumor has it they both emptied their bank accounts a few days before you struck and pushed Rapunzel down her tower." The man informs him, licking his knife while looking at Jungkook, who tries hard to make nothing visible on his face. He knows exactly what the man is trying to tell him.

Somehow, those daughters knew Jungkook would attack. Which in turns, means someone told them.

Which hints at a snitch.

"Sakata is currently finding them as we speak, so no worries about that." Hideo suggests, finishing his meal as he wipes his mouth with a napkin. "The only thing you should do, would be to.. sniff out who needs to go, so to speak." He says, grinning at Yoongi, who pins his ears back in irritation at the joke. Jungkook leans back, tilts his head once, before he stands up.

"I want to know the whereabouts of those two daughters the moment you have them." Jungkook says dryly. "Do not kill them. I want to.. talk to them personally." He orders, and Hideo laughs, nodding with his hands clapping once.

"Of course! Oh and-" The human man grins, and it tells Jungkook that the man has something to say that will definitely cause problems. "-I heard my dear Chisoo left you a present at your estate?" He says, catching Jungkook off guard for a second, as the tiger hybrid looks to his side towards Namjoon, who shares an equally confused gaze. "Oh, you've not seen it yet? Hm, it does explain his good mood, doesn't it?" Hideo asks one of his guards who doesn't react. "Ah, I really liked that guy. Don't be too harsh on the boy, yeah? He doesn't know how to.. read a room, you know? His jokes can be terrible." He laughs.

Jungkook slowly leaves, but as soon as he sits inside the back of his car, he's growling out orders. "Call Chisoo right now." He demands Namjoon, who already dials the number. "If he doesn't answer we'll pay him a visit right now." He says, waiting for the speaker system of his car to reveal the voice of the man.

"Jungkook! What's up my guy?" The young voice chimes out.

"Cut the shit. What did you do?" Jungkook demands, and Chisoo just laughs on the other end.

"Oh you've not seen it yet? I thought you'd like it!" He says, clearly eating. "Saw the poor thing and remembered something I heard from a former guard of the Golden House." He chuckles, and Jungkook's blood runs cold. "Look man, I have some urgent business right now. If you don't want it, you can just get rid of it- I won't judge." He laughs, before he hangs up the phone.

"Tell Seokjin to check the premises before we drive back." Yoongi informs him from the driver's seat, instructing Namjoon who calls the man right away.

"Seokjin." Jungkook says as the phone is picked up. "What the fuck did Chisoo bring?" He demands to know, and grows increasingly uneasy when the answer isn't what he hoped he'd get.

"I.. you should just not worry about it. It was probably meant to just anger you." He tells the tiger hybrid, not specifying things. "I've already dealt with.. it, just-"

"That's not your decision to make." Jungkook growls. "I'm on my way back right now, and I want whatever it is in my office before I'm back at the estate. Am I making myself clear?" He demands.

"..yes." Seokjin simply complies, though with great hesitation.

Because he knows, the moment Jungkook knows what it is, there will be nothing capable of calming Jungkook down.

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One, two, three.

You're counting each tick of the clock standing on the table in the office, waiting for something to happen. That's all you've been instructed to do- the man earlier having escorted you here, and just told you to 'wait', and nothing else. So you do just that, naked feet on the soft carpet, intricate details on the fabric almost hypnotizing you. It's already a lot warmer in here than in your room at the Golden House- and the man who brought you here had given you his jacket too, probably because he thought you were shaking from the cold.

Which you did- but you also tend to shiver from fear, mostly due to your hybrid instincts.

Just.. in here, you don't really feel scared. It smells familiar in here, like something you forgot existed- almost like a childhood memory, far away but reawakened right in this moment. It soothes your worries and slows down your thoughts tremendously.

ninety-four, ninety-five, ninety-six.

You can hear faint noises now, ears turning towards the door behind you, though your body otherwise doesn't move. you don't dare to, since the handcuffs around your wrists might make a noise, and no one told you if you were allowed to move anyways. So you just stay still, even when you can hear someone argue in front of the door, angrily, upset. The voice is familiar, again- but you don't recall a face to it whatsoever.

One hundred.

The door opens, people walk in. Your face stays lowered, you don't even dare to swallow the saliva in your mouth. "Why the fuck did he send me a hybrid?!" Someone growls, and it makes your throat clog up, angry tone causing your muscles to tremble once more. "Fuck. And why is she not-" He starts, before he stops right next to you, frozen in place almost like you are- though due to different reasons.

"Jungkook-" Someone sighs, when Jungkook next to you talks again, but in a truly bone-chilling tone.

It's so low, and steady, that it makes everyone wordlessly follow the command.

"Out." He says. "Everyone, out, right fucking now." He growls, and both Namjoon and Yoongi leave, though the dog hybrid hesitates a little- shocked as well by the sight of you, most likely.

Once the door closes, it quiets down. All you can really hear is the way the man called Jungkook walks around, paces for a good while, clearly in distress. You're not sure why you're causing him to be like this- maybe he doesn't know if he wants to kill you or not. Or he's fighting primal urges to hunt you down as a predator hybrid. It could be a lot of things.

You lost track of the ticking. You can't hear it properly with Jungkook moving around like that.

"Don't- stop doing that.!" He suddenly says, and you notice yourself panicking. What are you doing right now? You're not moving, you're not looking at him, and neither have you said anything- though that's out of the question anyways. What are you doing that you need to stop? You're barely even breathing- maybe that's it? It's an odd request, and you doubt you can properly follow it for long, but if he wants you to do that-

"Stop being scared!" He suddenly roars at you, hands on your shoulders making you whimper out of pure instinct, as you watch his chest rise and fall rapidly. "Don't-.. I'm not.." He stammers, before he takes a deep breath, seems to control himself as his hands leave your shoulders, instead push themselves into the pockets of his slacks. "Look at me." He demands, and you do just that.

His hair is fairly long, growing over his ears, curly and a deep black. There's two round tiger ears between his wild hair, one of them a little torn, but the scar seems long healed. His eyes are piercing, watching you intently as if he's searching for something with desperation, jawline sharp but his face has a certain roundness to it.

It doesn't distract you from the danger he radiates, tail swaying impatiently behind him. He's a tiger, in every way- large shoulders and powerful muscles unable to be hidden even underneath the suit he wears.

But there's a certain shift in his posture and most of all his gaze as he seems to realize something about you.

"Who am I." He asks, or more so orders you to answer. You begin to panic once more. How are you supposed to answer that? "Who. Am. I." He repeats slower, and you open your mouth to say something-

though no coherent word leaves your lips, only barely a noise that even sounds like it hurts, and it makes your eyes sting.

Jungkook seems to grow angry again. Is he upset that you can't answer? Will he kill you now, because you're unable to give him a proper response?

"Do-" He looks absolutely devastated, and for some reason, it makes you sad. "Do you know who I am?" he quietly asks, bracing himself for the answer he might receive.

Though nothing could prepare him for the pain he feels in his entire body when you quietly shake your head, confirming his worst fears.

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You've not only forgotten him- but everything else too, it seems like, according to Namjoon, who'd been trying to sort you out since Jungkook left you in his office, unable to really have you close like that any longer. His friend had tried it all, and had also let someone with medical knowledge have a look at you- which also gave an explanation about why you just won't talk.

You can't. It's not clear what exactly must've happened, but there's a definite injury there that won't let you make any sound without pain.

It's now pretty obvious to him that you must've gotten caught giving him a way out- and you probably paid the consequences for it too. Whatever happened caused you to forget most of your past, and no one can be sure if it's permanent, or just temporary. What is clear however is that you're completely hollow. There's no trace of a personality in anything you do, no personal preferences towards anything, no interest, not even very noticeable emotions.

It's not surprising to him- and maybe that's what pains him the most.

"So if you don't tell her what to do, she will just do nothing at all?" Jungkook asks as he looks through some documents to distract himself. The more he thinks about you, the darker the possible punishments that you most likely received become in his head- mind forcing scene after scene of you into his brain.

"Won't even sleep if no one tells her to. She was awake the whole night because no one told her when to sleep I guess." Namjoon says, arms crossed. "It's hard to tell what she's thinking considering she doesn't talk." Namjoon sighs defeated, while Jungkook stares at the papers for a moment.

You used to talk a lot, back when he was still used for underground fighting, and you were nothing but a maid for the gangleader. He remembers you humming random songs while dressing his wounds- something you told him was to mostly distract yourself from not crying in front of him.

"I'll fight better next time." He'd told you while you carefully placed the large plaster onto one of the scratches that's still bleeding. "So you won't have to cry."

"I want every bit of info as to where she came from before Chisoo got his hands on her." He tells Yoongi who's been sitting in the corner.

"I believe Chisoo bought her straight from the Golden House. Overheard him talk to one of the guests." Yoongi responds, and Jungkook nods.

"Good." He smirks, standing up, and bracing his hands on the table with a dangerous glimmer in his eyes. "I've got some unfinished business with them anyways." He says. The Golden House was no longer a place of fear for him- because just like you, Jungkook isn't who he used to be.

"You're going to start a war over a hybrid friend you made years ago?" Namjoon worries. "Jungkook.." he sighs, but the Tiger hybrid doesn't back down.

Because you're not just a friend.

You were his Savior, the only soft thing he's ever had in his life.

"No. I'm not just starting a war-" Jungkook growls like the predator he is. "I'm getting my revenge."

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Yoongi watches over you like a guard dog, just like Jungkook had told him to.

You'd overheard the tall tiger hybrid give those instructions to Yoongi just before he left in his car, and now you're left standing in the hallway where someone last told you to wait. "Come. You need to eat." The dog hybrid mumbles, walking a step before he checks if you follow. You do.

Of course you do.

You'd jump out the fucking window if someone told you to do so.

Before you were taken in by the Golden House, you'd actually roamed the streets with the dog hybrid together. You'd slept in a storage unit his past owner had rented before he died, a small place of shelter you eventually shared with Yoongi before you met Yuan Shun, the past head of the Golden House. You'd been way too naive back then. Told Yoongi you'd finally found a home to go to, finally found work to pay him back all his kindness.

You didn't know what you'd get yourself into. Not before Shun had forced you to get the small tattoo on your wrist that would forever bind you to him no matter if he died or lived. Every member of the Golden House had to get it one way or another- there was no way around it.

It was burned into everyone's wrist, whether they wanted it or not.

And once you're in, there is no out.

"Jungkook won't harm you." Yoongi says as he pulls out a bowl of something prepared, before he puts it into the microwave to heat it up. "He's just.. he can be a bit.." the dog hybrid sighs, shaking his head a little, unsure how to phrase it properly. Jungkook has his own problems, and it's pretty obvious to everyone around him that he's not the sanest of people any longer. No one can blame him for cracking a few braincells after what's happened to him, that's true- but that doesn't mean that he's a monster.

He's just scarred by his past, and haunted by his potential future.

You want to ask Yoongi what your connection to the tiger hybrid is. You really do- but you also feel like it's none of your business. If anything, you're simply waiting for orders, for a job you'll be working as from now on, a task you'll be given in this new place. The dynamic of things here is confusing to you, how everyone seems to walk freely, no one ever standing in one place waiting to be needed. You even saw someone laughing in one of the hallways.

It's eerie. You don't like it here.

"Eat." Yoongi says, before he holds your wrist, one of his ears twitching in irritation when he notices it's the one with the fine lined burn mark of the Golden House. "- when it's cooled down a little, of course." He sighs, and you nod after a moment, staring at the bowl of pasta.

Waiting. Counting the ticking from the clock in the kitchen.

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"I don't give a flying fuck-" Jungkook growls, knee connecting with the man's jaw once more before he pushes the chair back, gripping his face to force him to look at him. "-about your so-called loyalty." He finishes his sentence. "The only reason I'm not breaking your jaw yet is because I need you to be able to talk." He threatens, before he steps back, and wipes his hand on a tissue.

"I'm not talking. Daeho will-" He starts, when Jungkook slowly and carefully loads a black gun in his hand, pulling the magazine back to ready it in his hands.

"Daeho will what?" Jungkook almost sings. "Kill you?" He asks with feigned innocence in his tone, while he walks forward, and points the nuzzle of the gun straight at the man's kneecap. "How nice. But you see, I'm not Daeho." The tiger tells him, tilting his head a little.

"And I'm not nice."

A shot rings through the small room, followed by agonized screaming, and the gun reloading in Jungkook's hands. "Now, I'll try again. Why did Daeho sell her to Chisoo?" He asks, and the man takes a few deep breaths.

"He wanted to fuck with you." He grits out from between his teeth. "He knew it would piss you off. He technically wanted to send you a tape- you know what kind." He says, and Jungkook's blood boils up again. Of course he knows what kind of actions that sick man would have forced you to do, what exactly he'd make Jungkook watch. "But he thought-.." The man needs to catch himself a little. "He thought it'd make more sense to give her to you instead. Alive."

"Why?" Jungkook asks.

"Because you'd lose your fucking- whatever the fuck you're doing!" He groans. "You'd turn soft. Maybe even break at the sight of her all fucked up like she is now." He explains. "That's why he messed her up before you got her." he says, clearly sweating now from his body trying to keep up with the rapid bloodloss.

Jungkook is silent, before he unloads the gun, clicks the safety in place, and puts it back into it's holster on his belt, turning to leave the room. "Wait- wait, what about me-!"

"You can bleed out right here like the pig you are."

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Nothing will ever return to what it once was.

Mostly, because whatever was, isn't any better than what is now. The blood staining Jungkook's hands is still the same consistency as back in the fighting ring, it still washes down the drain the same way as it did before. There's nothing new to the way his knuckles hurt from the force of the punches he'd delivered to the man, and yet, there's a new sting in his chest that just won't leave.

Before you came here, he had at least a way of pacifying his worries about you. Before, he'd been able to just convince himself that you probably got yourself killed for him- that you'd been set free after all, finally escaping your cage once and for all.

The fact that you did not, and instead just went from one cage to the next, makes him nauseous. He doesn't even want to know what you had to endure throughout the years you'd been apart. Now you're just a shell- a plastic lifeless version of what you once were, nothing of your soul remaining inside of you. Could he even consider you 'you' any longer? Or were you now someone else?

Are you someone at all?

"Where is she?" Jungkook asks Seokjin, who'd brought him a plate of dinner into his office.

"She's eating with Yoongi downstairs in the kitchen." He tells his boss and friend, who's currently looking outside the window facing the balcony. "What do we do with her?"

I don't know, is what Jungkook's only answer can be. Because he surely doesn't- he's unsure if actually killing you would be a more generous thing to do than letting you simply waste away in the state that you're in right now. What you are, in this moment, can't be called 'alive'. There's nothing living behind those eyes, nothing but fear.

But he also knows that he'd never be able to put the gun to your head and shoot.

"Can I give a suggestion?" Jin asks after a moment of silence, and Jungkook turns his head, nodding. "What if you turn this whole 'joke' around?"

"What do you mean?" Jungkook asks, body now moving as well to face his older friend.

"Right now, her presence is doing exactly what it's supposed to." The cat hybrid says. "She's making you lose focus, makes you act without thinking. That's what they want."

"I'm not killing her." Jungkook defends.

"I'm not asking you to." Seokjin says, walking closer. "But think about it. What about her is making you feel like this the most?" He urges.

The fear you have. The fact you forgot him. The terror in your eyes. The emptiness you represent.

"Jungkook, you told me once that back then, she was the only thing keeping you sane in that place." The man says, white ears twitching between his hair. "And she can become just that once again."

"Have you seen her?" Jungkook growls.

"Have you?" Jin challenges. "You're in a place of power here. You call the shots, this-" He gestures around. "-all of this is yours. You offer us protection, a home, a place to let our guard down for once. You're not who you were before. You turned your life around- and you can do it again, but this time, it'll be her's." He says, and suddenly, Jungkook understands what his friend is trying to tell him.

This is his place. His territory. He's in charge. He's in control.

Nothing will ever return to what it once was.

Because he'll be the change it needs to turn this twisted joke around.

⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅

"Remember, he's nothing to be scared of." Yoongi tells you, before he opens the door, and gently pushes you inside by your lower back- before he leaves you alone with the tiger hybrid in the room, no longer wearing his jacket, only dressed in a casually unbuttoned black shirt and slacks.

Even his gun is on the table. You could take it at any moment, shoot him, no problem. You know how to shoot a gun. Is he that stupid?

Probably not. There has to be a reason for his actions- you don't think he got to his position by being reckless.

He moves slowly, a lot more confident and most of all relaxed than when you last saw him- the person he is right in this moment a stark contrast to who he'd been when he first saw you. It makes you suspicious, unsure, because if he houses so many different versions of himself inside his body, how could you ever know who the real one is?

"The rules in this house, and under my hand, are simple." He says, voice surprisingly calm as he speaks. "Loyalty." He states, looks at you- and from the fact alone that he doesn't seem to mind, you guess that Yoongi was right when he said that you were allowed to do that. "As long as you don't betray me, I will offer you a safe place, and protection."

That doesn't make sense to you.

If that was true, that would mean that he'd just take in random people just because they don't snitch on him- what the hell would he even get out of that? Inside the Golden House, there were already rumors about him. That he's possessed by the drive to 'change the game' and put hybrids up on top, an odd way to live since apparently he'd escaped this entire circus years prior. Why would he willingly return to it?

Even worse, play the game he barely managed to get out of?

He sits down on the edge of his bed, and only now do you realize where exactly you might be right now. And it confuses you even more. He's letting you into his personal rooms?

Why?

"Come here." He says, and your legs move without any of your control. Like a puppet on a string you're pulled towards him, unable to really go against any orders told to you, like you're mind controlled. The moment you stand in front of him, he reaches out his hand- and you're torn by the possible choice given to you. But if he reaches out, you're supposed to take the hand, right?

Instead, you put your own in his, not making a decision at all.

Control is a scary thing. You don't want it.

He looks at your wrist as he turns your hand over, thumb running over the signature branding you have on your skin, burned in scar never fading. It's when you can spot something on the hand that holds yours, between all the ink and color he's placed underneath the skin. A scar, achingly similar to your own.

Your eyes find his- but he's not looking at you.

So he's from the same place as you once were. Is that why he smells so familiar? Did you forget him? Or did you never know him at all, and simply caught traces of him during your time at the Golden House?

Who is he?

"From now on, you're mine." He tells you, and you soak up that info like a sponge. "You belong here, and nowhere else." He says, and you nod to make sure he knows that you understand. There's a small moment where he simply looks at you, before he nods as well, and lets go of your hand. "Can you write?" He asks, and you eagerly nod, finally expecting a task from him. You'll be useful, you'll have something to do- you won't just have to stand around and wait for something that never happens. "Good. That gives me at least some way you can talk to me, I guess." He mumbles to himself as he gets up and walks past you, to dig around in a small drawer of a desk close by. "I want you to talk. If not with your voice-" He offers a small, palm sized notebook to you, a pen clipped to it's side. "-then with this."

You take the booklet with a nod, opening it to write something down. He expects a thank you- but that's not what he gets.

'What is my purpose here?' you've written, and he sighs to himself.

"Heal." He says, making you look at him confused. You're already starting to show a lot more emotions he notices, and it calms him down quite a bit, because that means that even though you may have forgotten him, you're at least slowly adapting to the overall environment you're now in. You move to write something again, before you hold out the booklet.

'There has to be a job for me.' you write, and he tilts his head at you, arms crossed, veins clear under his forearms, exposed since he'd rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.

"And I just told you what it is." He responds, face expressionless, but eyes glimmering with something almost mischievous. "Your job is to heal, adjust, and adapt to the way I run things." He tells you. "But if you want a.. job, I can try and arrange something for you." He huffs, dissatisfied, but still caving in.

You show him the opened page again, something added to the bottom.

'Thank you' is written there.

He just nods, and knocks on his door to give Namjoon the sign to take you to your room so you can sleep- and leave him by himself for a moment, as he watches the calm night-sky from his window, world steadily moving on while he doesn't know what's to come for him.

Even if Seokjin is right, there is no guarantee that this whole thing won't just backfire horribly. And there's still the looming threat of someone amongst his people who's currently the biggest danger to the house of cards Jungkook had barely built up over the years until now. If that person just so much as pushes one more card, it might all come falling down-

and this time, he'll take you with him.

If he dies, you can't survive.

Because if you do, you'll probably face a fate he doesn't even want to imagine.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #hybrid imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook imagines #jungkook imagines #bts jungkook imagine #bts jeon jungkook imagine #bts jeon jungkook x reader

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fic-over-cannon · 4 months

Text

Words Left Unsaid

jason todd x f!reader

ao3 link

summary: jason todd is your childhood best friend. he dies before his Words come in, the first words his soulmate will say to him, and you have to pick up the pieces.

tags: soulmate au, major character death (temporary), grief

rated mature | wc: 8.8k

a/n: so this monster of a story was based on an ask i sent to @jasonsmirrorball a while back (don’t read for spoilers). it pretty much took on a life of its own, and now here we are nearly 9k later. it does get pretty dark in its exploration of grief, so please take care of yourselves my lovelies.

Everyone’s born with Words somewhere on their body, unreadable at first. The skin is shiny, like an old scar, the words blurry and undefined. One day, you’ll see the first words you’ll ever hear your soulmate say to you, that shiny patch of skin blooming like ink (there’s superstitions about the colour your Words fade into, as popular as astrology). The trick of the thing is, you won’t find out what your Words are until you’ve become the person who is meant to hear them. You could meet your soulmate a hundred times and not know it, not until you’ve both grown into the people you need to be. The youngest person to get their Words was seven, and the oldest 92 years young. Or so the stories go. When you’re young, still poking at your loose front tooth with your tongue, it’s a story that comforts you. It’s the story you beg your parents for before bed every night. It’s the carrot they use to get you to try new things and go new places. What if you meet your soulmate at the new movie theatre downtown? How do you know eating your veggies won’t develop you into who your soulmate needs you to be?

It’s what your mother uses to try and coax you out of the car for your first day at a new school. She’s driven you to school for your first day, a one off so she can finish up your admittance paperwork. In this moment you hate her for it. It’s February and the year is more than halfway over. The snow has melted into dirty grey slush in the streets and the pinching Mary Janes the school mandates as part of the uniform are going to provide no protection. It’s halfway through the year and you’re certain no one is going to be your friend at a new school in a new city. You’re twelve years old and to you this is the end of the world. You’re trying so hard not to cry, hugging yourself together and burying your chin in your chest.

“Come on, honey, this is a school. It’ll help you become who you need to be.”

Your mother’s voice is cajoling, trying to coax you out the same way she coaxed a stray cat into her arms. It worked on the cat, now named Haley after the comet, but it doesn’t work on you. She tries to catch your eye in the rear view mirror but you stubbornly turn your head to look out the window instead.

“Please. Work with me here. We’ll go in together, you’ll have a wonderful day and make so many friends. And after school, I’ll take you out for donuts and you can tell me all about it before your Dad gets home.”

You keep silent, continue to stare out the window at all the other kids walking into the building.

“Honey, please. Can you just do this one thing for me, please.”

She’s almost begging now, and you hate the way it makes her sound. You want to tell her how scared you are, how there’s nothing more you want to do except huddle under your covers in your unfamiliar bed and hold Haley close. But your fear is a hot ball in your chest, choking off any words that might come out. You look at her though, plead with her with your eyes to understand how much you don’t want to do this. She stares back at you, an exhausted slump to her shoulders and lines around her eyes you don’t remember being there. Slowly, you unwrap your arms from around your rib cage. Place a hand on each knobbly knee and slowly curl them into fists before nodding, once, sharply, eyes firmly fixed on the car seat in front of you. Your eyes burn, but the sigh of relief your mother heaves out is worth it.

Gotham Academy is housed in a collection of gothic stone buildings which should have been strange in a large city like Gotham but weirdly works. You just think it’s creepy. Head down, you follow your mother’s back weaving through the crowds of students. You don’t want to see the stares, but you can already feel them boring into you. Sitting in the secretary’s office, you pick at invisible lint on your knitted tights. You know your mother’s having a conversation with the secretary but it all flies over your head in shushing murmurs. Your back aches from the overstuffed chair. The Mary Janes do pinch, makes you worried that you’ve already twisted your ankles from the way they throb.

“I’ve got to get to work now sweet pea, but I just now you’re going to have a great first day. I’ll pick you up at 4:00 and we can go get those donuts okay?”

Your mother’s crouched down in front of you, eyes searching your face for any kind of reaction. She looks worried and that’s what causes you to crack. You fling yourself out of the chair and into her arms, allow yourself one great heaving sob into her shoulder. She strokes your hair and hushes you, squeezes you tight like she could make you part of her.

“Oh honey. Everything’s scary right now but I promise it’s not going to stay that way. I believe in you and you’re going to get through this.”

You draw back from her, scrub at your face with your fists. Heaving breaths don’t help but they don’t make it worse. You go with the secretary, new schedule twisted tight in your hands. She lets you discard your coat and backpack in a locker, before walking you to your new homeroom. You only hope that you’ll remember the locker combination.

You hate the way your new homeroom teacher makes you stand at the front of the room. Mr. Mulligan won’t let you sit down until you introduce yourself to the class, a thing he could have done so easily himself. Pulling at your sleeves and trying not to make eye contact with anyone, you stutter out a few basic facts. Hate the way you can feel the other students catalogue you, the way your hair doesn’t look shiny and straight like its fresh out of a salon, your too small shoes, the unfashionably long length of your skirt and the lack of designer accessories. Your cheeks and eyes are burning by the time you can slide down into your assigned seat near the back of the class. There’s only one other person sitting in your row, a boy with dark curling hair and a shy grin. He leans over to your desk just Mr. Mulligan starts the lecture.

Whispers, “Hi! My name’s Jason. I already know your name, figured if we’re going to be seat mates its only fair you know mine.”

You smile tightly and turn back to the lesson. You’re desperate not to miss anything, already feeling like you’ve been left behind. At your old school, you were in the middle of The Great Gatsby, but Gotham Academy is doing Romeo and Juliet for their seventh grade English class. You don’t have the play book, have no idea what part of the text they’re talking about, and this is the first time you’ve actually heard Shakespeare read out loud. Writing as fast you can, you try to keep up but it doesn’t matter how good your notes are if you don’t understand what the teacher’s talking about.

Usually you love English class, how uncovering symbolism and hidden meanings make you feel like you’re uncovering secret messages sent by the authors years in the past. Now it’s all going over your head and you hate it here so much already. The one class that you might have been looking forward to and you’re overwhelmed by it. You press too hard with your pencil, tear through the sheet of paper in front of you.

A notebook slides across your desk. Messy but legible writing on the first few scenes of the Act are written on it. Looking in the direction it came from, you make eye contact with Jason. He grins toothily before turning back to the front, Mr. Mulligan having moved on to a different quotation. The gesture makes your chest tight.

The rest of the class goes by uneventfully if still a challenge. There’s a short break between classes in which you frantically copy down the notes and slide the notebook back to him before your next teacher arrives. The next class isn’t so bad, still difficult and you’ve never liked math as much as you probably should, but it’s less intimidating than English. Someone must have fiddled with the thermostat during the break because the room feels colder than before. You wish you were on your old school’s schedule with shorter classes and more breaks. Sitting still for so long at your desk is making your back ache and cramp up. Math is almost over, Miss Lewis writing out the assigned homework on the board, when a wave of something comes over you. It’s an effort of will not to curl up on your desk.

The bell rings for lunch break and you just about bolt to the first bathroom you can find. Something’s wrong with you, more than just nerves over the first day. You’re cold but you’re sweating, nausea burning at the back of your throat. The ache in your back and stomach are almost unbearable, makes you want to curl into the fetal position to ward off invisible blows. Rolling down your tights in a hurry, you sit down on the cold toilet as fast as you can. Your hand is wet, and for a moment you worry that you’d lost control of your bladder on the way to the bathroom. But the stain on your hand is dark, matches the blood slick crotch of your panties. You hang your head and can feel the tears you’ve been holding onto all morning drop onto the floor. Just another thing you can’t control in this shitty new town and its stupid new school. Your first period.

The bathroom is cold, hard tile under your feet and wintery sunlight weak through the windows near the ceiling. The blood on your fingers is cold and tacky now. There’s a boundary here, between childhood and being an adult that you aren’t ready to cross yet. I want my mom, you think, only on the edge of hysteria. But she’s at work, wouldn’t be able to come if you called.

So you do what needs to be done, stop your tears as best as you can and sniffle. Wipe your face clean with the back of your sleeve and do your best to dab at your underwear with the single ply toilet paper. Layer sheets of toilet paper between your tights and underwear, build a makeshift pad in your sort-of dry underwear out of toilet paper and hope that it will hold up. Luckily you’ve escaped staining the regulation uniform skirt, so no one should be able to tell what happened. You get transfixed by the swirls of blood washing down the sink drain, hands gone numb under the stream of water. Splash cold water on your face in the vain hope it’ll calm down your puffy eyes. As ready as you can be in this situation, you eye yourself in the mirror and tell yourself to get moving before the bell for third period rings.

The boy from the back row is waiting outside the classroom for you. He looks nervous until he sees you, lights up with that shy smile again.

“Hi! I uh noticed you weren’t at lunch today so I grabbed you an apple in case you didn’t grab anything to eat.”

He’s babbling on about the cafeteria food not being that bad if you’d just try it, even though finding a table the first time can be rough. All you can do is stare at the apple in his hands, transfixed. You’re only shaken out of your stupor by the sound of him calling your name.

“So… are you going to take it? The bell’s going to ring soon and the teachers really don’t like us eating during class.”

“Thank you,” you say, genuinely shocked and touched.

He goes a little bashful at that, looks away as you take the apple from him. The apple’s good, sweet and crisp under your teeth. You make quick work of it in the hallway, finishing it up just as the bell rings. Jason stands right in front of you the whole time, hides you from the penetrating eyes of your classmates.

“All done? We should probably find our seats now. Monty,” and here he adopts a snooty British accent, “Archibald the Third is a real stickler for being on time. He’ll mark you late if you’re not sitting in your seat, even if you’re in the classroom.”

His impression makes you snicker and forget, just for a moment, how miserable you are. Mr. Archibald the Third is just as ridiculous as Jason’s impression of him predicted, but you get through it by making eye contact with Jason over the most ridiculous moments. Mr. Archibald really does have you call him “the Third”. It’s probably got something to do with his Words, a flowing script running vertically down the side of his face reading, “The Third, dear God how many of you are there?”. History with Mr. Archibald manages to be fun despite his absurd demeanor and your own private hurt seeming less terrible for a few scattered moments.

The final class of the day drags on, the pain in your front and back growing. Your hand moves across the page but your mind isn’t really paying attention. There’s a commotion as people gather their things and stand, already streaming out the door. You blink, stupefied, then slowly gather your things.

“Same time, same place tomorrow then?”

“—Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow Jason.”

Your mother’s waiting for you in front of the school, car idling puffs of smoke into the darkening afternoon. Your backpack lands in the back seat and you crush your face into her coat across the console. Her hands come to your back, patting and rubbing circles until your breath comes in long, even draws.

“Honey I’m so proud of you. Your first day done! Let’s go celebrate, hmm? How was it? Did you make any new friends?”

“Can we get the donuts to go? I— uh, um I— I might have started my period today?”

Your voice lifts on the end of the sentence, suddenly absurdly worried about her reaction. You needn’t have worried though.

“Oh sweet pea, on your first day too? We can go home, get you a bath and something for your cramps.”

“No, I just really want to go get donuts with you because today kind of sucked and I’ll still feel kinda shitty but at least then I get donuts while I feel bad.”

“No more swearing and we’ll get a whole box to go, okay?”

Lying in bed that night, wrapped around a hot water bottle with Haley on your feet, you think that your day wasn’t that bad. It could have been a lot worse, and Jason was surprisingly nice. You stare at the shiny patch of skin on your wrist and hope that one day it will all be worth it. You drift off to the thought of blue eyes.

For the rest of that week you join Jason at his corner in the cafeteria. Between Math and History you slowly start to get to know one another. He offers to let you borrow his notes for the upcoming test in English, gets a little sheepish when he mentions that he practically knows the content by heart anyway. Jason’s sweet and funny and by Friday you two are the best of friends.

Once your mother is confident that you can handle the commute to school on your own, she doesn’t mind if you’re home late as long as you send a text first. Something about socializing with more kids your age being good for you, not that you’re listening too distracted in the haze of victory. So the two of you hang out after school, the city your shared playground. Jason treats you to your first chili dog and laughs when you get some on your nose. In revenge, you dare him to cover his lunch in chili oil at lunch the next day. The way Mr. Archibald threatens you both with detention for being disruptive is so worth it.

It’s not until the middle of April that you get the courage to ask Jason why you. Why out of everyone in the school he chose to reach out to the new kid and make her his friend. It’s probably the most personal thing you’ve asked him yet.

“It’s ‘cause no one else would’ve. Most of the kids here, their families founded Gotham and they’re not keen on outsiders. Most of the scholarship kids, they start at the same time, form a group so the rich kids don’t pick on them so much.” He pauses here, has to look away before he goes on. “Most of the others don’t like me ‘cause I don’t really fit into either category, you know? Like my dad’s a big name in Gotham but he only just adopted me so I’m not really one the rich kids but he’s doing more than just paying my school fees. You looked just as lonely as I was,” here he turns to grin, “and I wasn’t going to give up an opportunity to make someone carry my lunch tray.”

“Hey, idiot, if I remember right it was you bringing me lunch the first time.” You shove at him indignantly, but he dodges too quickly for you.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I can’t remember, on account of me being an idiot.” He flicks you on the tip of the nose and goes running.

And then it’s on. You chase him around the park, laughing and swearing to get your revenge on him. The two of you collapse breathlessly onto a mostly dry patch of dirt under a skeletal tree. Staring up at the sky and trying to catch your breath, you feel Jason nudge at your should beside you.

“So what about you? What brought you to the happiest place on earth?”

“My dad got headhunted for a promotion. He’s researching something for Wayne Industries and all of us had to move here for it. So mom gets a new job and I get transferred to a new school.” You sit up suddenly, look down at Jason lying in the grass. “Promise not to tell anyone?” You wait for him to nod first before continuing. “I only got into Gotham Academy because of my dad. I heard him and my mom arguing about it; he made it part of his contract that I’d get to go to school there if he accepted the job.”

“So? I’m only at GA because of my dad too. You think a kid from Crime Alley gets to go to private school without a little nepotism?”

You slump back down on to the grass, stretch a hand out to the sky and look up at it.

“To nepotism I guess.”

A hand reaches up to the sky next to yours. Slowly, ever so slowly he reaches a pinky out and links it with yours.

“To two misfits only here because of nepotism.”

School lets out in June, the city air ridiculously hot and humid. You can’t say that you’ve made any good friends outside of Jason, but there’s some girls you say hello to in the halls. You mourn not being able to see Jason everyday, but the plans you have to meet up are enough to soothe the ache.

He takes you to an arcade first, the two of you spending hours trying to beat each other at Pac Man. Tired but happy you split a basket of fries at the attached cafeteria. You’re enjoying the greasy fried goodness of the snack but you notice Jason isn’t reaching for the basket as quickly as you are. Looking over at him, you notice him staring at a pair of brothers playing a game. The younger whoops, jumps up and down in excitement. The older one ruffles his brother’s hair and challenges him to a new round. You toss a fry in Jason’s direction, surprised when he actually manages to catch it.

“You good?”

“—Yeah. It’s just, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it? But I kind of have an older brother and he was supposed to take me to the arcade last weekend but he got in a fight with Dad and just left.”

“That’s a real dick move, ditching you over his issues.” At that, Jason breaks out in hysterical laughter, almost choking on the fry in his mouth. There are tears in his eyes by the time he stops coughing but he looks slightly less like a kicked puppy.

“It really, really was. You don’t know how much it was.”

Happy that the mood has lifted, the two of you finish off the basket of fries. You challenge Jason to Dance Dance Revolution and he wipes the floor with you. He’s way more athletic than you’d expected from him. The two of you part ways happy, already planning your next hang out. It is enough.

You meet up almost every week that summer. Jason shows you the Gotham he knows, little hidden gems only locals know about. A movie theatre that only shows movies made before 1980, a diner with the best milkshakes you’ve ever tasted, the best places in the public library to read undisturbed. Teaches you about the safest places to evacuate when disaster hits, which parts of the city are most dangerous. The park and its chili dog stand quickly become a favourite for you, a place to just hang out without any responsibilities. It also becomes a kind of confessional of sorts, where you end up telling each other your worst fears and secret hopes.

You confess once, after riding out your first Rogue attack with your fingers buried in Jason’s T-shirt, that you’re worried you’ll never feel at home again. That you can never go back now to your old house and feel at home there now, but that Gotham still feels too alien to be called home yet. Your darkest fear, that you’ll end up alone one day, deserted by everyone that you know and love. Jason tells you about his fears that one day all of this, Bruce and Alfred, the manor, school, will disappear one day. That the big brother he looks up to will never start to like him. Every time the two of you bare your souls to each other, Jason will hook his pinky over yours and squeeze. It’s a friendship built on shared secrets, on fears assuaged, and worries made better.

Your last year of middle school is largely uneventful. You got to classes, have lunch with Jason, hang out after class with Jason, text Jason. You get into a routine and that brings you comfort. There’s a slight period of awkwardness right before the 8th grade formal. A weird tension envelopes you both, the nebulous question of if you’re going together hanging over you. You don’t like it, the way Jason seems almost hesitant in all your conversations these days. It sets your teeth to itching and you can’t stand it anymore.

Slamming down your textbook, you say “Okay that’s it. I can’t stand whatever this is. You and I are going to the formal as friends. We’ll get all dressed up and if it’s lame we can ditch and go get Batburgers.”

“Oh thank God. I didn’t want to say anything in case it made it awkward but then it was just getting more awkward and then I just didn’t know what to do.”

The party is lame, but the burgers make up for it. Your dress is nice though. Your mother helped you pick it out, the fitted bodice and loose swing of the skirt making you feel passably pretty. It’s been hard to feel pretty with the way your body’s changed over the year, hips widening and chest starting to grow in ways you can’t predict. Jason cleans up nice, though whoever slicked back his hair went overboard on the gel. You pose for a picture all dressed up together, faces pulled into silly expressions, your burgers held in front of you like trophies. You pin a copy of the photo up in your bedroom. It makes you smile every time you see it, something warm in your chest.

The first day of high school brings back those first day jitters. You’re not even transferring schools, just switching to a different building and still your palms are sweating. It’s not until you see Jason, sitting in the back row with an empty seat behind him that you can release the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. It’s different teachers and different subjects, but in some ways it’s like the day you met again. Scribbling notes until your hands cramp, Jason passing you notes in class, struggling to keep up with what the teachers are saying. At lunch, you and Jason even split an apple between you. It’s terrifying and familiar and all the more bearable because you aren’t going through it alone.

High school is different. Everyone’s more aware of each other in ways they weren’t in middle school. Girls wear brighter lip glosses and flaunt the shiny spaces where their marks will come in. Boys douse themselves in too much body spray and start eyeing up anything that moves. But through out it all, your friendship remains the same. Something about high school solidifies things, has you go from You and Jason to YouandJason. At school you’re a unit, almost impossible to think of you as separate beings. After school, you still spend time together, still explore the city, still message all the time. But you’ve still never been to each other’s houses. Never met each other’s families yet.

Jason offers, once, to have you over to the manor during the winter break, but you’re not keen on it. Crinkle up your nose and ask to think about it.

“It’s not that I don’t want to see you over the holiday, or meet your family Jason. It’s just that I kind of like the way things are? My family knows that you’re my best friend, they’ve seen pictures of us, but the way things are now, you’re still entirely mine. Our friendship’s just for us. Meeting your family kind of changes that.”

“I like us being us. But would it really be that different to come hang out for a few hours? You could come over when Dad’s out and it’d just be me and Alfred.”

Eventually you agree, spend an afternoon with Jason at the manor to cram for your next round of tests. Mr. Pennyworth is lovely, keeps bringing snacks up to the library as an excuse to check up on you. Bent over your books, you miss the significant looks Alfred is sending Jason over your head and the blush that lights up his face in response. Mr. Wayne is thankfully not home. You’re not sure you could have handled meeting Jason’s grandfather and father in the same visit.

Jason makes it over to your apartment a few times over the spring semester. Your father’s always working, but your mother likes him well enough. She makes him stay over for dinner, won’t let him leave without feeding him first. She calls him a nice boy and tells him to come back any time. Still, you two prefer going out to coffee shops or the library to hang out, uninterrupted by well-meaning adults.

It’s on one of those summer nights, the two of you some of the last people in the public library, that the subject of your Words comes up. The skin across your left wrist catches the warm light of the lamps in a way that’s distracting. You’re startled by the feeling of fingers tracing featherlight over still-shiny skin.

“You ever wonder it about it sometimes? What it’ll say or who’ll say it?” The tone is unreadable but Jason’s voice is above the whisper he usually uses in the library, but with so few people around you figure there’s no harm in mimicking his volume.

“I used to. I was obsessed with Words when I was little. Couldn’t go to sleep without hearing about them as a bed time story.”

“Used to?” And Jason’s fingers are still there, drawing maddening little patterns across the thin skin of your wrist.

“Well, I’ve got other things to think about now, things that are actually within my control.”

Jason presses down, gently, with the broad of his thumb on your pulse. You snatch back your wrist, cradle it to your chest, uncertain of how intimate that gesture felt.

“Fair’s fair. I showed you mine, now you’ve gotta show me yours.” Your tone is teasing, trying to capture the earlier lightness of the afternoon.

“Oh I do, do I?”

He reaches for the top button on his uniform button down, starts undoing two more. Horrified, you reach across the table and grab at his hands.

“What are you doing?! You can’t just go around stripping in public!” Your hissed whisper may not have been said at all for all the impact it makes. Jason shakes off your hands and goes back to undoing his shirt.

“Not all of us are blessed with easily accessible Words. Relax, I just have to get the shirt wide enough to show how far the Words will go.”

Across his collarbone is a thin strip of shiny skin, reaching from one side of his neck to the other like a necklace. Whatever it will say looks pretty lengthy for someone’s Words. Mesmerized, you reach out to trace it with your fingertips. Jason shifts back before you can make contact.

“Gotta buy me dinner first sweetheart. I’m a classy lady like that.”

You flush at the term of endearment, but cover it with indignation.

“Hey! What do you call the tacos I bought for us yesterday?”

He laughs it off and the tense moment is broken. You pack up your things, smiling at the ground. You like the way sweetheart sounds coming from Jason, not that you’d give him that to tease you with. Despite how much you tell each other, there’s one secret you haven’t told him yet. That privately you hope your Words will be his. It’s so easy to fall in love with Jason, or at least what passes for love at this age. The light in his eyes when he rants about the latest book he’s read, when he shares the biscuits Alfred packs for him, the way he listens to you so intently even if he doesn’t have all the answers. You can admit to yourself that you’re hopelessly in love with your best friend, but never out loud. Your friendship is one of the most important things in your life and you are terrified of destroying it.

You don’t see Jason much after that, that summer. Your texts and calls still get answered, but he’s frustratingly vague about meeting up. He says that his dad has him in a kind of summer school, wants him to learn from private tutors before school starts up in the Fall again. Asking about what it is that he’s supposed to learn (his marks are already incredibly good) makes him cagey about it. You don’t want to push, but it feels like he’s pulling away from you. Phone calls get shorter, sentences more clipped. Your offers to just drop by the manor to see him get turned down automatically. It’s the longest you’ve gone without seeing him since you’ve met. You’re terrified that he’s done with you. That for some unnameable reason he’s decided to end your years of friendship and there’s nothing you can do to stop it from happening. Gotham seems colder without Jason at your side, the dangers more obvious and your usual haunts less welcoming.

Finally, after nearly two months you manage to pin him down, get him to agree to meet the day after his birthday. Your heart is in your mouth as you wait for him on a bench in the park. There’s a trickle of sweat running down your back. It’s a hot day but the park is a lush green, an after effect from an Ivy attack the night before. You release your grip on your present for Jason, smooth the envelope and hope you didn’t crease it with your sweaty fingers. A voice is calling your name.

Jason’s been changed by the weeks apart. He’s a few inches taller now, filled out in the shoulders more. You have to crane your neck back to see his face. The anxiety in you is reflected in his face, the way he nervously runs his fingers through his hair, his darting eyes. Uncertain how to proceed, you thrust the envelope out between you.

“Happy Birthday.”

“I— thank you.”

There’s silence again, and the awkwardness between you is a tangible thing. It’s worse than it was in eighth grade only this time you don’t know how to bridge the gap. You look down at your shoes, the toes scuffed.

“I’m sorry for ignoring you.” It comes out of him in a rush. “I’ve been a really shitty friend lately. Just, all summer my dad’s been on me about studying with these private tutors except they’re all friends with Dick so nothing I do can ever be good enough in comparison and every day I’ve felt like crap but I didn’t want you to see me like this which only made me feel worse ‘cause then I basically had to avoid you all the time which is the exact opposite of what I wanted to do and all I wanted to do was have you tell me there’s nothing wrong with me and they can all go kick dirt but then I’d have to talk to you about it which I wasn’t ‘cause I was already embarrassed.” He has to pause here to catch his breath, words running together at the speed which he was going.

“You planning to breathe any time soon?”

He deflates, collapses onto the bench next to you, an arm tucked around his right side awkwardly holding the card so it doesn’t get crushed. You sigh, heavily.

“I thought you didn’t want to be friends anymore.” Your confession is barely above a whisper. You can’t even look at him as you say it.

“I didn’t— I wouldn’t. I need you to know that I never, ever don’t want to be your friend okay? I was an idiot. I’m sorry.”

“Promise not to cut me out again and that you won’t take out your own issues on our friendship, and maybe I’ll consider forgiving you.”

“Pinky promise.”

Jason places the card in his lap, goes to link your fingers together, then winces at the movement of his arm. Suddenly sirens are going off in your brain.

“What’s wrong with your side?”

“Nothing, must have just pulled a muscle or something.” He tries to laugh it off nervously, but you can tell when he’s lying. His eyes dart to the left over your head, knee bounces almost imperceptibly. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you know he’s not telling you the truth.

“You can’t even go a full minute without cutting me out! Jason, I know something is wrong. Now tell me.”

He hesitates, and you’ve had it with the lies and the avoidance and the being kept in the dark. You fingers go to the hem of his shirt and you start tugging.

“Hey! Wh-what are you doing?”

He tries to squirm away, batting at your hands but you get his shirt up far enough to see the bruise on his ribs in the shape of a boot. It’s purple going a sickly yellow, mottled and stark against the dips of his ribs. You can feel all the blood drain from your face. Jason’s pushed up against the far side of the bench, pulling his shirt down with shaking hands.

“Jason. Jason if someone is hurting you, you need to tell someone. If it's your dad or one of the tutors, we can find someone to tell together.”

“No one— no one’s hurting me, all right? I just didn’t get out of the way fast enough during a Rogue attack. I didn’t want to worry you, that’s all. No one’s abusing me, okay?”

“But you’d tell me if they were?”

“I tell you everything important.”

It’s not enough, not nearly for you. From the look in his eyes Jason knows this too, but its all he’s willing to give. There’s a crossroads in your relationship here, a road where you push and push until you get the full story but shatter the tattered strands of your friendship or you accept that you’ll never have all of Jason but maybe your friendship will survive. So you do what needs to be done.

“Okay. If you say that’s what happened then I trust you.”

It’s a low blow, to twist your trust in him like a knife, but it’s your only way to express your frustration with him. You gesture to the envelope, fishing around to change the subject.

“So you going to open that or what?”

And just like that, there’s a new normal. You see Jason everyday in class but he begs off your after school hangouts as often as you two actually spend time together. Conversation is stilted, hidden undercurrents to them of subjects neither one of you wants to address. You’re wary, suspicious of every bump and bruise Jason shows up with. The ease to your friendship has gone, disappeared to the realm of the past.

At the end of October, Jason becomes obsessed with the news. Keeps checking headlines and obituaries, fearful like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. The death of Felipe Garzonas makes the news and the tension in Jason ratchets up. He’s irritable, stops paying attention in classes, blows up when you try to feel out what’s wrong. He’s apologetic every time, promises it won’t happen again until you eventually stop trying to ask questions. Hope that your presence is enough to steady him through whatever it is that is tormenting him.

He asks you once, if you’d believe in his word, no matter what the evidence of something told you otherwise. You tell him you would, always, but that answer doesn’t seem to make a difference.

Winter break comes and goes, without an invitation to visit this time. If anything, Jason comes back more irritable and closed lipped. Mutters something about a fight over Christmas dinner, his brother and Bruce clashing over something. You’re worried about him all the time now. He’s more reckless with himself, won’t look before crossing the road, reacts aggressively to every perceived challenge, throws things when he gets frustrated. He’s changing into someone you don’t recognize in front of your eyes.

April comes and there’s a new light in his eyes. It’s manic and hopeful and the first emotion you’ve seen in him other than fear in months. He won’t tell you what it is, just that there’s something new he’s found out, something about his mother. This time you hope, fingers crossed and a wish on every star that whatever has brought him this hope won’t hurt him.

On Monday, Jason doesn’t come to school. He doesn’t answer your messages or pick up any of your calls. Even when he’s been out sick he at least lets you know. On Tuesday you get called into the office in the middle of first period. You haven’t been back to the secretary’s office since the day you enrolled. The seats are still as overstuffed as you remember. The secretary is the same, a few more grey streaks in her perfectly set hair. Her eyes are red, and she’s got one of those old fashioned handkerchiefs in her hands.

“I’ve got some bad news honey, and I— I think it would be best if you sit down for it.”

“Oh— will this take long? Only I got pulled out of class and we’re reviewing for the exam next week.”

“Oh honey.” She has to pause to dab at her eyes before continuing. “You’re going to be excused from all exams next week, okay? I need you to know that the school will do whatever we can to support you through this.”

Now, now you are scared. “Support me through what? It’s not my mom is it?”

“Honey it’s Jason, Jason Todd. I’m so sorry but he passed away yesterday. I’ve contacted your parents and your mother is on the way to come pick you up.”

Her words don’t make any sense.

“But he can’t be. I saw him on Saturday. There’s been a mistake. He’s not dead.” Your legs don’t work anymore and you hit the couch, hard, sliding off the overstuffed pillows to kneel on the floor. You don’t feel any of it. There’s copper in your mouth, you must have bitten your tongue on the way down but you can’t feel it. There’s movement in your peripheries, and your mother crouches down into your field of vision.

“Mom, mom they made a mistake. She’s— she’s saying that Jason’s dead, but he can’t be. Mom he’s not dead.”

“Sweet pea, I’m so, so sorry. It’s been on the news all morning.”

It rips through you then, grief. Sobs shake your whole body, your mother doing her best to hold you together. There’s a roaring in your ears like you’re caught in a vacuum. You can’t see through the tears. Your body is trembling violently and you can’t care enough to try and stop it. Nothing matters anymore. Jason’s dead.

To get to the car, your mother has to half carry you. There’s no point in moving. You’re not sure how you end up in your bed at home but you do. You don’t sleep but you aren’t really awake either. The tears don’t stop coming. You’re nothing but an open wound, not even really a whole person. The world’s burned down to ash and you’re just floating through it. You know your parents come in to talk to you, can hear the murmur of their voices but you don’t care. There’s food put in front of you but it holds no interest to you. You might have had sips of water, maybe some broth but you don’t remember and you don’t care. The only thing you really register is Haley, nestling up to you and making biscuits with his paws in your blankets.

Jason’s funeral is on Friday and you can’t get out of bed to go. Jason’s not in that coffin, not really. He won’t be there and so you won’t be. Jason’s never coming home. Jason’s dead, Jason’s dead, Jason’s dead plays on a loop. You never got to tell him. He died without knowing you loved him. His death has ripped you open like nothing ever has before, regret a constant salt in the wound. He never told you that he was thinking of leaving, of going anywhere. It feels wrong at this point, to interrupt his family in their grief, another stranger claiming to have known their son. After all, how well did you really know him if you didn’t even know he was going to leave?

Grief swallows you whole, but over time you learn to live with it. Days blur together. The tears dry up but the not caring doesn’t. Inside of your head is a wall, separating you from the reality of a world without Jason. You’re wrapped in wool and safe behind glass, unable to care about anything. It’s easier that way.

The school passes you for the year, citing personal tragedy, and you don’t care. Summer comes and the only difference is that your mother comes in and throws your windows open every morning. It’s Jason’s birthday soon, too soon. He’ll never be sixteen but you will be. He’ll never have his Words come in. He’ll never get the chance to do all the things he talked about, make Gotham a better place, travel the world. But you can.

It makes no sense to live for a dead boy but it’s all you’ve got. So you do what you have to do. It gets you to leave your bed for the first time in months. To start eating again, even if there’s no taste to the food in your mouth. To shower and take care of yourself for the first time in ages. Your room is clean for the first time in months and the first thing you do is take down your photograph from the 8th grade formal and put it away in a desk drawer.

By September, you have gathered yourself enough to return to school despite the worried looks of your family. It is hard, the hardest thing you have ever done but you do it for the boy that will never graduate high school. You sit by yourself at your desk, you eat lunch by yourself, you go straight home after class without any detours. The school play this year is Romeo and Juliet. You take home the sign up flyer and consider it, hard. In the end you decide to leave it. Jason may have always wanted to try out for the play but you won’t survive torturing yourself with this. On opening night you tell your parents you’re going to see it and get drunk on the gymnasium roof.

You make it through your last two years of high school a ghost. Administration tries to pressure you into meeting with a therapist but you refuse. You don’t want to experience your grief at all. Numbness is the only way you are going to survive this, your new reality. You do take them up on their suggestion of volunteering. Working with the Martha Wayne Foundation for Underprivileged Children gives you a sense of purpose. Of helping other Crime Alley kids without the benefit of nepotism to get them into places like Gotham Academy. It stokes the first emotion in you other than numbness, and that’s rage for all the ways in which these kids have been failed.

You accept a full scholarship to Gotham University. Your parents couldn’t be more proud of your achievement but you can barely muster the energy to smile. Keep up the volunteer work while rushing through your degree in two years instead of four. With nothing else to drive you, you’ve got nothing but time for school. The Martha Wayne Foundation offers you a position in fundraising, and you accept. It’s not what you envisioned for yourself, but it’s a path forward with purpose.

You move out, into your own apartment in an area that’s probably too dangerous for a girl of your age but you can’t stand to be at home anymore. The job consumes your life and you are grateful for it. It’s important work, even if some of the policy meetings on accepting donations from the Red Hood make you want to fall asleep. You make use of your Gotham Prep connections, rubbing elbows with the rich for just as long as it takes to pry open their wallets. It’s ridiculous but the higher ups trot you out to entertain at fundraising events, a pretty young face to pull in more donors. Occasionally you see Bruce, or Dick, or the newest ward Tim at functions, always across the room before you quickly excuse yourself. The numbness carries you through your life but there are limits to it and you’re not eager to test them.

Even five years later, you can’t go back to the park. You’ve never had another chili dog, though you’ll hire the vendor to cater community events. You’ve worked your way back into the public library, but still avoid the alcove on the second floor in the encyclopedia section. There’s a handful of arcade tokens in a plastic bag in your apartment still unused. Batburger is still your favourite, but you still can’t set foot in the location nearest to the Academy.

You keep yourself so busy that when your Words come in, “I’m sorry sweetheart, I didn’t know…”, you barely give it a thought, just pulling the cuff of your shirt lower to cover your wrist. Carry on with the rest of your morning routine and head into the office. From that point on, your sleeves are always long and your gala outfits gain elbow length opera gloves. You never bother trying to read the rest of it. It doesn’t matter anymore.

It’s a cold February morning. The bus broke down two stops from the office and now you have to walk the rest of the way in the snow. Standing at a crosswalk waiting for the light to change, you pass the time by scanning the headlines on the nearest newsstand. “Lost Wayne son found alive” screams out at you, tearing into your heart bloody. You lose grip of your work bag, but manage not to lose your mind in the street. Picking your bag up out of the slush, you run into the nearest bodega bathroom and lock the door with trembling hands. Shove a fist into your mouth and scream as the tears pour down your face. You’re shaking, worse than you were all those years ago. Snot blocks your nose and you have to stop screaming to breathe. So you do what needs to be done. Fumbling with your coat pocket, you pull out your phone and call the office, call out sick. It’s the only time you’ve done it in all the time your supervisor has known you but the tremor in your voice and frequent sniffles must alarm her enough.

In a fog, you somehow make it from the bodega bathroom to the front gate of Wayne manor. It doesn’t look like it’s changed at all since your last visit over five years ago, except for the heaving mass of press. You circle round the property and enter through the bushes, the way Jason showed you years ago on a tour of the property. You slip on the snow, fall to your knees but get back up. This is the only thing that matters now. The back door has an elaborate knocker that takes both of your hands to lift. It takes what feels like ages for someone to answer the door. It’s poor Mr. Pennyworth, looking more ruffled than you’ve ever seen him. You’re indescribably rude to the poor man, pushing right past him and into the building. Only one thing matters now and your vision has narrowed out anything outside of achieving your goal.

There’s voices coming from somewhere inside, up the stairs and in the direction of the library. A hand, probably Mr. Pennyworth’s, tries to grab at your wrist but you’re too quick for that. You’re running now, clutching at the bannister as though it will pull you up the stairs faster. A shout from behind and the tone of the voices change, a door slamming in the distance. Finally, finally you reach the library but a body tries to come between you, stopping you in your tracks. Years of grief, anger, and battered hope come roaring through you at the thought of being denied seeing Jason, alive after all this time.

Your voice when it leaves you is dangerously low. “Dick, I presume? You don’t know me, and I’ve heard very little about you from Jason and what I did hear I didn’t like. I’m going to make this simple.” The door behind him cracks open, but you soldier on anyway. “Jason Todd was my best friend and first love.” The body stiffens, but that doesn’t matter in this moment. “You are going to step aside and-” anything else doesn’t matter because a door is thrown open and there is Jason.

Eyes wild, a good deal older and more scarred than before, but he’s alive. And then nothing else matters but the feel of his arms warm around you, the imprint of his jacket on your face, the smell of him largely unchanged. He’s alive and he’s real and you can touch him. You draw back to look at him, drink in the sharpened angle of his jaw, the blue-green of his eyes, the white streak in his hair. He’s grown taller and broader than he had over that wretched summer so many years ago. What catches your eye is the writing at the hollow of his throat, a stark black spreading across his collarbones exposed by the v of his t-shirt. Jason Todd was my best friend and first love, it reads.

“I’m so sorry sweetheart, I didn’t know you felt the same.” He says and your wrist starts to burn.

#jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd x fem!reader #red hood x you #red hood x reader #jason todd fic #jason todd imagine #jason todd #soulmate au #tw grief #sunnie writes 🌻

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sulieykte · 1 year

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𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 // 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 ✧˚ · . 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒊𝒊𝒊

‣ Pairing: Adult!Neteyam (20) x Fem!Omatikaya Reader (19) ‣ Warnings: smut, p in v , slight dom!neteyam, choking, hair pulling ‣ Word Count: 2.5k ‣ A/N: Okay bbs we made it! There was a little while there that I didn't think we were going to make it, but here we are. I had a bit of a tough time with this one, it's been so long since I've written smut and the first time I've written in second person. So please forgive me if this is absolutely shocking but I committed and here we are. There's a good chance there will be a few errors in this because I couldn't bring myself to keep re-reading, so I'll eventually come back to this and edit where needed. As always, I hope you enjoy and thank you for the love shown to this series! English is in bold italics all other dialogue is in Na'vi. ‣ Na'vi word bank: syulang - flower, tìyawn - love, utumauti - banana fruit

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The metallic taste of your own blood fills your mouth as you bite down just a little too hard on your bottom lip. Spider had only been gone for ten minutes, the last words to break the silence being his promise to return with help as soon as possible. You were an hour out from High Camp and at a sprint, you’d say that Spider could manage that in half that time.

You’d moved away from the newly formed rock wall, finding yourself a spot stood against one of the nature made walls where you could keep an eye on your companion. He hadn’t even spared you a glance thus far. As soon as Spider had made his exit, he’d laid back with his arms rested under his head and closed his eyes, far too relaxed in your opinion for the situation you had found yourselves in. Even if Spider got help within the hour, you didn’t know how long it would take for a team to dig you out of this mess.

“Can you stop looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” You sigh, meeting his eyes as he sat up to look at you.

“Like I’m a Palulukan… Like you’re waiting for me to attack you.” He twists his left forearm into view to show you the crescent scar, dark purple tainting blue, still raised from where your teeth had sunk into it. “If anyone should be worried, it’s me. You barely have a mark on you.”

That was true. His fingerprints were still visible on your wrist but faded to a point where you could not see them unless you knew they were present, but you did know. You had analysed the discolouration each morning and told yourself that once it disappeared, you would get over the feeling that constricted your chest every time you looked at Neteyam. You would not be afraid of him anymore.

“How did you know about Ralu?” The question had been playing at your tongue since you realised you were in this for the long haul. The foul words he had said repeating over in your head as you prayed for Spider’s swift return.

“Did I not tell you?” He raises a brow at you, provoking a glare as you pressed on, determined to get the truth from him.

“I don’t believe you. You must have been spying, he would not say those things.” Ralu had been sweet and gentle, nothing like the formidable warrior you knew him as on the battlefield. He had treated you with respect and promised to court you properly once the Sky People were defeated. “He is not like you.”

“Not like me?” A triumphant grin settles on his lips. “At least I have the decency not to brag about my conquests before I have even washed their scent off of me.”

You shake your head, less in denial of the truth that was clear by the look of satisfaction on Neteyam’s face and more at yourself for being such a fool. It was enough to be used for simple pleasure with false promises of a future that would never come, but for Neteyam to be audience to your humiliation, it was too much. It was much easier to let your mortification slip into anger.

“You know what, Ma ‘Teyam.” His smirk disappeared, a similar one finding itself on your face. “Prince of the Omatikaya. Son of Toruk Makto. Future Olo’eyktan…” You punctuated each of his superlatives with a step towards him. “Maybe you need to sit and think about how much action you’d be getting if you weren’t riding your father’s coat tails.”

The shortened distance between you means it only takes him two strides to reach you once he has risen to his feet, his hand capturing your throat and pushes you back into the cave wall. His hold isn’t yet restrictive to your breathing, but your hands shoot to wrap around his wrist in case that changes. It’s a futile attempt to feel as though you have any control over the situation, laughable even to you that you think you could stop him if he wanted to choke the life out of you.

You try to steady your breathing, amber eyes meeting in a competition to see whose gaze would falter first. That was something you couldn’t let him have, you could not let him know that you were afraid. Afraid that he would crush your windpipe on a whim, or that your legs would finally fail at their one job at any moment.

Neteyam moves closer, until you’re chest to chest and you can feel his heart beating against your own, almost as fast if not a pace slower. His nose was practically touching your own as he spoke, his hand squeezing lightly at the sides of your throat. “You really do need to learn to shut up.”

“I’m starting to think that you like touching me.”

His pupils are blown so wide you can barely see a hint of gold, his heavy breath searing as it brushes against your lips. You’re waiting for him to say something, to lose his temper further and squeeze the breath out of you. But he doesn’t.

His lips crash against yours with a force that knocks your head backwards into the cave wall, the blow to your head only partially contributing to the disorientation that follows. Neteyam was kissing you. His hand flexed around your neck as his tongue swiped against your bottom lip before forcing entry into your mouth. You struggled for a breath as his tongue swiped against yours, the taste of utumauti overwhelming you as you moved your tongue in response. A lapse in judgement.

When your vision starts to blur, you pull at his wrist in a silent call for mercy. His hold on your throat loosens and he pulls back from his assault on your mouth, allowing you to gasp for a breath. You look up to meet his eyes, a frown forming as a question of why gets lost before it reaches your lips.

There’s not an inch of space between your bodies now as he has you sandwiched between the wall and himself. You can feel his hardened length through his loincloth pressed against your stomach and suddenly the why of it all doesn’t matter, not with the heat that is pooling in between your legs, and when he leans in to whisper in your ear.

“You look good with my hand around your throat.”

He captures your gasp with his mouth, giving no room for you to talk back. For once, he has you how he likes you. Quiet and submitting to his will.

The hand that isn’t already wrapped around you wanders lower, pushing aside your feathered covering to grasp at your breast, giving your nipple a sharp pinch and swallowing the moan it elicits with a smile against your lips. He’s winning this and he knows it.

With one last squeeze at your throat, his hand travels down your body, palm flat to feel as much of you as he can. His mouth moves to your jaw, pressing light kisses that send what feels like all of the blood in your body rushing to your ears as his hand reaches its destination. He pushes past the waistband of your loincloth, fingers slipping in between your folds, his breath shaking against your neck as he lets out a laugh at how wet you already are.

“Shut up.” You almost push him away. Almost. The embarrassment is dizzying, and you can’t comprehend your body's reaction to the hands that have you in their grasp. A hand that had only caused you pain sending jolts of pleasure through your core as he collects your slick, his fingers beginning their slow ministrations against your clit in the same instant his mouth latches onto the crook of your neck. The sensation sets you alight. “Don’t you dare leave a mark.”

Your threat only seems to urge him on, lips suctioning harder onto your skin as the pace of his fingers increases. It’d be easy for you to get out of your head, to submit to the sensations. But you knew there would be consequences to this outside of this cave, when reality hit, and explanations would be demanded for any marks left on your skin.

The smart choice would be to push him away, deny yourself the pleasure he was giving you. It would probably be your only choice if you could focus on anything other than Neteyam’s fingers that were circling your aching bud. Intelligence was overrated.

You pushed against his chest, his lips detaching from your neck as you pushed his body away from you. His mouth opens, but you don’t let him speak because you’re sure it will break your resolve. “I think it’s your turn to shut up.” His mouth closes, brows furrowed in confusion until you bring yourself to your knees, pulling him down with you. Now he understands.

As soon as he’s sat on the ground, you climb on top of him. His hands moving to your hips as you straddle him. Both of your arousal is evident through your loincloths as you slide along his length, finding a position that provides just enough friction as you roll your hips against his.

His head falls back, chest rumbling with a growl that sends a shiver down your spine. “Neteyam.” You don’t need to finish your thought as he seems to be one step ahead of you, reaching down to untie your dampened loincloth before untying his own.

You lifted your hips to allow him to discard the obstructing fabric and your moans synchronised as you lowered yourself back down and wasted no time in gliding yourself along his length, coating him with your slick. When his tip catches your clit your hips falter in their movement, but he catches you, strong hands guiding you to continue your gyrations until you’re both glowing with sweat and you’re finding it difficult to catch your breath.

“Y/N?”

For the first time since you allowed yourself to give in to his touch, you meet his eyes. His questioning eyes. And you know what he wants. You want it too.

With a nod, you lift your hips, and he aligns himself with your entrance. The slide is easy as you sink down slowly, but the stretch has you grasping at his shoulders, his fingers bruising at your waist. When you look down, you’ve only taken half of him, but you’re not a quitter. Slamming your hips down you don’t miss how Neteyam’s mouth drops open, his breath stuttering. It might just be the best thing you’ve ever seen.

He recovered quickly, grabbing your ass and pushing you forward to grind on his cock. You bite back a moan, head falling forward to settle on his shoulder as he rolls his hips up to meet your movements.

“If I knew this is all it would take to shut you up, I’d have done this a long time ago.”

You're still on top of him, lifting your head to see his shit-eating grin and you knew you had to wipe it off his face. Lifting yourself until only his tip is inside of you, you slam back down. Hard. You continue the rough pace, finding delight in the way Neteyam’s face scrunches and the power you have over him.

“Good to know even this can’t shut you up... Do you want me to bite you again?” His breath hitches and you feel him twitch inside of you. “Oh Eywa, you do, don’t you?” He doesn’t respond, eyes squeezed shut as you continue to ride him hard through your ribbing. “Is that what this was all about ‘Teyam, did it turn you on when I-“He cuts you off with a hand around your throat, his eyes open now, boring into yours.

Your stomach flips when he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

“Maybe if you hadn’t run, you would have found out syulang.”

You would need several hours to unpack that, but you only had a second before he’s lifting you off of his length and flipping you around. You manage to catch yourself with your hands just in time before he angles your hips and buries himself inside you.

His pace is unrelenting. His grunts and your cries echoing against the cave walls. The new angle allows him to reach new depths, his cock bruising your cervix as he pounds into you. Sweaty palms struggle to keep their hold on the ground, and you slip forward, a hand tangling in your hair and a sharp tug upwards protecting you from worse injury as Neteyam pulls you back against his chest, hand sliding from your hair to wrap around your throat.

“I’m going to ruin you tìyawn.” Neteyam growls in your ear, his spare hand reaching down to circle your clit furiously. You clench around him, the sensations all too much as he slams into your sweet spot.

“’Teyam, I’m gonna-“

“Do it.” He commands, squeezing the sides of your throat and that’s all it takes to push you over the edge, his hips stuttering as your walls convulse around his cock. He tries to maintain his pace, letting you ride out your orgasm. A choked sob is stifled by the grip he has on your throat that only loosens once your head drops forward, panting as you try to suck in the oxygen you had been deprived of.

His frantic pace continues as he ruts into you, chasing his own release that’s nearly in reach until a voice breaks through the quiet previously filled by only his breathy moaning and your soft whimpers.

“Neteyam!” The mighty warrior stills inside of you as he hears his father’s voice through the rock blockade. His hold releases on you and you fall forward, cheeks heating as the reality sets in. Neteyam is still rock hard inside of you and you thank Eywa for the pile of rocks between you and your saviours.

“D-Dad?” Neteyam stutters, breathing still unsteady from the climax that had been seconds from his grasp.

“You kids okay in there?” You snort, accidentally clenching around Neteyam who buckles over, hand wrapping around your stomach with a hiss. Yeah, you were okay.

“Yeah, we’re good.”

“Y/N? You good.” You open your mouth to respond when Neteyam reaches down, pinching your sensitive clit.

“Mhmm.” You whine. “I’m okay sir.”

“Good, we’re going to get you out as fast as we can. Just hold tight in there.” You can’t help but laugh at that and you feel Neteyam’s chest rumble with a chuckle against your back. If only he knew.

“Thanks sir.”

Neteyam nips at your shoulder and leans down to whisper in your ear. “We’ll finish this later.” And before you can question him about what he means by that, he’s pulling out of you, sufficiently distracting you as you hiss at the feeling of emptiness.

When you turn to look at him, he’s already got his back to you having collected his loincloth and moved towards the spring to wash away the evidence of your transgressions. The sound of metal on stone echoes through the cave as Jake and his team begin their rescue and you decide to leave it at that and follow suit.

taglist: @innercreationflower,@lili-of-the-dream,@arminsgfloll,@strawberryclouds22,@aliceantalus,@afro-hispwriter,@mandaaaaaaaaaaa,@nxptury,@amortencjja,@l3laze,@strongestangel,@inluvwithneteyam,@tsuteysyawntu,@whyyouhatemeeetmblr,@jdbxws,@yumimak,@weirdpersonhelp,@kaylaperiodqueenslay,@julesandro,@neyetams,@jjkclub,@grxcisxhy-wp,@vampire_majesty,@dani-d0rk,@ashleexisxcool,@syulangg,@moony-artemis,@deadgirl02,@cl0esblogg,@thehalalboy,@cxlynv,@melllinaa

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fantasyandshit · 3 months

Text

The light and the dark

Type:Series

Part:4/?

Other parts here

Pairing: Azriel x Archeron sister reader

Summary: Yn is recovering from her…incident. Az offers his help.

(Hey a/n here. I just want to take a moment to say thank you guys so much for all the support, past accounts I’ve had have had zero contact so this means so much to me and every time I see I’ve gotten a notification from you guys a smile comes to my face. I love y’all so much and I’m glad you enjoy my work. Please comment if you want to be added to the tag list or just want to tell me something, I love them so much! And remember I need ideas so please send me some! Love y’all enjoy reading!❤️❤️)

Pain. That’s the first thing I feel, agonizing pain throughout my body. Next, I feel a weight in my left hand, something bumped yet smooth. I’m on something soft, and there’s a weight on each side of me, starting just at my shoulder blades. What is that what- I shoot up, adrenaline causing me to not struggle with the added weight but my pain increases and I let out a yelp.

“Hey, hey! Calm down, calm down. You’re ok. You need to lay down.” Hands grapple at me and I struggle as I’m forced back into the bed. I let out groans and small screams as pain continues to flare in the unknown appendages-wings- my fucking wings. I have wings. I fucking.have.wings. And they hurt like hell. Ariel’s face comes in to view and I finally calm down.

“Az-azriel?”

“Yeah, yeah it’s me. You’re ok. Relax.”

“Hurts.” I whimper, tears coming to my eyes. “Really hurts Az.” That’s the first time Ive called him that and it comes out in a sob.

“I know love. I know. We’re gonna fix it ok. We’re gonna make it better yeah?” I barely register what he called me as I nod my head meekly.

“Hello Yn. I’m madja, I’m a healer. Can you tell me what hurts the most?”

“Wings.” My breath comes out a bit ragged as exhaustion hits me like a brick.

“Shit, some of the wounds reopened, Azriel keep her talking and awake.”

As my eyes flutter I feel two hands on my face, “hey, hey look at me. There she is.” My eyes lock on Ariel’s as shadows dance around me. I look over to his hands, grabbing one in my hand and he tenses as I bring it in front of my face and inspect it.

“Beautiful.” I mumble as my finger traces his scars, “they’re beautiful Az, you’re beautiful.” My eyes flutter again before fire bursts in my wings and I scream loud enough I’m sure the house shook, bucking away and writhing.

“Hold her down shadowsinger.” Az grabs me and holds me as the pain continues.

“No no Az please. It hurts it hurts please. Let me go.”

“Hold her still!”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” The male looks away, tears of his own surfacing before Rhysand and Feyre appear, immediately understanding the situation and helping Az.

Feyre look to my eyes, “Feyre. Please it hurts. It hurts so bad.”

I watch her heart shatter in her eyes, “I know sis. I know.” Her hand whipped my sweaty face, “it’ll be over soon. I promise, it’ll all get better.”

Finally the pain leaves, now a dull ache as the fae let me go, Feyres hand now going through my hair, I lean into the comfort, eyes fluttering as I relax and finally fall asleep.

———

“She should be awake by now, it’s been two weeks since she last woke up.”

“Relax Az. She needs time, you forget she hasn’t been an Illyrian more than a month and a half and her wings were severely injured not minutes after she was made one.”

A groan leaves my lips and I speak without opening my eyes, my voice horse from lack of use, “please shut up. You’re so loud.”

“Yn?” I crack my eye open to see Az, his hand holding mine as he faces me, Feyre, Rhysand, Cassian, and a blond femal I do not recognize take different positions around the room.

“Hey Az.” A smile forms on my lips, “you were worried about me. That’s sweet.” I laugh at the blush that forms on his cheeks, Cassian and Rhysand doing the same. “I don’t mean to be rude but who are you?” I turn to the beautiful blond female.

“I’m Morrigan. It’s nice to finally officially meet you. I’ve heard A lot about you.”

“All good things I hope.”

A graceful chuckle leaves her lips, “of course.”

“Where is Nesta and Elain? Are they ok?” The thought rushes to me and I almost sit up but Azriel stops me.

“They’re perfectly fine, Elain is processing and has chosen to do so alone in her room, she didn’t wish to come today, she’s been a few times during your recovery, Nest-“ there’s a tense pause, “Nesta did not wish to visit.” I nod slowly, hurt that the sisters I saved didn’t wish to see me but put it off as them healing mentally. I decide to lighten the mood, taking out minds from the solemn topic.

“Now can someone get me some water, some food, and a wing scratcher. Those exist right? Cause if not you guys will have to play eni meni minie moe to decide who does it for me.” Cassian bellows in laughter, the rest joining as i look at them with raised eyebrows, “I’m serious, these things itch like I’ve bathed them in poison ivy.”

Az squeezes my hand, my attention returning to him as the others arrange for food and water..and figure out how to find a back scratcher. “That’s the ointments love, I’ll help take care of your wings. If you’re ok with that? Wings are precious to our kind, sensitive, sacred.”

“I’d really appreciate that sweetheart.”

Shocks spreads on the males face. “Huh?”

“I said I’d appreciate that. That you’re being a sweetheart.” I try to play it off and he chuckles.

“Ok love, whatever you say.”

“I like that.”

“What?” His brows scrunch as he turns his head a little.

“When you call me love.” Blush creeps up both of our faces as we stare at each other, only broken out my Cassian clearing his throat loudly.

“I have your soup and water. Mor will send in some clothes later for you to bath and change.”

“Thank you, I take the tray from his hands and Az helps me situate myself. “You can go you know. I know you probably have better things to do than baby tend me all day.”

“I’m not baby tending you, I’m helping you recover, and there’s nothing more important to me than helping you.” I look to my soup, praying he doesn’t notice the way my blush deepens further.

———

“Ok, how do you want to do this? I’m sat on a stool in the bathroom, still finding it hard to walk with the weird weight in my back.

“Could you-could you help me, I can’t undress myself.” For the millionth time today a blush spreads in our faces before he answers softly.

“Yeah, yeah I can do that.” His hands brush my back as he undoes the strings of my tunic, careful of my healing wings before he stands me up, leaning me on his arm as he slides my pants off, then helping peal of my undergarments and supporting me as I step into the warm bath water. I sink down as Azriel grabs the soaps needed. “Ok, I’ll start with your hair. Ok?”

“Ok.” I moan at the feeling of his hand massaging my scalp. Eyes falling shut as he leans my head back, carefully poring water over it and repeating that with conditioner.

“Ok um-wings are very intimate, and sensitive. Yours may be more so because they are so new and still healing. Is it ok if I touch them, I will clean them off and make sure to exfoliate and apply a lotion madja gave me to help with your itching and soreness?”

“Yes, yeah you can-you can do what you need to.”

“Ok. Az helps softly pull my wings out so they are flared seeing as I don’t know how to control the muscles yet. He softly scrubs a soap around them, when he hits a larger membrane at the top a gasp and whine leave me-fuck that feels good. “Are you ok?” He drops his movements.

“Yes I’m fine it feels really good.”

“Ok.” He nods before continuing softer than before.

That’s when it happens, his shadows are dancing around us and as I relax I spot them, tendrils of light twirling with his shadows. We both freeze as we watch, one of the lights dashes to me, rubbing my cheek before going to my ear and whispering to me. “Woah.”

“What, what’s going on.” Azriel is no longer calm

“Relax. It’s ok, they-they say I’m like you but I speak to light rather than dark. These are-these are my lights.” I chuckle, a smile gracing my lips as shadows and light twist in my hair and around me and Az’s bodies.

“Thats amazing love.” Az finishes getting the soap off my wings before helping me out and drying me off, slipping the night gown Mor gave me on and applying lotion to my wings. “We’ll tell Rhys about your powers in the morning. For now, get some rest ok love?”

“Ok.” As he turns to leave I catch his wrist, “please stay.”

After a moment, Azriel nods hesitantly, slipping his boots off and sliding into bed with me, tucking himself behind me. I grab his hands, wrapping them around me as I turn so my face is to his chest, our wings overlapping and enveloping us and themselves before we both drift off to sleep.

———

There we go! Part four! I hope you enjoy, I tried to make it really sweet and fluffy. I know it’s moving fast but I can’t hold back with Azzy baby ok.

Tag list:

@wallacewillow0773638

@pinksmellslikelove

@sassybluebird

@gorlillaglue25

@khaleesihavilliard

@thehighlordishere

@minnieoo

#acotar x reader #acotar #azriel x reader #elain archeron #azriel #elain x reader #feyre x reader #feyre archeron #nesta x reader #nesta archeron #rhysand x reader #rhysand #cassian x reader #cassian #morrigan #mor x reader #archeron reader

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 3 months

Note

Am I the asshole for calling a (now ex-) mutual a stingy asshole?

So to start, I (NB20) am in a pretty rough situation, I'm facing homelessness soon, transphobia at home and work and my hours have been getting cut resulting in me making even less money that can sustain me. I have a toyhou.se forum post up stating I have emergency commissions open to help me out and to please support me if you can. This is where the situation begins. I have a mutual on toyhou.se who I'll call Apple (MTF22) I talk to sometimes to the point I'd say we are friends, not super close but friends nonetheless. She made a bulletin telling people about my commissions and to please comm me if they could which I'm very grateful for since I did get a few customers from her because of that. The thing is, a few weeks later, she made a bulletin talking about how happy she was so many commissions she bought were finished around the same time and posted all of them with the artists tagged in the post. It was honestly... quite a few, I'm talking like 9 pieces of art of her fursona and even a custom vtuber model she got of her sona. I was going to reply all happy for her, but it made me think... how much did she spend on those commissions?? So I went through all the artists socials to find their commission prices and came to a total of fucking $385!!! More than half of my current goal I'm trying to make through commissions to stay out of homelessness!! So I messaged Apple saying since I saw she bought a few commissions if she was interested in buying a comm from me. She replies saying "Ohh! I'd love to <333 but im just not in a place to buy any more comms right now :< sorry >.<!!" So I casually reply really? because it seems like your in the perfect place to help me out after already spending over $300 in commissions. She tells me she's sorry and really wishes someone would be able to help me out but she just wasn't that interested in my art or a custom to which I tell her she could've easily donated to my ko-fi which I have always had since she clearly has money to spend? To this, she straight up IP blocks me. So still fucking annoyed, I vented in a discord server I share with a few friends from being in a few shared CS together, saying how annoying it is rich assholes like her would drop half a thousand for a picture of their fursona but don't even blink twice at their so called friends. anyway, one of my friends takes a look at Apples th profile and notices she has a new bulletin up and sends me a screenshot, but anways the bulletin reads like "hey!! just saying, but please dont come into my dms acting like you know my financial situation better than i do, just because i buy a lot of commissions doesnt mean im made of money! and please dont think that me commisioning artist 1 means i hate artist 2? thats so weird, thanks!!!!!" and seeing all their subscribers just kissing her ass pissed me off so i made my own bulletin that just stated "i thought it was pretty fucking weird to know how bad ur friend's situation was and to go buy a bunch of comms instead of buying a comm from or even throwing a buck to help me out? like yeah im gonna think i know ur situation better than u, you stingy fuck!!!" Anyway, she mustve been block evading (which I reported her for) since she unblocked me, took a screenshot of my bulletin, then went on about how she lived in an abusive household; her dad had thrown her into a sink and chipped her tooth, bruised half her face and scarred it pretty badly. She bought a bunch of commissions immediately afterwards in a panic to make herself feel better, paying everything with her savings. Which to me.. isn't an excuse. Ive been hit and abused and still found scraps of money to pull together to give to mutuals who need it and Ive been bumping my own post like crazy and she had literal weeks to donate or comm me. Not to mention Ive had exmutuals of hers come to me saying that shes never donated anything to them either despite advertising their posts but always had money for plushies, comms and other crap, meaning Im not alone in thinking shes a stingy asshole. This is getting long, so here, tumblr AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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blingblong55 · 3 months

Text

Shy girl -Vladimir Makarov NSFW

Based on a request: Could I request a Makarov x reader showcasing his Kinks? Like uh I know this man has Kinks that he refuses to tell anyone basically a nsfw fic showcasing his Kinks when him and reader R in bed (for me he def has a choking kink iykyk or he's js a masochist) ---- F!Reader, 18+, smut, MDNI, choking, masochist!vladimir, little bit of sadism, unprotected!sex, rough!se, knife!play ---- A/N: it's short but I hope you like it

A play knife on the nightstand, you were straddling his hips, his cock buried deep in your cunt, that is what the bedroom witnesses. Vladimir has his hands tied to the bed, one of your hands choking him as you rode him. There was one thing he enjoyed during sex and that was to be treated like shit. He loves it, loves how you slap him and degrade him. Your soft voice, having to sound rough and mean, so cute and so funny, that is what turns him on.

He loves pain, it's a sweet pleasure to have your cunt filled with his fat cock, all as you run the blade through his chest. Vladimir cums from pain and humiliation.

The second the knife reaches his soft muscle skin, he groans. A small red streak on his skin from where the blade ran and oh did he love the way the pain felt. "That's my good girl, treating her lover with so much disrespect," he smirks and you tighten your grip on his throat. A low moan escapes his lips, his cock twitching inside of you, ready to fill your womb with his thick seed.

"C'mon doll, slap me," he says between softened moans. You smirk, knowing he was about to cum, not wanting to beg you to deny his cum so he asks you to just slap him. One, two and then three slaps, all to the soft and scarred side of his cheek. He bites his lower lip, hips bucking but before he was ready to cum inside of you, you cut the rest of his shirt. "My love, what is it that you're doing?"

"Shhh," the blade to his lips to keep him quiet. You run your now free hand through his lower abdomen, grinding your hips slowly. "My love-" his sudden need for more makes him let out a small whimper. Your red sharp nails leave scratches on his skin. "Mine" the crimson red mark read on his chest and fuck did that feel good.

In times like these, Makarov loved to have such intimate moments with you, where they were filled with him just letting you let out all your deepest desires on him. Mark, bruise, bite or cut, it didn't matter as long as they were left by you.

Dark love, some call this and others say it's taboo but to him, it's pure ecstasy.

The white lacy panties you wear that get stains of his blood, oh what a fuck doll you become to him with that sight.

He groans, trying to escape from the cuffs but you slap him once more and this only helps to give him more motivation. Your wetness and his hard cock become when when he looks at you. "Doll…fuck~ I'm so close~," his back arches a little, you smirk and pull his fat cock out of your cunt. He shakes his head, "No, love please let me cum inside of you."

You shake your head and from your fingertips, you give him the pleasure he needs. His swollen tip was rubbed by two of your fingers. That red lipstick of yours awaiting to be glossed with his cum. Vladimir bucks his hips again and moans louder. The sounds from his mouth were so sweet and delicious.

You take his girth in your mouth, bobbing your head on it and keeping eye contact with him. The wet and nasty sounds coming from you are almost too much for him to bear. "Keep your head there," he commands and you gladly obey. Gagging on his cock is where his cum paints your mouth and throat with the thick and white seed.

When you kiss his tip, he chuckles. "Come here, let me taste those lips." The kiss is so sweet and obscene but in the comfort of the room, who is to care? His mouth on yours, claiming every bit of those red lips with his mouth. You slowly untie him and he wraps his arms around your waist. "I love you," he whispers between heated kisses.

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tsukimefuku · 1 month

Text

The morning after is still last night

After last night, you and Higuruma share a brief pillow talk.

Tags: Jujutsu Kaisen, mentions of sex, Higuruma x f!reader, this is fluff.

WC: 800

This is part of my "Jujutsu Partners Canon Divergence AU", a sequence of short stories and random drabbles for a Nanami x f!reader x Higuruma fanfic I'll eventually write (eventually). This is the sequence to "The man who played with fire", link here. To see the ever-growing list of one-shots, please visit my masterlist :)

Disclaimer: they’re NOT written and posted in chronological order of events. To see where this story fits in the timeline, please check the masterlist mentioned above.

Higuruma was awakened by the faint stream of light that bled through the curtains and projected onto his face delicately. He was coming to his senses slowly, and realized he was still naked under the bedsheets. Looking by his side, he saw you laying down with your back facing him. He smiled discreetly, realizing you had spent the night — Higuruma was unsure if you’d do so, given you were prone to avoidance, overall.

Examining your back solely with his eyes, he noticed a prominent scar right in the middle, over your spine. It was oval-shaped, and it extended in a straight line to the right side of your back, stopping abruptly. It seemed to have been done by a blade of some sort. Before he realized, his fingers were caressing over it, pulling you gently awake.

“Hey,” you cooed, rolling on your side to face him, “good morning.”

“Good morning.” Higuruma answered, gazing at you before putting his hand over your cheek. “It seems you slept here.”

You smiled at him, putting your hand over his. “I didn’t feel like going back home in the middle of the night.” You also wanted to spend some more time with Higuruma, but spared that detail. You were starting to feel somewhat guilty, like you had used him the night prior. No need to dig this deeper, you thought.

“I’m glad you stayed. I wish I had something to offer for breakfast, but I’m not the great domestic type of person. There isn’t anything in my fridge other than yesterday’s beer.” He answered, blatantly not embarrassed at all.

You chuckled lightly. “There might be an old lemon half. You never know, Higuruma.”

His expression became slightly saddened. “I know the sun is already out, but last night isn’t over until we’re out of bed.”

You dragged your body towards his, stopping a few inches apart, and looked him in the eyes. His gaze was lovely, and you were both nearly whispering, as if to keep the fragile little bubble of this moment intact. “Okay, Hiromi.”

Higuruma instantly smiled, and closed the gap between the two of you, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. “That’s more like it.”

You put your thumb on his chin and guided his face to look at you, sighing deeply. “I can’t stay. And I don’t think we should do this again.” You felt like you’d be only using him, even if you had a thing for Higuruma. You just failed to realize just how deep that “thing” was becoming.

He sighed back, because he realized you were doing that again. Fleeing to avoid touching on sensitive subjects. “I know you can’t stay, but I’d like to discuss that second part before you left.”

“What do you want to discuss?”

“I want to know why we shouldn’t have sex again.” He was a pretty straightforward and honest kind of guy, even if it meant saying the uncomfortable unsaid most of the time.

“Well, I feel like I’d be using you for self satisfaction, and I think you’re a friend I wouldn’t want to drive away by treating you like man candy.” You replied, earnestly.

“Then don’t.” He answered. “Treat me like man candy, I mean. Except if I ask for it.”

You chuckled and covered your face at his antics. “Hiromi, oh my God.”

“I mean it! We’re adults, and the lifespan of a jujutsu sorcerer isn’t that long from what I could tell, anyway. It doesn’t mean this will taint our friendship, as you pointed out, and we can always talk about it if things get strange in a bad way.” He negotiated with you. This was so much different from being lectured that you couldn’t help but feel glad to be sharing this moment with Higuruma.

You stayed quiet, studying his features as he awaited for a response, and your gaze wound up resting on his lips for a while, something he noticed. He approached you carefully, brushing his lips to yours, and it instantly made your heart race. You could hear each pump in the back of your ears, as you pressed your lips against his quickly, pulling apart before you both could get entangled together again for round two, after you explicitly told him you shouldn’t.

“Can I think about it?” You asked.

“Of course. But please, do think about it, and don’t just take time to stall on an answer.” Higuruma replied, ash colored eyes piercing through you.

“Oh, stalling to not give you an answer about something uncomfortable or compromising? That definitely doesn’t sound like me.” You answered, mockingly. You were aware of your intimacy issues.

He smiled and pressed his forehead against yours. “ I’m a lawyer, I’m quite familiar with buying time to avoid consequences.”

“Consequences, huh?” You asked, rolling to the opposite side of the bed. “Come on, Hiromi. Time to start the day.”

Defeated, he rolled on his back and stared at the ceiling, as your feet touched the cold morning floor.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #higuruma hiromi #hiromi x reader #higuruma angst #higuruma x reader #jjk imagines #jjk fluff

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topsyturvy-turtely · 2 months

Text

scarred from within

a/n: turtely is hurting so obviously one of my bois needs to hurt too.

a/n2.0: i am sorry.

✗✘✗✘✗✘✗✗✘✗✘✗✘✗✘✗✘✗✘✗✘✗✘✗✘✗✘✗✘✗

laying in bed. tears streaming down his cheekbones, into his ears. he hated that feeling of salt drops coming out of him and finding their way back into his body. as if they wanted to crawl back inside. as if his feelings wanted to bury themselves somewhere deep inside, where they couldn't be accessed anymore.

he hated that feeling, but he let it happen. he couldn't bring himself to care enough about his stupid tears in his poor ears to wipe them away.

feeling another tear breaking its way outside, just to hide in his hair again, sherlock thought of him. of all the sweet niceties. of appreciating words, of soft touches. the words never saying enough, the touches never lasting long enough.

his chest hurt and he thought it was ridiculous. heartache? because of an emotion? what a not-at-all-sociopathic thing to have.

and yet. here he was. aching with heartbreak.

hating mary for marrying the love of his life. hating the love of his life for having a different love of his life. love of your life - what does that even mean? sherlock sighed. he knew exactly what it meant to him: that he wanted to do everything with john. he wanted to solve crimes, and run through half of london, knowing he was right behind him. he wanted to talk with john - he always managed to bring the too many, too big, too fast thoughts into some kind of order with his simplicity. but it meant so much more to him than that. it meant that the thought of john was the only thing that kept him alive during his time in serbia. one whiplash - his imaginary john running towards him. second whiplash - john yelling his name. a third whiplash - a hand on his cheek. a fourth - imaginary john telling him to hold on. a fifth - telling him to be strong. a sixth - so he can come home to him. a seventh whiplash - so he can fix him. john would fix him, when he got home. he'd mend his wounded skin, his broken ego, his weakened mind.

that is what he believed in.

he never thought john would hit him too. he never realised his life scrambled the second he stepped over that rooftop. into the nothingness. and fell. he never realised that the mat underneath would not actually save him.

his heart had cracked back then. when he was laying on the concrete - blood all over his face, stinging his eyes, sticking in his hair - but it was john's voice, so weak, so hurt that cracked that thing in his chest. back then he thought "it is for the best. i am doing this for you. i'll come back for you and we'll be okay."

but it wasn't for the best. he had come back for john. and they were not okay.

and for the first time in his life sherlock realised what people meant when they said their heart was broken. there was no way it could ever heal from this.

sherlock felt this with such devastating certainty, it pricked new tears from his eyes. and it felt like those tears were sandpaper, scraping traces of sorrow into his face.

he almost laughed- it sounded and felt like a sob. ironic: he once thought his back was scarred, broken his skin apart, but he was still whole inside, because of john. now he felt broken from within... and his face... was scarred by tears. because of john.

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a/n: i'll write this with capital letters some time and upload it on ao3. rn this felt like it needed to be written without them.

tag list! (tell me if you wanna be added or removed please 💚) @justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @catlock-holmes @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @so-youre-unattached-like-me @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog @macgyvershe @myladylyssa @battledress @a-victorian-girl @dreamerofthemeadow @oetkb12 @ohnoesnotagain @mutedsilence @jawnscoffee @raenchaosandcozyadashofmurder @lisbeth-kk @quickslvxrr @compact-and-beautiful

#writing is a coping mechanism #it's fine i'm fine #turtely writes #heartbreak #sherlock!whump #johnlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock #john watson #sherlock holmes #angst

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minkkumaz · 10 months

Text

A MATCH INTO WATER

seungmin never wanted things to end up this way, he hated seeing you like this. as he kissed up your scarred skin, he let you know that you were in this together, and he was never going to let you go.

PIERCE THE VEIL series

PAIRING kim seungmin x gn!reader WC 1.3k TAGS established relationship trope. angst. hurt/comfort. major tw. self - harm. blood. mentions of depression + anti depressants. blade mention. pet names: pup, pretty. OMI NOTE if you're going through a hard time just know there is always somebody you can talk to. get the help you need my loves!

as you looked into the cracked mirror, you were terrified of the person you’d become. everything was faded into nothing, you were frozen in place. dried up blood littered your wrists and chest, and tear marks stained your face.

the vicious beating in your chest was telling you that all you could do was cry. this feeling alone made you sick to your stomach, but you couldn’t let it go.

this secret was between you and your abused body. seungmin was blissfully unaware how deep your problems actually were. he never knew about the endless rabbit hole of depression and self harm. however, you would try your absolute best to keep it this way. things would only be worse if he knew, it’d break him.

from your place in the locked bathroom, you heard a door creak open, which immediately set you into a panic. you scrambled around, wiping down the blood stained countertops, hiding the blade in a contact lens holder, and putting your hoodie back on.

the voices from all the boys piling into the dorms got more prominent. you fixed yourself up to look presentable and left the bathroom to greet them.

“hi guys, you’re home a lot earlier than i expected!” you greet everyone, laughing nervously. seungmin immediately rushes towards you to embrace you in a hug.

“i know, pup, i missed you. chan thinks we all need a break from working on the comeback.” his scent overclouded your senses. sweet but musky, and it was all too familiar. you gently wrap your arms around his waist

“that’s good, i’m glad. are you guys going to hang out here or go out somewhere?” you question, pulling away from your boyfriend to look at everyone else.

“we were thinking about a movie night, you down?” felix asked as you responded with a happy nod, “cool, let’s get snacks ready?”

“i get to pick the movie!” han yelled snatching the remote, immediately getting chased down by jeongin.

“go sit down love, i’ll help felix with snacks and stuff.” you tell seungmin

“you’re too good for me.” he kisses the top of your head and pulls away from you to go to the couch.

as you make your way to the kitchen, you ignore the pit in your stomach, trying to get your heart beat to slow down. you see felix putting two bags of popcorn kernels in the microwave before he finally feels you there.

“how are you, y/n? i’m just making the popcorn right now, could you please get me a bowl?” he grins at you, truly radiating like the sunshine he is.

“of course! i’m pretty good. excited for your comeback?” you respond, kneeling down into the cupboard below, searching for a bowl big enough. what you didn’t know is when you were reaching, your sleeve rode up.

at first, he didn’t completely catch it. but when he did a double take, he went pale. he was fumbling with the third popcorn bag, trying to stablize his suddenly heavy breathing.

“um, yeah yeah i am. can you excuse me for a second?” he tells you, walking off suddenly. it was a little weird, but you try your best to ignore it and get him what he needs.

he moves to the living room with heavy steps, seeing seungmin sitting peacefully on the couch and scrolling on his phone, “seungmin can i talk to you privately for a second?”

felix said this quiet enough that only seungmin could hear, trying his best not to gain attention from any of the members.

“sure, what’s up?” he follows behind felix into the hallway, a little worried about what he has to tell him; especially in private.

“is something wrong with y/n?” he hesitates, fidgeting with his hands. “why would you say that? did something happen?” seungmin puts his hands in his pocket, questioning the boy.

“we were in the kitchen and i had asked them to get a bowl for me, right– when they reached in the back, their sleeve rode up and i saw a bunch of scars on their arm seungmin…” he stared at the floor, “and it’s not like they were faded or anything, otherwise i wouldn’t have told you. but they were still bleeding.”

seungmin had no idea what to say. in that moment it almost felt as if his world stopped completely. his face burned hot, and was almost on the verge of tears. what was he supposed to feel when hearing such gut wrenching information about you?

“fuck... are you sure that’s what you saw?” he mumbled, breathing harder to prevent himself from crying.

“i’m pretty sure, you should just talk to them. i won’t tell anyone i promise.”

felix left seungmin with his thoughts in the hallway. it felt like he was on fire. the mere thought of the person he loved the most hurting so badly made him want to scream. it was then that you came into the hallway, clueless about the interaction you were about to have.

“minnie what’s wrong? felix told me to come talk to you…” you furrowed your eyebrows. the aura he gave off was scary, almost making you breathless.

he didn’t say anything besides grabbing your arm and pulling up your sleeve. it confirmed all of his suspicions, so he let everything pour out.

you felt like a deer in headlights, being caught like this. you couldn’t say anything. he carefully led you into his bedroom, closing the door behind him and sitting you on the edge of his bed. he kneeled between your legs, looking up at you.

“y/n, how long have you been hurting yourself?” he chokes.

seeing him like this was entirely fucked up. you felt absolutely terrible for making him worry so bad about you. it was exactly what you didn’t want to happen. you were so scared.

“i’m so sorry seungmin i– i really am.” you sniffle out, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your sweater.

“pup don’t apologize.. but you need to tell me. is it just your arms?” you shake your head hesitantly before pulling your sweater off your head.

red marks were littered on your previously porcelain skin. it mainly covered your arms, but there were two or three on your chest. he felt sick, covering his mouth in shock.

“if you want to break up with me i understand… i’m disgusting.” you whimper, feeling the cold air coming from the ac to touch your half bare body.

“fuck.. baby no.” he gets up from beneath you, gently holding you in his arms, “you’re not disgusting at all, it just kills me to see that you’re abusing your body like this. you don’t deserve it at all.”

“i’m sorry.” you mutter, ashamed.

“but why?” he whispers, cradling your head.

“i didn’t want to tell you seungmin.. i was so so scared.” you cried, “i’ve been so depressed for awhile. i tried taking pills i did. it just made me feel so numb, and you make me feel so happy. but sometimes things happen and i feel like this is the only way out of it.” you heard him sigh deeply, pulling away from you and taking your hurt arms in his hand. he gently kissed up your arms, being careful not to hurt you.

“i still think you’re beautiful, i just don’t want to lose the love of my life.” his hands trailed down to yours, rubbing circles into your palm, “promise me you’ll try your best to stop hurting yourself. i’m here to help you.”

“you won’t, i promise.” you sobbed.

“that’s my pretty pup. lets get you cleaned up and in different clothes. we can talk more about this later okay? you don’t have to be scared, i’m not mad at you.”

you nod quietly letting him walk you to the bathroom, careful not to be seen by any of the members. as he wiped a wet rag against your jagged skin, you felt eternally grateful for how much love he gave you.

it was so hard to come past this, but you knew you could fight back as long as he was with you.

© 2023 minkkumaz, all rights reserved support your writers by reblogging + giving feedback! it is greatly encouraged and appreciated. thank you! → why feedback + reblogging is so important. ~ (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ if you'd like, donate to minkkumaz !

PIERCE THE VEIL series

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angelltheninth · 8 months

Note

Can I please request Miguel getting hurt on a mission and the first person who he goes to is reader his girlfriend/wife so she can patch him up

I love this trope of only making it to your loved one when you're injured.

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, angst, injury, soothing kisses, post-mission adrenaline, making out, comfort, literal sleeping together

A/N: I would kiss away all his injuries, the man needs to be loved and cuddled.

Usually Miguel would let you know when he's done with a mission so you could relax and go to sleep without worry

It was one of the promises he made you after he told you his identity

On other occasions he would visit you himself, often cracking a joke or two before heading to bed with you to sleep things off

He was always pretty quiet when entering your home so hearing all this sudden commotion sent the alarm bells in your head ringing, and soon after you saw him stumble through the window, beaten and blood, holding his shoulder

You could barely hold him as he collapsed, his large body almost sending you toppling over, "Someone's missed me." He joked, laughing past the pain of his ribs

He originally had no problem phasing out his costume in front of you but now he seemed hesitant, "It's not as bad as it looks, mi vida." You proved him wrong by showing against his ribs, a move that would originally be met with playfulness, now met with a strained wheeze

Miguel didn't protest further when you lead him to your bed and sat him down, began inspecting his face, going from the cut above his brow, to the bruise on his cheek, to the blood on his lip and cleaning them all one by one

After that you stood in front of him while he phased away his suit, jokingly patting his lap

It was in invitation that you took with no shame, you sat in his lap before, you can handle bandaging him up without things escalating

"I'll be fine by morning. This is exactly why I didn't want to come here tonight. I worried you over nothing." To you his injuries aren't nothing, he's the most important person in the world to you, you're his girlfriend, of course you would worry

When you were about to move off his lap he stopped you, hands on your hips, then moving up your shirt, moving it up further until it was close to your ribs, "I wanna feel you." He sounded more vulnerable then usual, "I love you. You know that right?" He looked at you, sounding almost desperate as his hand moved to your back

Even something as simple as a kiss seemed to hurt him, your lips pressing against his bruised ones but he kept pushing, hungry for more, hungry for you

You didn't know where to touch him, he had a lot of bruises and he seemed to be groaning a lot as he kept chasing your mouth for more kisses

Sensing that he needed the comfort you gently placed your hands on his forearms, feeling his muscles flex under your fingers, feeling the scars on him with your fingers

Miguel flipped you over so he was hovering over you

The motion caused him to inhale sharply through his nose as his ribs struggled to keep up with what the rest of his body wanted

"Fuck." He cursed when he kept trying to push his way between your legs properly but found he couldn't keep his weight on his arms well enough and kept falling forward

Were he not injured this would have been cute, "Don't make fun of me." Who? You? Never

Instead you pushed up to the pillow and opened your arms for him, he thought you were giving him the green light to keep going but as soon as his hands started going towards your chest you slapped them away, instead bringing his head down to rest on your chest and telling him he needs to sleep this off, you'll still be here in the morning

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stevesworld96 · 8 months

Text

look at me now (part two)

--- steve harrington x fem!reader

steve visits you before the vecna fight.

childhood friends to strangers to lovers. this is a more realistic look at developing a relationship with steve, set in canon while you know nothing about the monsters, or the nightmares, or all of his scars.

a fic about knowing steve before, during, and after the events of the upside down. including all the ways your friendship with him grows, wilts, then grows again - to blossom into something he probably doesn’t deserve.

tags: fem reader, no use of y/n, childhood friends, kissing, cliches, a lot of emotions, depression and suffering etc, mentions of death and injuries, steve retells canon events and deaths, codependent steve and robin, steve is so so so so so so so sad. hawkins doesn't get destroyed after the vecna fight - everything else follows canon

please read both parts, i worked so hard on this fic and i'm really proud of it :)

part one!!!

word count: 9280

Steve didn't call you the next morning.

You waited until noon. By that time morning was officially over, and your phone still hadn’t rang.

It was hard not to be upset about it after what happened the night before. You were just about to kiss him, and he knew it. Maybe after a night of sleep, he woke up regretting it.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t call.

If you didn’t talk to him, you would go mad with assumptions. If you thought about it long enough, you’d break your own heart.

It wasn’t that big of a deal. Steve could be forgetful. It’s possible that it slipped his mind, or Robin was still feeling unwell.

But if there was some other reason, you needed to hear it as soon as possible.

Before your evening shift at Roses you stopped by Family Video. You visited him there often, so he wouldn’t be amiss seeing you - hopefully.

When you walked into the video store, the sound of the bell had four heads snapping in your direction. You searched for the eyes you came here to see, and you didn’t notice the rogue tape on the floor that caught your foot. Robin, Dustin, Max, and Steve watched you trip, and you stuttered back to steady feet.

The two kids were behind the counter at the computer. There was a mess on the floor. Everyone was staring at you like you had turned into something terrifying after walking inside.

The three of them started whispering to Steve, Robin being the loudest. You caught, “go make her leave,” and, “why is she here?”

And you didn’t understand, and Steve was shuffling toward you like a fast-paced robot, and something felt seriously off.

Still, you smiled at him, something forced. “Hey.”

“Hey. Look - we - we’re closing early today, so…”

He was trying to walk you toward the door. You wanted to know why.

“Oh, well - I just wanted to come see you before work. You didn’t call like you said you would.”

“I know, I know.” He looked over his shoulder at the group behind him. They all made different faces and shooing motions. “You need to go, alright? You can’t be here right now.”

“Steve?”

You had made it to the door and he opened it for you. And he was giving you no sympathy in the way he looked at you, his features hard as stone.

“Did I - is this about last night?”

“No. It’s nothing to do with you, okay?” You didn’t believe him, and he didn’t try convincing you. Instead he pushed you through the threshold. “Just go. Go to work, I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Why are you doing this? Just tell me, Steve, seriously. I can handle it.”

The way he sighed was dramatic, closing his eyes and hanging his head, but it was real. Annoyance and frustration, that’s what it was - two things he never directed at you. At least, not anymore.

“Please. Just listen to me, for once. Please just go. I can’t talk to you right now.”

You didn’t have a choice, really. The other option was standing there and arguing with him, and you had a feeling he didn’t have a fight in him.

So you left. You heard the door close as soon as you turned your back.

He didn’t even watch you go.

The closer you got to your car, the more your throat burned. It was all a literal blur, with tears creating clouds in your vision.

Visiting him had done the exact opposite of your goal. It made things worse, somehow, even though everything was fine five minutes ago.

What the hell had happened between last night and right now? What could you have done?

Did Steve change his mind that fast?

You thought about last night and the way that you felt. Your hands shaking, heart beating, mind racing - it was the same now, but with a pit in your stomach and tear tracks on your face.

It didn’t seem fair. He didn’t have to be so cold.

Why were they all being so cold?

Maybe you had walked in on some important meeting. Max could have been telling them a secret, or Dustin could have been indulging an embarrassing story - or Steve could have been telling them what you had done last night.

That’s what he meant when he said he didn’t want to fuck things up. Because he knew how you felt - because you weren’t hiding it at all - and he didn’t feel the same.

And that’s why he didn’t call - because he was afraid to tell you.

Because everything would change. Again.

You felt it already in the way he looked at you. It wasn’t the same as it used to be.

And maybe it would only get worse.

...

Sundays were always the same. That was the only thought that got you through the mess of the day before.

No matter what happened throughout the week, there was always a reliable refuge on Sunday.

But Dustin’s bike wasn’t in its usual place on the edge of Steve’s yard. And Steve’s car wasn’t in his driveway.

You were too shy to call, even though you knew he wasn’t home to pick up. Part of you wanted to call Family Video in case he’d taken a shift - just to hear his voice - but you couldn’t bear it. If you embarrassed yourself in front of him again, you’d never live it down.

The worst part was knowing this could be all in your head. You could be putting yourself through emotional hell for nothing.

But you had a feeling that wasn’t the case.

Monday morning there was still no sign of Steve.

It was like there was something pent up inside of you that you could never get out - is this how he felt when you spent a week avoiding him? Confused, and lonely, and hurt?

All you wanted to do was go back in time and stop yourself from ruining everything.

Tuesday night brought a simmering heat that you wanted to boil over. The sadness ebbed, giving you a break from your self loathing and doubt, making room for a burning anger. One so hot it brought you to tears.

It was all so unfair. He spent so long convincing you he cared, only to show you unequivocally that he didn’t.

And you never should have let him back in, and you definitely shouldn’t have gotten close enough for your heart to break.

You tossed and turned for days, blaming yourself then him, never able to make up your mind.

More and more, it seemed like nothing mattered. There had to be something he wasn’t telling you. You couldn’t change anything, even if you kept crying or hoping or overthinking. You had given up hope that he would simply turn up at your door.

Of course, you still wished he would.

It was Wednesday evening when you finally got what you wanted.

The sun had just barely set, bathing that spring day in a light navy that was destined to get darker. That’s when a knock echoed from your door and you found Steve’s apologetic eyes behind it.

As you looked at him, the emotions you felt through the week rewinded. Acceptance, dread, anger - denial, shame, sadness - it all ran through like rushing water, leaving you with a pounding heart and unsteady hands.

Your lips parted for no words to pass through them. He was getting uncomfortable under your stare so you dropped it to the floor and rebuilt your resolve.

“What are you doing here?”

“I really needed to see you.”

His voice wasn’t soft. It was almost demanding, the way he said it. Urgent.

“Can I come in?”

You didn’t reply; you turned and walked inside, expecting him to follow. Heavy footfall echoed in your hallway stalking you to your kitchen.

You kept your back to him because you didn’t have the energy for a face-off. You’d rather pretend to look interested in the newspaper that sat on the counter in front of you.

“What’s up?” you asked, playing nonchalant.

“I really don’t have a lot of time,” he said. You heard him tapping the marble kitchen island countertop.

“Okay…”

“I know you’re mad. I know I forgot to call, and I’ve been gone, but I can’t explain anything. Not right now, maybe… not ever.”

“Then… why are you here?” A genuine question.

“Because -”

A crack in his voice brought silence that was louder than a crowded room; one where you could hear his deep breathing stutter.

He was probably trying to find the right thing to say. Something that would make you forgive him instantly - words sweeter than a bouquet of flowers and an apology letter. You already decided you weren’t going to fall for it.

“Because I needed to see you. That’s it.”

“Steve.”

“Can you look at me? Please?” And it wasn’t urgency this time, but desperation.

You turned to face him but your gaze stuck to the floor. He planted himself on steel toed combat boots that you had never seen him wear before.

“I know you’re pissed off and I know it’s unfair, but can you pretend to not be? For two minutes? Because I - I didn’t come here to fix it. But I had to see you while I had time.”

It had you sneaking up his frame, curiosity taking the place of boldness as you put together the pieces of what he was wearing.

He looked dressed for war, or to go play pretend army man.

Dark green cargo pants that would have been too big without the tight belt tying them to his waist.

Some kind of kevlar vest was over the brown leather of a jacket with patches all down the arms, all of them representing something American militaristic.

Dirt coated fists, up to his wrists and you were sure passed. On his face from his ears to under his eyes, his forehead down to his neck.

His neck, a nasty welt wrapped all the way around it twice. Dark red in its obvious freshness, splotchy in a need to be cared for, cleaned, disinfected. It looked like he had gotten into something bad, and there were no clues for who had given him such an ugly injury.

You stared, and your nails cut your palms, and you spoke too loud when you said, “What did you do?”

He knew what you were referring to, looking down as if he could see it. You watched as his lips tried to form words of defense that never came.

“Did you - did you -”

“No.”

“Steve.”

“If I told you what happened, you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Tell me.”

“Next time I’m here, I’ll tell you everything. I promise.”

You hadn’t noticed you had stepped closer to him until you had his eyes in yours, looking at you like he meant every word.

“You’re scaring me, Steve.”

“I know. I know, I’m sorry.”

He checked his watch, then sighed.

He stuttered over his words like he didn’t know what he was saying. “We - Robin and some others, we’re - we’re - we’re going out of town tonight. I don’t know when I’ll be back. I’ll let you know, okay? I’ll call you.”

“I don’t understand -”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, honey, I’m sorry.” He rubbed at his eyes for a second, like he could buff out the stress in them. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

Your concern only grew as he took a small step backwards.

“Steve, you - can’t you just stay here with me? Why do you have to go?”

“I’ll be back soon. Don’t worry, okay?” It sounded like he was trying to soothe himself rather than you. “I’ll be back.”

You called his name, trying to stop him, but he turned from you.

“I won’t forget to call you this time, okay?”

You took those steps toward him, you reached out to grab him, but he walked out of your reach. When he got to the doorway, he stopped. He stood still for just a moment, and then he was turning again.

He looked like he had made a decision, and then he was coming back to you.

And when he was in reach, you took hold of him. You pulled him in and he was all around you, hugging the life out of you, trying to squeeze all the worry out of you.

You pulled away just enough to look at him. His jaw fit in the palm of your hand like you were his mold. You held him as gently as you could, and you pulled him in, and you didn’t stop pulling until his lips hit yours.

It was a kiss that should have happened days ago - maybe a long time before that. One that was brand new but still familiar; you could smell his cologne underneath leather, you felt his hands on your waist squeezing tight.

You kissed him only just, and you felt overwhelmed with how much emotion you were trying to pour into it.

When you pulled away, big hands held the sides of your face and brought you back. Your neck craned so he could kiss you how he wanted to for a second time; a messy mesh that made things feel okay, just for that moment.

And it didn’t last long enough, because nothing so good ever did. When he broke it off he dropped his hold on you and walked away, slowly and then too fast. And that was it, and he was gone, and you wanted to chase after him but you were stuck where you stood.

It wasn’t fair.

I needed to see you, he had said, but he couldn’t even give a reason. You had no idea how selfish he was being.

You wouldn’t even look at him. And when you did, it was like you were scared of him. And you were angry, and he couldn’t fix a fucking thing - not when the weight of this town was on his shoulders.

He wiped the taste of you off his lips and pulled on the winnebago’s door until it creaked open.

Because I may never see you again, is what he wanted to say. He wanted to give you a reason. He wanted to rip himself apart, there in your kitchen; show you the fresh wounds and the healed scars and the blood stains. He wanted to fall and cry and forget, without feeling bad for hoping you’d catch him.

He walked into that god awful RV, sat in the driver’s seat, and started driving without so much as a second thought.

And he was scared even though he couldn’t be. It was like his heart skipped a beat - he felt it falling out of his chest, into his stomach. A flash of cold crept up his spine until his hands were ice. Open wounds on his back, chest, arms all throbbed, drumming a beat that was fiercely alive. A reminder he appreciated.

A deep breath was all it took, and every punch he had ever thrown played in his mind. Every swing, strike, and scream. All of them landing back on him.

He’d do it all again, tonight, because he had to. He didn’t sign up for it. And it wasn’t fucking fair. But he made his choice, and this was it.

And this time, Steve didn’t know who would come out of it alive.

So maybe it was selfish to ask the group if he could make a pitstop at your house when there was something bigger looming. And maybe it was unfair, because nobody else got to say their just in case goodbyes.

But he wouldn’t feel bad. He couldn’t, because every time he closed his eyes he was being dragged underwater, he felt that bat’s tail tightening around his throat, he heard the sound of teeth digging into his own flesh.

It was that jolt of helplessness, all over again, ten times worse.

It was nobody coming to help him.

It was being left for dead, to rot in the stomach of monsters he couldn’t fight off.

He could hear his own last words.

And he saw Robin at your front door telling you what happened with no explanation. You asking questions that would never be answered - being angry at him forever, because he didn’t call like he said he would. He saw you living without him - himself dying without you.

But he opens his eyes, and he’s still here. Driving down a winding road to some place that might be the death of him and all his friends. And he’s still breathing, and he feels you holding him like he’s worth more than the dirt and blood he’s covered in, and it’s enough. It has to be.

…

You wondered if your lips would ever stop buzzing - if the butterflies in your stomach would finally die. Neither happened by morning, and you were sure you were cursed to feel them forever.

There was no sense to be made out of the conversation you had with Steve the night before. The army gear he wore was confusing enough - the wounds he had and the words he spoke had your mind going haywire.

And you could do nothing but wait, and ask yourself the same questions. You spent your time finding distractions and not thinking too hard.

One day turned into two, and missing him never got comfortable. Concern sat in your chest like a rock. You couldn’t even look in the direction of his house without a chill going up your spine, and you had to sleep with the radio on to keep your mind from racing.

You couldn’t think. You didn’t want to.

Because - what if he wasn’t coming back?

You didn’t know, but you really wished he would have taken you with him to wherever he was going. If he was running away, he should have known you’d want to go, too.

Two days turned into four.

You weren’t okay until you saw him again.

It was his car pulling up in front of your house. You were out checking the mailbox when you heard the sound of an engine; you glanced over your shoulder, not expecting it to be his car, but when you realized, it felt like you had been run over by it.

Mail landed on the grass as your slipper caught the curb. His door opened and you were there, already on him, bouncing on your toes to wrap yourself around his neck. He caught you.

“Where the fuck have you been?” You breathed the words out. “Oh my god.”

“I’m sorry,” but he didn’t sound it. He sounded happier than ever.

It was purely opposite to how he spoke to you days ago. The grim in his words was gone, as was the grime. He was clean, and he had slept, and he was right there in your arms.

“Sorry doesn’t fix it,” you said. You didn’t notice you were crying until you saw tears dripping into his sweater. “You aren’t leaving again.”

He wobbled around until you were pressed up against his car door, your hug becoming even tighter.

“I’m sorry. I’m not leaving, I promise.”

“Never,” you said, and he laughed. “What happened, Steve? Are you going to tell me?”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, and you found him with his eyes shut tight.

“No.”

The wound on his neck was more of a bruise, now, dark reds and purples painting his skin like a necklace. You wondered how long it would be there - if there’d always be a scar. Time would tell.

He continued, “No - not right now. I don’t want to talk about it,” and you pulled him back into you, hugging him tight. “Not yet.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” you said, offering the patience he was asking you for. “I don’t care. Just don’t scare me like that again.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “God, I’m so sorry. I’m so happy. Missed you so fucking much, you have no idea.”

You wondered if you could stand right there in the street hugging him forever. In his arms, til the end of time, letting cars drive by and the seasons change around you, nothing ever pulling you apart. Never having anything between you again.

“Stay with me tonight,” you said. It was quiet, and it was a desperate beg. “Please. Can you?”

“I don’t know...”

He was pulling back and you didn’t want him to, but the way his big hand held your face had you reeling.

“I’ll stay as long as I can.”

“Just one night?”

He was pushing your hair back like he wanted it out of the way - like he needed it out of your face so he could get a better look at you. And his eyes roamed over you like it was the first time he’d ever seen you.

“I want to. I have to check on Dustin, later, and Nance - and Max, in the morning.”

You shoved your face back into his shoulder. He was here, but he wasn’t here to stay. And he had no answers for your questions. And, maybe, he wasn’t going to kiss you again.

Is that why you had a funny feeling in the pit of your stomach? Is that what you were so afraid of?

You didn’t understand what he was going through, and he wasn’t helping you to.

Maybe you didn’t have to know, or it wasn’t your place, but you ached with a need to help him. Curiosity ate at you, and the weary way he spoke kept feeding it.

But there was nothing you could do. You had started getting used to that feeling.

So, “Okay,” you said. Because you couldn’t push, you couldn’t ask. It was easier for him if you didn’t argue, and that’s what he needed. Something easy.

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re pouting.”

“I’m not.”

He laughed, something real and cute, and it had a smile starting to stretch on your face.

“I know you are. I know you.” He was speaking right into your ear; his quiet voice was the only thing you could hear. His voice was the same as always, stoking the flames in your heart and smothering the ones in your stomach. “Let me see.”

“I’m not pouting,” and you pulled your smiling face from where it was hidden. You pulled out of his hold, catching both his hands in yours. “Are you gonna come in?”

“I was thinking about it,” he said. So you led him inside.

…

And you hoped beyond it all that the week would be nothing but a blip in time, but it didn’t seem like things would go back to normal any time soon.

If Steve was distant before, he was miles away now.

He was trying, but there was always something he wasn’t saying. You had no idea how to get it out of him even after spending every day with him.

You didn’t see Robin again until you had already gotten used to the April showers, and she offered nothing more than meek smiles and one word answers during your hang out.

You hadn’t seen Dustin at all. Erica, either. Sundays had become like any other day.

Steve hadn’t mentioned the girl, but he talked about Dustin sometimes. Every few days he’d say he was going to check on him - for a reason you didn’t know.

Max was in the hospital. Steve didn’t say the reason or how she was doing. But you knew that on the days he visited her, he left home early and got back real late. You gave him his space on those days.

And then it was May, and nothing had changed, and you had gotten used to it.

...

The nights were starting to get warmer, and Steve was grateful for it. He could sit out on his patio all night, with nothing but a hoodie and half a pack to get him to too late.

He’d made a habit out of it without noticing. Out of staying up until three every night. Out of losing count of the stars in the sky. Out of chain smoking until he couldn’t hold his eyes open.

He used to be scared of the dark. When he was a kid, it was the only fear he could fathom. And, recently, it terrified him.

Now, he looked over his backyard, into the stretch of forest beyond it, and he didn’t feel a thing. If there was something hiding in the shadows, something he should be afraid of, it’d have to show itself first.

He wasn’t wasting any more time being afraid of story book monsters that might exist, because he knows what fear is now. He’s looked it in its eye, and he’s felt it punching him in the face, and he’s heard it screaming his name for help.

If it was dark all the time, Steve wouldn’t mind one bit.

And then his patio door was sliding open, and he felt his heart in his throat.

Maybe he wasn’t as tough as he thought.

“Hey.”

Your voice cut through the pounding.

“I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in.”

“No, it’s okay.” He grabbed his pack of cigarettes and shoved it up his sleeve, feeling a need to hide them from you - even though he had one tucked behind his ear that he was sure you could see.

“What are you doing out here?”

You sat with him, crouching down and getting as comfortable as you could on the wooden porch. He watched you fold your arms into yourself.

“Getting some peace and quiet,” he said. “No jacket?”

“Didn’t think you’d be outside,” you said. “Should I go get one?”

He was already getting up before you could finish asking. He brought you a jacket and a blanket, and got himself a Coke. Better than beer, he figured.

You grabbed all three from him. “How’d you know I was thirsty?”

All he did was grin at you. He slid the door shut behind him, and then sat down against it, across from you. You were sitting too close for him to stretch his legs out; he kept them bent, his arms slung over his knees.

Now that you were here, his thoughts weren’t the loudest thing in his head. You had always been like that - too noisy to let the quiet smother him. Most times, he appreciated that.

It wasn’t helping now, though. Your tapping on the ground and the tune you hummed weren’t drowning out a thing.

He couldn’t stop fucking thinking.

You passed him the soda can, and he held it lazily between his bent knees.

He didn’t even want it. He wasn’t thirsty. Really, he only wanted to light the cigarette you hadn’t spotted yet.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

He stared at the chipped paint under his feet. His teeth gnawed at the inside of his cheek, over and over at the same spot until it was bleeding. And, god, it was a familiar taste. One that made him sick.

He tossed his head back and it hit the glass with a thud. He looked at you, once, and then passed you. At the rippling water in the pool.

He stared at it. Stared and stared and stared, until he had to say something.

“Do you remember when Will Byers went missing?”

He wanted to see the reaction on your face, but he couldn’t look away from the water. He could see that night, the party, and what happened afterward.

“Yeah… our junior year, right?”

He gave a barely there nod.

“It was Will, and then it was Barb.”

He looked to his lap, but he was still seeing that fucking night. He saw the blood in Barb’s hand, and he heard the hurt in her voice, and he remembered not caring at all.

“Fuck. It’s all so fucked up.”

He didn’t care when he should’ve, and now it’s useless. It doesn’t matter if he cares or not, but he wants to rip his fucking heart out, anyway. He wants to go back in time and do it all over again, even if it would lead to a disaster. Even if it would change everything or nothing.

And he shouldn’t be so upset about it, because it doesn’t make a difference. Not anymore. He could be as careless as he wants, now, because no one is around to be hurt by it.

“Why are you thinking about that, Steve?”

“Because that’s when all this shit started.”

He spoke without thinking, words falling out of his mouth like a running faucet, because he didn’t have the energy to keep a secret anymore.

It started with Barb, but it didn’t end with her. Or with Billy. Or Hopper, or Chrissy - and, maybe, not with Eddie.

And how many others had been taken in between?

His throat felt tight; he coughed through it. He sat the Coke between his feet, and realized his lighter was there, too.

He brought a palm to his eyes. “You wouldn’t even believe me if I told you. It’s - it’s fucking unbelievable, but it’s all true.”

“Steve.”

“It’s stupid.”

“You can tell me.”

He was getting overwhelmed. His breaths started to stagger on top of each other, making it hard to catch even one. Tears welled in his eyes as he squeezed them shut. It was all too much - he needed to get it out.

Because nothing between you and him would ever be normal if he never stopped hiding this from you. What, was he going to hide his scars from you forever? Or never explain why he didn’t sleep at night? Would all of his weapons be excused away as decorations?

No - he wanted to let you in.

“It’s all so fucking stupid.”

He was laughing, and you must have thought he was fucking crazy.

“Barb - she was here that night.”

“What?”

“This is the last place she was seen. And I just acted like it wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t care, even when I found out she was missing.”

And he felt like an open fucking wound; the still healing rips on his torso leaking blood, too much for his shirt to absorb. His head throbbing, his eye swollen shut. Iron in his mouth, on his fists, pooling around him. Something wrapped around his throat. Bile filling it. He hadn’t healed. His injuries were all still there.

“And I show up to Jonathan Byers’ house, and I knock on his door, and I knew - I fucking knew something was wrong. Like, seriously wrong. And I forced Nancy to let me in, and I didn’t run when they told me to. And I should have just fucking listened.”

He thought about Barb, Billy, Chrissy, Jason, Eddie. All of them, victims to the thing he’s had nightmares about for years, and he can’t stop his first thought: I’m just glad it wasn’t me.

But it’s the thought that comes after that he keeps getting hung up on: Should it have been?

“I don’t know what they said about Will. I don’t know what excuse they made up, or what you think happened - if he was lost in the forest, or - or if he ran away, but none of it is true. He disappeared. He wasn’t here anymore. He was gone - literally, gone. In another dimension. Literally.”

Steve couldn’t know if you were understanding - if you were even capable of believing something so unreal. But you had to. You had to know. He’d been carrying around this secret, and it was the biggest thing in his life.

Because he wanted to. Because he loved you. He wants you to love him - to understand who you’re loving.

“Whatever you think about all the shit that happens in Hawkins… they say it’s a curse, or whatever, but - you don’t know the half of it. You don’t know any of it. It’s not a curse. It’s just a coincidence. If it didn’t happen in Hawkins, it would have happened somewhere else.”

You still hadn’t said anything. You just sat there, staring at your hands in your lap. Steve wasn’t sure if he appreciated the silence or not, but he wasn’t used to it.

“Will went missing. And a girl showed up. Eleven. El. You’ve seen her with Mike, or Max. You know her. You know Hawkins Lab? That’s where she grew up. She’s not just some girl, she’s - she’s someone’s science experiment. She’s got psychic powers. I’m not kidding.”

“What?”

There it was - the tilt in your voice that told him you didn’t believe a damn thing, and he didn’t blame you.

And he laughed.

“I swear.”

“Psychic powers, like…?”

He grabbed the Coke and took a long drink over a smile. He was looking at you like this was something casual.

“I’ve seen her lift a car with her mind,” and he shrugged with it. The can rang on the floor; you picked it up and took a drink.

You said nothing, and Steve felt like he was retelling a movie plot rather than his own life. It wasn’t a good feeling.

“I don’t know what they were doing in the lab, but they - I don’t know. They opened a gate into another dimension. One just like Hawkins, but fucked up beyond belief. The Upside Down. That’s where Will went. It’s where Barb died. It’s where all your nightmares go to turn into spit soaked monsters, probably.”

He pulled down his cigarette and rolled it back and forth between his fingers, digging his thumb’s nail into the filter. It was some old menthol crush, the last of its pack that he’d bummed at a party a few weeks back. He hated the way it stung the back of his throat, hated the taste it left in his mouth even more. The Marlboro Reds burned a hole in his hoodie sleeve where they were still hidden. Those smoked better - they were fresher, smoother.

“Dustin comes up with these insane sounding names for all the shit that comes out of that place. Demogorgans. Demodogs.” He had to chuckle and roll his eyes at himself. “The Mind Flayer. That’s what wrecked Starcourt.”

“The mall?”

Steve nodded.

“You said it was a fire.”

“I lied.”

“Then what was it?”

He put the menthol between his lips. He hated the mint, but he always cracked the capsule, anyway. Someone told him it was bad luck not to.

He stared at you, and he wrapped his teeth around the cigarette filter. His jaw tensed with a bite. It popped, and he grabbed his lighter, and he didn’t look away from you.

And then he got into it. He told you about Dustin hearing Russian being spoken over his radio. And how he learned how smart Robin really is, when she translated the words and then understood the secret message they were relaying. He explained how they’d gotten Erica to sneak into the air vents, and how that led to all four of them sneaking into a storage room that turned into a sinking elevator.

He told you about the Russians, about how they were opening their own gate. He told you about getting kidnapped by them, and all the ways they had made those few hours hell.

He didn’t spare the details, because he was tired of downplaying it all. And in that bunker, he thought he was dead. He shouldn’t have to tiptoe around that.

And he told you about the drug they’d given him and Robin, and how he would be dead if it wasn’t for Dustin and Erica, and how fucking scared he was even after he got out.

And they got out, and then he was driving a car straight into Billy fucking Hargrove, and then all of them were fighting something that looked bigger than the entire sky.

And he doesn’t know how he remembers it all so clearly.

“And then it was over… and I called you.” He still hadn’t lit his smoke - it’d been hanging from his lips the whole time he spoke.

You stared at him like you were trying to find his missing pieces. Glass coated your eyes and worry wormed its way between your brows, and Steve hated it. He wasn’t telling you any of this so you’d feel bad. He didn’t want you crying for him, or at all.

He laughed only just. “And you had no idea what you were picking me up from.”

You breathed in a loose sniffle. “No shit.”

Scratch, rip, hit -

Scratch, rip, hiss.

A flame lit up his face as tobacco started to burn. Nasty numbing mint chilled his throat as he puffed out his chest, and he held in a cough on the exhale.

He held the lighter loose in the air, between his raised knees.

“Do you believe me?”

“I don’t believe you could make any of that up.”

“I’m sorry I never told you.” Mumbled words were barely heard over the scratch, rip, hit as he played with the Bic like a toy. And he didn’t sound all too sorry - he sounded tired.

Wind ripped through the night and carried smoke and ash with it.

“What about spring break?”

He looked up at you. “What?”

“Spring break,” you said again. You looked down from his eyes to his neck, where shadows of a bruised scar remained. “Something else happened, didn’t it?”

Somehow, in the reminiscing of fights past, he’d forgotten about everything most recent. That was the only way he could forget about it - by thinking about all the shit that came before.

He nodded. “Yeah,” he said, redundant answers easier to give than an explanation. Listening to the scratch, rip, hiss, watching a flickering flame, breathing in more smoke.

He let go of fidgeting with the lighter to pull the cigarette from his mouth. He exhaled smoke then hit it again; he held the hit so long that what he breathed out was thin.

And as he ashed his cigarette, he decided he didn’t want to get into it. He didn’t want to replay those events like a story. So, again, he said, “Yeah.”

“What happened?” It wasn’t a push - Steve appreciated the concern you had.

“Same as always. It was a fight. It’s… it’s supposed to be over now. Really over.”

He remembered it like it was yesterday: setting Vecna aflame that caught all of The Upside Down with it. The whole place burned, from its vines to its crumbled buildings to the monsters in the sky. The gates closed themselves like they had never been open.

And it was over, even if it was too late.

“The Upside Down is gone. It should be. Hopefully. But… I was lucky to get out. Some of us didn’t.” He shrugged, like it was casual. He stared at the cherry on the cigarette, burning bright orange.

And he couldn’t keep talking, even though he knew what part came next. He knew what words he had to say. But he couldn’t.

It seemed you caught on enough, because you said them for him. “Max?”

He clenched his jaw so hard it hurt, holding back tears he’d already cried before.

“She’s been in a coma since,” he said. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“But you’ve seen her?”

His response came hesitant. “I’ve tried,” and he wanted to leave it at that, so no cries came after, but his mouth kept talking. “Robin goes in. I can’t even make myself get out of the damn car.”

All he felt was shame, but he swallowed it.

“You heard about Chrissy Cunningham?”

“Yeah.”

“It wasn’t Eddie Munson who killed her.” You nodded - Steve figured you understood what he meant enough to spare the details. “Eddie - god, Eddie would’ve died for her. He would’ve died for anybody. He died for this fucking town.”

Another pull from the smoke that was almost gone. Breathe in, breathe out.

“He was a dumbass. A freak - a fucking idiot.” He wished Eddie was listening to him - Steve wanted him to hear all the insults he was throwing his way, because they were all true. It was stupid the way Eddie died. He shouldn’t have.

“And Dustin’s been a mess ever since, and there’s nothing I can do. Robin’s a bigger wreck than she used to be. No one’s handling it.”

“How are you handling it?”

And Steve didn’t know how to answer. He wasn’t sure he had one.

“I’m fine.” He wasn’t lying - he was fine. Somewhere between good and bad, coping through flashbacks and nightmares. He wasn’t lost in it. He was dealing.

“Steve…”

The last drag from his barely there cigarette burned hot, and he savored the pull until his lungs were full. He didn’t empty them until he stood up, and he looked around for the ashtray.

His words were smoke. “Do you want to go in? It’s late.”

He found it on the table, stubbed out the cigarette, and then he stuffed the hidden pack into his pocket.

You repeated his name behind him, and he ignored you. And then your hand was on his back, and you were pulling him in before he could hear you coming.

It was a tight hug he had to fight out of just so he could turn and reciprocate. His arms around your shoulders were just as tight as yours around his waist.

“I’m sorry.” It was a whisper he didn’t even know he was breathing out, until he was repeating it into your hairline. “I had to tell you. I needed you to know. I’m sorry.”

Your response was muddy, spoken into his shoulder. He laughed and pulled back enough to look at you.

“What?”

“Don’t say sorry.” You wore a grumpy look, your words were demanding, and Steve laughed some more. “Why are you laughing? Stop.”

“Because you’re funny.” His thumb smoothed out the worry between your brows and put them back where they belonged. “And really cute.”

You pressed your cheek into his chest. “I’m being serious. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Yeah. Me too, believe me.”

A kiss on your forehead had you squeezing him tighter, and he ignored how tender the injuries on his back and stomach were. They were just barely forming scars, but the way you hugged him had him feeling like they weren’t even there. It made him feel special. He felt better.

So he kissed your skin again and willed himself to tamper the thoughts of when he was kissing your lips instead. “Let’s go in, honey.” He pulled you loose from him.

It seemed like you had a realization, then; your eyes went wide and you looked at him like you couldn’t stop. “That’s why you came to see me that night - because…”

You trailed off, maybe not knowing what to say, and Steve wasn’t sure where to pick up. He could tell you the suffocating truth, or a less embarrassing lie.

Something in between, “Because I needed to.”

“I didn’t know it was that serious,” you said. “I mean - I knew there was something really wrong, but… I didn’t know - I didn’t think that could be our first and last kiss - I didn’t know you could’ve died.”

“I wasn’t trying to scare you. You weren’t supposed to think that.” He felt bad, but he didn’t regret the visit. “And, technically - it was our first and second kiss.”

You breathed a laugh as your forehead fell into the crook of his neck. “I hate your technicalities.”

He laughed, too, and the joy helped distract him from the anxiety running through him.

He thought about that kiss every day - about how he made sure to do it twice, all because he wasn’t going to die without getting to kiss you a second time. Once wasn’t enough, so he took the second without any time passing.

But he wouldn’t tell you any of that. He was scared to know how you’d feel about it.

That’s why he hasn’t brought it up until now. Until you said something first.

He pulled away from you again, really meaning to bring you inside this time because he hated having you out so late. But he froze when he saw tears on your lash line, looking like crystals clinging to your eyelashes.

He swore he felt his heart break. “Sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t cry - hey, don’t cry for me, alright? I’m right here, honey, hey.”

He crouched down to be eye level with you and he sat on the table behind him. He cradled your face - you tried pulling away, but he wouldn’t let you.

“If you would’ve told me the truth, I never would have let you go.” You spoke so sadly.

“I know. I know, honey, but you don’t have to think about it anymore - it��s okay. There’s nothing to cry about.”

Tears were still falling, and you were still mumbling through them. “I would’ve kissed you more if I knew you might not come back.”

And he needed you to stop crying. He’d do anything - he’d confess all his feelings right there, if that’s what it took.

“I was always coming back. I’m right here, you got me, look at me.”

You shook your head but did what he said; he was wiping your tears with his sleeve, chuckling through the ache in his chest.

“You think I was gonna kiss you then go get myself killed? No shot. What’d you think I was living for, huh?”

“That’s not funny, Steve.” But you were smiling.

“I’m not trying to be.” He was smiling, too. “I mean it. Nothing would keep me from coming back to you, alright? I’m right here - you can keep me forever, I’ll kiss you as much as you want, just stop crying.”

“I can’t help it.” You wiped your nose and squeezed your eyes closed, and it looked like your breathing was steadier. “Do you mean it?”

“Which part?”

“I can keep you forever?”

“Of course.”

And he watched your cheeks swell into a smile you tried to hide. “And you’ll kiss me?”

He had no idea how to be charming or sly underneath your gaze, so he wasn’t. Instead, he was a stuttering, shy, lovesick fool.

“I - I mean, yeah - yeah, if you… want me to, I guess - I mean, I definitely want to, so - it’s up to you?”

He didn’t even care if he sounded like an idiot, because that’s exactly what he was. And you knew it.

“Obviously I want you to, Steve.”

His thumb pressed into your cheek. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Obviously, huh?”

He was obsessed with your smile, addicted to feeling it grow into his palm.

“I’ve only been sending signals for months, but you haven’t caught any of them.”

“Oh, I’ve caught them, alright - was just waiting for the right moment.”

“Like right now?”

And, just like the first time, you kissed him. It was as soft as it could possibly be. Two smiles meeting after too long apart, his hands on your face, yours on his chest.

He pulled away, then brought you back to him, tilting your chin so he could kiss you for real. He moved his lips and yours followed his lead.

Your fingers crawled up and up until they were sneaking behind his neck, getting lost in his hair. He tugged you closer - your body was flush against his.

He felt you everywhere; you stood between his legs, your chest and his were rising and falling with each other.

Behind his closed eyes, he was in another world. He saw you pulling him in close, he felt your hand tightening around his, he heard your voice calling out his name.

He heard himself telling you every secret he’d ever kept. He saw the house he’d build for you, and the bed he’d sleep in with you, and the ring he’d give you. He saw it all.

It was heart racing.

It was wanting to be with you forever.

It was you wanting to be with him, too.

And then you pulled away.

And he opened his eyes.

And you were right there in front of him, smiling just for him to see, and he felt like melting into a puddle.

“You’ll kiss me as much as I want, right? Is that what you said?”

God, he wanted to squeeze you like a stuffed animal - you drove him crazy. Absolutely batshit insane.

He pulled you back in with both hands on your face and kissed you something awful - pressing against you hard, making sure to leave your lips glossy when he pulled back to laugh.

“Just like that, as much as you want.”

“Never again.”

It was funny when you tugged away from him. Both of you were laughing, but he couldn’t take it. You weren’t getting far.

“Don’t leave, it’s what you wanted!”

He chased behind and it was quick when he caught you, right at the patio door. He turned you around and pressed you into the glass, and he kissed you again like he couldn’t help it - because he couldn’t.

The way you kissed was new, and he already loved it, but he ached to know you. To know just how to get you to open up for him, to learn how to kiss you exactly as you liked.

He would figure it out - he wouldn’t stop until he did. And he’d make do for the moment, leading the way through your shyness, not letting anything stop him.

Your lips parted after enough convincing, and with your open mouth against his it was impossible for him to hold back the noise he made. A groan, or a growl, he wasn’t sure - but it had you whining back to him as he tasted your tongue.

It was hot but it was slow, and there was nothing Steve wouldn’t give for it to last forever. Despite that, he broke first.

“As much as you want,” he told you, speaking low, words scratched with something rough. “God, I’d kiss you forever if you let me, baby - however you wanted me to.”

“Forever?”

“As long as you’ll let me,” he grinned. “As long as you’ll keep me.”

“I’ve already had you around for a while…”

“Not like this,” he insisted. “At least let me get good at kissing you before you throw me out on the curb.”

“You’re already good,” you said, kissing his jaw.

He hummed, teasing. “Let me get better, then. Gotta get up to par with you, honey.”

“What can I say? I’ve had a lot of kissing practice, babe.”

He rolled his eyes, acting dramatic. “Oh, I bet you have, babe.”

“Like you haven’t had your practice, too, honey.”

“Okay - let’s stop bringing up the past, alright?” He tugged the glass door open behind you, then pushed you through it. Laughter filled his house as the door shut behind him.

“You started it!”

“I literally didn’t! You brought up your hours of practice!”

“I never said it was hours!”

“I’m filling in the blanks!”

“Oh my god.” You were making quick steps to the stairs - he followed like a lost dog.

“Is this our first fight?”

You were halfway up the staircase when you turned and looked down to him, still stood at the bottom. The lighting around you was dim and your grin was blinding him. “Only if you don’t let me sleep over tonight.” Your hands were on your hips, your eyes were drawing him in. “And this isn’t our first fight. Our first fight was over a Snickers bar.”

“And I don’t think we ever made up, now that I think about it.”

He took the stairs two at a time to get to you, and he gave you his smuggest grin.

“Really? We’re still fighting over it?”

“Til the end of time,” he stated. “But I can look past our differences just for tonight.”

“That gives me time to make it up to you.”

...

Did you know everything about Steve Harrington?

You thought you did. You spent years believing it.

You knew more about him than the average person, sure - but how could you have been so smug? How could you act like such a know it all?

You learn new things about him every day, now. Even when you thought there was nothing left that you didn’t know.

As it turns out, you knew next to nothing about him. And you liked it that way. It made doing life with him that much more exciting.

You sat with him now in the passenger seat of his car. The morning sun cast everything in gold, making the day feel brand new. You watched as he tapped his finger on the steering wheel, making a terrible beat.

He kept shaking his head back and forth, and you only just realized that you had noticed him doing it before. It was a nervous tick. It never stood out to you until now - something new.

“Are you okay?”

He seemed to freeze at the sound of your voice, as if he had forgotten you were even there.

“Yeah, I’m alright.”

You took his hand and brought it up to your lips.

He continued, “I don’t know if I can do this,” and he looked out the window rather than at you.

You squeezed his hand tight. “I know you can, baby. You did it last week.”

“It was fucking hard.”

“It’ll be easier this time. Why won’t you look at me, babe?”

He did; his eyes were down turned and sad.

You kissed his hand again. “You don’t have to force yourself, Steve. If it’s really too hard -”

“I have to. I know I do.”

You gave him a sad smile, then sat up and across the console to kiss his cheek. He leaned into it, and you lingered there. “You’ll be proud of yourself. I’ll be proud of you.”

“I know.”

You turned his face toward yours, and he was nothing but stressed. “Are you sure you’re okay, Steve? It’s okay if you can’t push yourself today.”

He sighed loud, and you knew he was trying to be overdramatic. “I’m okay, honey. I just… get like this.”

You giggled, “I know.”

“I can’t help it.”

“I know, babe,” and you pressed your lips against his quick. “You’re okay. I’ll be out here the whole time waiting, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you.”

You handed him the bouquet of flowers and bag of snacks from your lap. “Lucas is expecting you.” You passed him a stack of old books, ones Steve had picked from your collection that he thought Lucas and Max would enjoy.

He took them, and then he kissed you again, just for the sake of it. “Thank you.”

He opened his door, and as he stepped out of the car, you found three words on the tip of your tongue threatening to fall out of your mouth - and you slapped a hand over your lips when you realized what they were.

When he shut the door and you were out of the danger zone, you breathed a deep sigh of relief.

You were nervous because of him.

That was new, too.

You watched through the windshield as he walked toward the hospital doors, and you said those three words to yourself, and tucked that new discovery into your back pocket.

It was all new horizons with Steve, from there on out.

He was brand new to you, and you absolutely loved him for it.

part one!

thank u for reading. kiss

#if anyone sees this haiii :3 #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington one shot #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things x you #fluff #angst #my writing

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