#curtain rod over front door

[too-deviant]

mdni 🃏

stepbro!luke / voyeurism / so perv!luke but also perv!reader

you’ve just moved into your new house — both your dad and may thought it would be good to have a fresh start in a new place. it was nice, in a cute neighbourhood. you and luke got to pick your own rooms, and were left to your own devices when your father and stepmother went for date night.

your name echoed softly along the silence of the hall. you poked your head out of your doorway, looking right into luke’s across from you and meeting his eyes. he was stood in front of his window, staring out at whatever was on the other side.

“what?”

“c’mere.” he beckoned you with his fingers and you were quick to step out onto the soft plush carpet of his room. he hadn’t done much decorating — his bed was made, and he’d hung his mirror up. everything else was in its boxes. “look.”

you sidled up next to him, eyes tracking his gaze out the window and to the house next door. it was nice, around the same layout as yours despite the obvious differences decor-wise.

for example, they had their bed against the middle of the back wall, whereas luke’s was tucked into the corner. you knew this solely because the moment you glanced through the double paned glass of both your windows, your neighbour was bending his wife over at the hips and taking her from behind.

your lips parted as he adjusted his grip on her sides and began to piston roughly. you couldn’t hear anything but judging by the look on her face, he was doing the right thing.

“holy shit.”

“i know, right?” luke smirked at you, “mr and mrs smith are freaky.”

“i’m pretty sure their last name is burgenhoose.” you inputted, raising a brow when mr burgenhoose slapped his wife hard on the ass. she moaned, luke whistled.

“whatever. i’m sure burgenhoose isn’t the name she’s screamin’ right about now, huh?” he chuckled, “what d’ya think it is? looks like…rob? rod? bo —“

“god.” you breathed, muttering, “oh god.”

he hummed in agreement, nodding at you. you didn’t bother to look, eyes fixed firmly on the way your neighbour was gripping his wife’s chin and pulling her back against his chest. luke narrowed his eyes at you, and went to say something, but your eyes widened and you gasped, grabbing his arm and yanking him into a crouch under the windowsill.

“what the hell was that for?” he exclaimed.

“shh!” you put a finger to your lips, lifting yourself up an inch and poking your eyes just over the frame of the window, “i swear she looked at me.”

he smirked at you evilly, “we don’t have to be quiet. we can’t hear them, they aren’t gonna hear us.”

“whatever.” you kept watching.

“damn.” he glanced up and down your frame — at your fingers gripping the windowsill, your overall position. “i didn’t take you for a voyeur, but i’m into it.”

“what — ?”

it was his turn to hush you then, “don’t worry about it. stay there.”

you didn’t protest. you kept looking, watching as he kissed down her neck and bit her ear lobe. you let out a shaky breath, “we’re sick. sick people.”

“they left their curtains open.” luke whispered, suddenly behind you. his hands settled on your hips, “seems to me like they want us to see ‘em.”

“luke —“ your breath caught in the back of your throat when luke began to kiss down your neck. his fingers drifted along the waistband of your shorts, dipping inside for only a second before coming back out.

“tell me what they’re doing.”

you licked your lips, hands tense around the wood you balanced yourself on, watching your neighbours fuck. his arm had wrapped around her waist as he rolled his hips into her ass and her head had dropped down onto his shoulder. you whispered the details like a secret, and luke complied to your every word. his clothed crotch rubbed against your backside and he let out a long breath into your ear.

“this is…” you swallowed, this is bad.”

luke didn’t reply, he just made his movements more defined. the wet patch that had been forming on your panties the moment you began to watch grew bigger. wetter. you moved back into him with a breathy moan. his free hand was on your hip, moving slowly down the back of your legs and pushing them ever so slightly apart so he could get more efficient friction.

your movements got faster. uncoordinated. messy. your forehead dropped against the windowsill and you circled your hips against his fervently, moaning towards the carpet beneath you. he moved his hands to your shorts, pushing them down roughly along with your underwear that peeled away from your cunt. you hissed when the cold air hit your sensitive clit, and you throbbed in anticipation, bringing your hand to your chest and squeezing your boob with a huff.

luke’s hand came round to yours, pulling it away from yourself and steadying it back on the windowsill with a smack. that same hand then took your hair into its grip and yanked your head back, forcing your eyes back on the couple that were banging next door, “tell me if it changes.”

and that’s how you ended up on top of him, swinging your hips back and forth with your hands in the same position as before — only this time, luke’s head was nestled between them. his hands gripped your asscheeks roughly, guiding you back and forth, up and down, this way and that. your moans kept fogging up the window and you kept having to wipe your hand across the glass so you could keep watching the neighbours. when she got faster, so did you. when he slapped her ass, you said again and luke did the same.

when mrs burgenhoose came, legs trembling and head thrown back — so did you. luke wasn’t too far behind, thrusting up into you when you’d slowed your own movements. the neighbours started cuddling softly, but you just pulled the curtains to and let luke carry you to his bed.

first night in the new house. had to break it in, right?

#this is so nasty #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan smut

[morbific-or-felicific]

-AGNOSTHESIA PART 2 Featuring Scaramouche & Kazuha

Part 1 Part 2

Meaning: The state of not knowing how you really feel about something, which forces you to sift through clues hidden in your behaviour, as if you were some other person

Word Count: 2k~

Description: A study session at Scaramouche’s dorm end with you getting fucked my him and his roommate(Kazuha)

Edited By: @pretty-princess-peach

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You were shivering slightly as you knocked on the door. It was pouring outside, and you had gotten absolutely soaked when you had run over to your boyfriend's dorm building for your study session. You would have grabbed an umbrella or something, but you thought you would be fine with just a hoodie.

Scaramouche opened the door and somehow already looked upset.

“Do you not own an umbrella?”

“I didn’t think I would need it…”

“You’re an idiot. You know that, right?”

“Shut up and let her in, Scaramouche.”

Kazuha was sitting on the couch reading and apparently didn’t feel like dealing with Scaramouche’s idiocy. Scaramouche rolled his eyes and moved aside so you could come in, and Kazuha returned to his book. You set down your bag by one of the couches, and another shiver ran through you. Your boyfriend sighed.

“You’re going to get sick. Go get in the shower. I’ll put some clothes in the bathroom for you.”

He didn’t even give you a chance to respond. He just went to his room to look for something dry for you to wear. You sighed. You didn’t really have a choice, and he was probably right anyway, so you made your way to the bathroom without any protest.

Scaramouche was definitely right. The warm water was making you feel a lot better. As the water flowed down your body, you looked around the shower. You had showered at their dorm before, but every time, the duality of the products in there cracked you up. There was Scaramouche’s two-in-one shampoo and conditioner along with his two-in-one face and body wash. Then there was Kazuha's array of colour protecting hair products, hair masks, exfoliating scrubs, and an almost empty bottle of red hair dye that had no business being in the shower.

When you were done warming up, you got out of the shower and dried off your hair the best you could before putting on the pair of sweatpants and the t-shirt that was miraculously too big for you. Then you hung up all of your clothes, as well as your bra, on the shower curtain rod to dry before heading back to the living room.

Kazuha was sitting in the same spot as before, reading his book, but now there was a cup of tea on the coffee table in front of him. Across from him, Scaramouche had a cup placed in front of where he was seated as well. You noticed that there was one next to him that was probably meant for you.

You grabbed your bag, sat next to your boyfriend, and started pulling out your textbooks and your notebook, placing them in a pile on the coffee table. Scaramouche raised his eyebrows disapprovingly at your actions.

“Are you sure you’re ready to start studying?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

You were a little confused. You had warmed up in the shower and were wearing dry clothes. What more could he want you to do?

“I think he’s just worried that you haven’t warmed up enough yet.”

Kazuha made his comment without looking up from his book.

“Baby, I’m dry now. I'm all good. Don't worry.”

There was a smug little smile on Scaramouche’s lips that gave you a bad feeling.

“But are you warmed up?”

“Y'know,” Kazuha was still staring at his book. “You really have to make sure that you’ve completely warmed up.”

You rolled your eyes at the two of them.

“Okay, give me a blanket or something.”

Scaramouche’s smile grew. He picked up your bag and moved it onto the floor next to the couch.

“Why don’t you get on my lap?”

You turned bright red. What was he thinking? Kazuha was right there! You could see him gently smiling behind his book, which just made it all the more mortifying.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure Kazuha wouldn’t mind, right?”

Kazuha finally set down his book and looked you in the eye.

“Not at all.”

“But, we can’t, that’s-”

Scaramouche kissed you, effectively cutting you off.

You stared at him with wide eyes as he pulled away before speaking.

“Just relax and let us warm you up. Okay, dummy?”

You blushed, looking down at your hands. You nodded.

“Use your words.”

“Okay…”

“Come on, say it like you normally would. Tell Kazuha what you call me.”

Your blush intensified and you couldn’t get yourself to look at either of them. You sat there, quietly trying to get yourself to speak, but you just couldn’t.

Scaramouche got bored of your silence and grabbed your face, squishing your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. He narrowed his eyes at you.

“Speak.”

“Sorry, master…”

Scaramouche’s face morphed back into a pleased expression, and he released your face.

“Good girl.”

Kazuha was watching the two of you, eyes sparkling with fascination.

“Wow, she really is a good little slut. You weren’t lying.”

Kazuha’s kind tone while degrading you drove you insane.

“Come on, are you going to disobey me?”

“No. Sorry, master.”

You started climbing onto his lap, but before you could, he stopped you.

“Actually, stand up. I want you to strip for us.”

“What…?”

“Are you going to disobey me, pet?”

“No, Master. I’m sorry.”

You stood up, facing Scaramouche, and started undoing the bow on the sweatpants you had borrowed. They dropped to your feet, and you pulled your panties down after them. You felt yourself turn even more red, if that was even possible. Next, you pulled your t-shirt over your head, bracing for the fact that there was nothing covering your boobs at the moment. Scaramouche let out an appreciative hum at your obedience. It was embarrassing enough when you were naked in front of just your boyfriend, but being naked in front of him and his best friend while they were fully clothed? It was humiliating.

“Come here. Now.”

You went to straddle his lap, but once again, you were stopped.

“Turn around and face Kazuha. You want him to have a good view, don’t you?”

You looked at the ground, still bright red as you turned around to face Kazuha. You sat back on your boyfriend's lap, and you felt his hands slide up your sides.

“I’m going to fuck you, and he is going to watch the entire time. Then I’m going to let him fuck you.”

You nodded, still not making eye contact with the man sitting across from you. You felt your boyfriend reach between your legs.

“Hah, you’re so fucking wet.”

“I think the desperate whore wants us to fuck her.”

You whined at Kazuha’s sweet tone mixed with his degrading words.

A moan escaped your lips when you felt your boyfriend start to draw circles on your clit. Scaramouche moved his fingers back so they were lined up with your hole and pushed them inside. Again, you couldn’t help the moan that escaped you as he fucked his fingers in and out of you. When he added a third finger, your moans became more desperate, needing something more than his fingers inside of you so badly.

“Huh, she really does sound pathetic.”

“I’m not- ah!”

You were cut off by your boyfriend using his other hand to play with your clit, all while fucking you.

“‘Ah, mmm hah, I can’t- mmm, feels so good!’”

Scaramouche mocked your moans egged on by kazuha’s comment.

“You’re close, but you don’t sound as worthless.”

Your boyfriend threw his head back laughing, clearly enjoying himself.

He stopped playing with you and placed his hands on your hips. He lifted you up until you were just kneeling over him. You heard him fiddling with his pants and knew what was coming next, or at least, you thought you did. However, before you could sit down on your boyfriend’s cock, you felt the whole world shift, and all of a sudden, you were face down, ass up, on the couch.

“Scaramouche. What are you- ahhhh!”

He pulled you up by your hair until your back was against his chest.

“Fleshlights don’t talk.”

With that, he pushed you back down onto the couch. Your face was somehow still pointed towards Kazuha, so you made an attempt to turn it away. Immediately, you felt a smack on your ass, making you yelp.

“Fleshlights don’t move either.”

You wanted to apologize, but you were afraid of what would happen if you spoke without permission.

Your boyfriend lined himself up with you and pushed inside in one stroke, making your face scrunch up and causing you to let out a pained whine. He didn’t give you any time to adjust before he started fucking you hard and fast, making your closed eyes shoot open.

The first thing you noticed when your eyes opened back up was Kazuha watching you intently as he languidly stroked his cock. You made eye contact with him, and he smiled gently at you. He continued to stare you down as Scaramouche started drawing fast circles on your clit, and your moans got even louder.

“Fuck, you’re really getting off to me fucking you in front of my best friend? You’re such a whore.”

He hauled you up again, this time with his hand around your throat. He tightened his grip and whispered in your ear.

“I bet you’re excited to get fucked by him. You want me to watch as you fuck my best friend like the little whore you are?”

His words mixed with the rush of him choking you pushed you over the edge. Your whole body tensed up, and you had to bite your lip hard to stop the little scream that was trying to make its way out of your throat.

“Oh fuck.”

Your boyfriend moaned at the feeling of you cumming around him. You felt the rhythm of his thrusts become disconnected before he came in you. You felt his cum warm your insides, and you let out a happy little sigh.

“Does she really feel that good?”

Scaramouche shrugged.

“Hah, I guess.”

You could already feel Scaramouche’s cum dripping down your thighs as Kazuha stood up and walked over to you. He knelt on the couch in front of you.

“Wait what are you…?”

You were confused. He wasn’t actually going to fuck you, was he? But Scaramouche was already inside of you…

Your question was quickly answered when he rested his hand on your waist and started pushing his cock inside of you. You let out a whine at being stretched so much. It hurt, and you were still so sensitive.

“Fuck, she does feel good.”

They started fucking you, and you felt like you were going to cum just from the situation alone. The fact that your boyfriend and his best friend were both balls deep inside of you was driving you wild. Not to mention how unbelievably full you felt. You didn’t care about the pain because the pleasure was worth it.

After only a few moments, you were cumming again.

“Fuck, you really are so fucking pathetic. You like taking two cocks at once, huh?”

“Come on, be nice. She’s a slut. She can’t help it.”

You were whining at the overstimulation but still made sure not to talk.

They continued fucking you until they were both getting close to their ends. However, before they were done, they both pulled out and stood up.

“Get on your knees.”

You were confused but did as you were told.

“Fuck, she’s so obedient.”

“She knows her place. She’s my toy, afterall.”

The two men stood in front of you, and after a few moments, they both came on your face. You had your mouth open and eyes closed, just like Scaramouche had taught you. You were such a good toy.

Finally, it was over. You were exhausted and now covered in cum, and the boys were done. Well, Scaramouche was, but Kazuha didn’t feel like pushing either of you for more. Your boyfriend scooped you up and carried you to his room, placing you in the bed. He disappeared, returning shortly after with a warm cloth to help clean you up. He covered you with blankets and laid next to you while Kazuha went back to his book.

Tag List: @lilia-sspouse @but-a-peach @stannazuna @yourlocal-bunny @lordbugs @randomlycockroach @licensedsimp @leena-shi @cesimaaa @welpthisisfine @dainself-when-playable @fic-rebloga @bubblyxdolly @wanderin-stories @iwysbellez

morbific-or-felicific

#mae’s daily paper☕️*•̊ⴰ✧ #mae.melts🧊*•̊ⴰ✧ #scaramouche.❣︎•*✧ ̊ⴰ #kazuha.❣︎•*✧ ̊ⴰ #people kept asking for a part two so here it is!i hope you guys like it! #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #scaramouche smut #kazuha x reader #kazuha x you #kazuha smut #genshin smut #genshin x you #genshin x reader #female reader #afab reader

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 51

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: 50 chapters?!

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

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You cross your arms, trying to comfort yourself as you wait. The front door opens and the only harbinger of your visitors are their footsteps. The grim pall of the house swallows them up as they shuffle over the doormat.

You don’t look over as their figures appear as shadowy blurs in the edge of your vision. You’re too humiliated to face your guests. Not truly yours, but Loki’s. Like everything else; this house, the very couch you sit on, the clothes you wear. Isn’t that what he’d only just berated you for? Taking it all so ungratefully.

“Darling,” Frigga’s the first to speak as she approaches, almost sheepishly, “my, I’d say it’s lovely to see you both but you look dreadful.”

You wince as she nears and shrink down, bending your legs as you long to curl into a ball. You hug your knees and curl your shoulders. She hovers over you, turning to speak to the others.

“You must open the curtains, it’s awfully gloomy in here,” she demands.

Loki mutters but at a grunt from his father, he acquisces. You stare at the black pants as he tears open the drapes, the rod ringing with his efforts. Another figure looms close. Odin shifts and places his hand on the armrest behind your shoulders.

“I see all is in a state of fine order,” Odin proclaims dryly, “you have this poor thing hanging from the troughs–”

“Father,” Loki sneers as he faces the room again. He steps forward, trying to tidy his wild curls, made even more defiant by his neglect. You notice his attire; his shirt is untucked and clashes with his tan trousers. “I will not be lectured.”

“Oh, dear, look at her face,” Frigga lowers herself to sit on the edge of the sofa and touches your arm kindly, “her dressings need changing.”

You avert your eyes and bite down on your cheek. You’d almost forgotten your nose and the peeling bandages. All that wasn’t as dire as the walls.

“Mm, and that isn’t my fault, mother. It isn’t I who would injure her thus. Rather your golden child,” Loki spits. “If you’ve come to argue the point further, I haven’t the time to hear it.”

“Son,” Odin girds, “do not rile yourself with presumptions. We’ve come to make sure you are well, as any decent parents might.”

“Hm, because you’ve always been so eager to visit, father,” he scoffs.

“Eh, Loki,” Frigga squeezes your arm before she stands again, “we thought to share some news to you. In person as it were. You wouldn’t answer the phone but we do believe you deserve to have it straight from us.”

“Oh, what is it now? Are we celebrating the solstice?” Loki folds his arms and lifts his chin, “you can check us off as not attending, thank you.”

“Now, don’t be an ass,” Odin growls, “if you would hear us, you might not have the urge.”

“Why should I listen to you, eh? Did you listen to me? Did you hear me when I walked in bruised to the gills? Did you hear me over that lout’s lies?” Loki snarls, “you made no move to stop me going but here you are, pouting and begging forgiveness. 

“Well, let me make it clear, you and that cretin you call your eldest son, will not entangle yourselves in another of my marriages. It will not happen. I told you that morning and I meant it. He is no brother of mine and if you continue to pander to his misdeeds, then you will count yourself two children, not three.”

You tweak a brow and tilt your head as his rant swirls over you. Marriage? Surely, he only misspoke.

“Would you listen?” Odin’s voice booms, echoing around the room as he steps around the couch and punches his palm. “We do count only two children; you and Hela.”

“Right,” Loki says unconvinced, “certainly, you will do your best not to let me share a table with him again. We can pretend nothing happened. That he did not accost my wife. Just as before, it is under the carpet as we stomp it into submission.”

“Wife?” Frigga murmurs in confusion and glances at you. You feel her gaze but don’t meet it. You’re just as confused.

“I mean it,” Odin insists and turns to look at you, “I am ashamed that my son would hurt you, dear. Brute as he is, I cast him out. He is banned from the house and wiped from my ledgers. Should you wish it, I would gladly testify to his guilt.”

You don’t reply. Which son does he mean? The one who chased you through the night or the one locking you in the dark?

“Thor is not welcome in this family anymore. If you hadn’t run away…” Odin faces Loki again.

“Oh, forgive me for my skepticism, father,” Loki grimaces, “you’ve not exactly earned a lot of trust from me–”

“Nor you me,” Odin counters.

“You never gave me a chance,” Loki hisses, “very well then, thank you, oh, great father, for practising an ounce of good judgment.”

“Boy,” Odin wags his finger at his son as he steps closer.

“Boy?” Loki exclaims, “get out. Now.”

“Loki,” Frigga screeches, “enough. We’ve come all the way here to apologise to you and… her, and you are being insensible. Would you hear us?”

Loki rolls his eyes. He keeps one arm across his chest and bends the other to flutter his fingers dismissively, “you kept him in my life. You begged me to look past his slights for years and refused to see them until someone got hurt.”

“Yes, we were neglectful. Willfully blind,” Frigga says sadly, peeking back at you, “seeing you that morning, and now, the bruises, and her… we… we are very sorry and we can understand that it might be too late for all this but we only want to be heard.”

Loki is quiet, roiling as he breathes loudly. He swallows and sniffs, “yes, you should look at her and see what he did to her.” His lip twitches, “and if I had not been there, imagine what he would have done–”

You close your eyes as you feel a weight over you, feel the suffocating heat, hear Thor’s sinister tone, ‘little maid’.

“Stop!” You throw your hands up as your eyes snap open, “please stop, I don’t want to think about it.”

“Oh, dear,” Frigga spins and once more rests herself on the couch’s edge, “you don’t have to. Please, you’re safe. He won’t bother you again. I’ll be sure of it.”

You knot your fingers together and twist until your knuckles hurt. You can’t look at her, at any of them. You shake your head and shrug.

“As you can see, she is not ready for company,” Loki asserts.

“What I see is she’s being shrouded away in this crypt,” Frigga rebuffs, “she requires sunshine. She needs healing, not paranoia.”

“You don’t know what we’ve been through,” Loki accuses, “how can you know what she needs?”

“I have eyes,” Frigga snips, “darling,” she speaks to you, “would you like some tea in the garden? Just you, I wouldn’t want to infringe.”

You gulp and rub your neck. You nod, “yes.”

“See?” Frigga pets your knee kindly before she stands again, “I won’t tread upon your toes, son, you get her the tea and see her to the garden.” She sidles aside to stand with her husband, “and then you will explain to me this whole marriage business.”

You glance over at Loki, the same question nipping at your ears. Was he confused? Why did he say all that? Marriage, wife? No, prisoner and warden, that’s what it truly is.

✨

Slowly the doom recedes. The warmth of the sun beams down as you keep your finger hooked in the handle of the tea cup. You let the steaming brew go cold as your eyes devour the scenery. The greens, the violets, the indigos, and pinks. Colours all around.

You suck in deep breaths of the spring air, tasting the last dregs of dew and the floating pollen. You hear the council of sparrows hiding in the bushes and watch the pair of doves bobbing across the grass. Bees buzz between the blooming stems and insects flit back and forth through the air. The seasonal renewal is underway as a whole new world awakens.

Beneath the serenity, there is fear. This won’t last. This is just a brief respite from your desolation. A flicker of light in the dark.

So you bask in it as much as you can, for as long as you can. You can’t help but peek over at the french doors and wonder about what’s happening behind them. What is being said? Are Frigga and Odin still there? Is Loki still angry?

You cup your chin and take a sip. This is all you ever wanted. You only wish he would have listened to you. Why must someone else talk sense into him? Why can’t he just hear you?

Your vision hazes as you drift into the peaceful hue. The spring swallows you up and mutes your worries. You cling to that moment, knowing the end will come sooner than later.

The doors open and pierce the spring soliloquy. You look over as Loki steps out. His shirt is tucked in and he’s tried to comb his hair. Still, he looks out of sorts. His eyes are circled darkly and his cheek tics as his jaw clenches.

He watches you as he nears the table, standing across from you as he extends his long fingers to the iron surface. He takes a breath and looks around. He retracts his hand to rest on the back of the chair.

“May I?” He asks.

His request surprises you. That he would even want permission. After all, this is his home, all of this is allotted to you at his whim.

“Sure,” you sit back and let go of the teacup.

He drags the chair out and lowers himself. He bends his arms over the table and his head swivels again, as if searching for something. He clears his throat and turns straight. He stares at you as you peer down at the table.

“It’s beautiful out,” he comments, “the tulips are coming in.”

You nod, “yeah, they’re pretty.”

He exhales and shifts in the chair. He taps his fingertips then weaves his fingers through each other. He stills his fidgeting.

“How is your tea?”

You look down at the cup, mostly untouched. You raise your eyes to meet him and purse your lips.

“It’s fine,” you answer, “what’s going on?”

He circles his thumbs around each other and pushes his shoulders up before forcing the tension out, “I thought I would… come enjoy the garden with you, pet.”

“Oh,” you utter.

“Oh,” he echoes staunchly. “Unless, I am disturbing you?”

You shake your head, “I thought you wanted me to go inside…”

He frowns and lowers his chin, “I…” he begins then unclasps his hands and sits straight. He rests his elbows on the armrests and his cheek strains, “I want you to be safe.”

You nod and look at your lap as you think, “your parents said Thor is gone.”

“Yes, so he has been cast out. For how long, I can’t be certain,” he sighs, “but he is not my only worry.”

“What else—”

“If I’d not discovered your escape, you would’ve fallen and hurt yourself worse.”

“Loki, I… I’m sorry but I couldn’t–”

“And you do not eat when I bring you food. You hardly sleep.”

“What about you?” You toss back as you raise your head.

His lips thin, “yes, what about me. I am just as guilty in all this, I see that now.”

You’re quiet as you consider his admission. It’s a rare moment. Not exactly victory, but a consolation. As much as you can hope for.

“I appreciate all you have done but I… don’t want to be a burden anymore,” you say, “if that’s how you feel about me, I think we’d both be better off if I left.”

He goes rigid and his throat tightens, “pet…”

“Or maybe I could just be the maid again. We could go back to that. That would be okay.”

He huffs and hangs his head. He brings his fingertips together as he seems to argue with himself. Slowly, he lifts his head, “no, that simply won’t do.”

Your face falls, “please don’t lock me up again.”

Your eyes gloss as you pout, begging him wordlessly. He winces as his mouth slants, one way then the other. He mulls on your plea.

He tilts his head one way then the other, stretching out his neck. He slips his elbows off the armrest and grips the chair, pushing himself to his feet. He rolls his shoulders straight and rounds the table. He stops beside you and lowers himself down to a knee. You watch him, confused.

He takes your hand and draws it over the side of the chair. He holds it in his, stroking it as he peers up at you.

“You cannot be a burden or the maid, and you certainly may not leave,” he says, “you are going to be my wife.”

You blink. You’re not sure you heard him right. He squeezes your hand and you look down at his grip.

“Loki?” You babble.

“I haven’t picked a ring, I’m sorry,” he pulls your hand to him, leaning in to kiss it, petting it, “but perhaps you might help in that.” He puts his other knee down and moves even closer, “we will have a lot of planning to do, won’t we, darling?”

He angles to lean his head against your arm, keeping his hand on yours. You’re paralysed. He’s proposing to you but there isn’t any room for your rejection. Like all other things, it’s a command. You have to keep yourself from answering, ‘yes, Mr. Laufeyson.’

You look down at his dark tresses and let out the breath racked beneath your ribs, “I’ve never been to a wedding.” The statement is hollow and numb. You don’t know what else to say.

He chuckles and lifts his head to grin up at you, “well, how exciting that you’re first will be your own.”

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #dirty work #mcu #marvel #avengers #maid au #au

[freelancearsonist]

and they'd find us in a week

➔ Javi Gutierrez x gn!Reader - 1.8k

➔ Javi whisks you away to Italy for your honeymoon. The only problem is, you're too busy exploring your new husband to leave your hotel room.

➔ Rated MA for basically just husband!javi fluffy cock-worship, oral (m receiving), handjobs, cum swallowing, lots of spanish pet names (reader is spanish speaking), no use of y/n, reader is able-bodied but no description of anatomy and no pronouns used. [please let me know if i missed any :)]

You’ve never woken up quite as languidly as you do today.

The first thing your senses are alerted to is the roaring crash of waves. Bright light floods your eyes even through your closed eyelids, and you roll over with a groan to press your face into the plush pillow beneath your head for a few more precious seconds of darkness. It smells of your favorite leave-in conditioner after your shower last night–a familiar scent in this otherwise unfamiliar bed.

Not that you can complain–this is the softest bed you’ve ever slept in. The mattress is cloud-like and the sheets are silky and warm… except on the other side of the bed. Those sheets are rumpled and turned back, cold with absence.

You sit up and rub the remaining dregs of sleep from your eyes, glancing around the sizable hotel room in search of your fiance–husband. You’re still getting used to that shift in title, but it’s a very welcome change.

The balcony door is open, which is why you can hear the waves so clearly. There’s a gentle breeze swirling in through the opening, fluttering the curtains and sending a slight chill down your spine despite how warm the morning already is. The air smells so fresh here–salt and water and everything you love about the beach. It’s spring, the season of rebirth, and things are changing. Leaves are returning, flowers are blooming, and you’re starting a new page in the story of your life with the man of your dreams.

The man of your dreams, who is currently nowhere to be found.

You swing your legs over the edge of the mattress with a groan of protest, still sore and shaky from yesterday–your third day of honeymoon bliss. Your suitcases still sit on the dresser across from the bed, zipped and neatly packed; you haven’t worn clothes in three wonderful, languid, pleasure-filled days. It’s been absolute bliss.

The sound of the shower shutting off alerts you to the fact that it was running in the first place–it was barely noticeable over the sound of the ocean outside the windows. You smile to yourself and lay back down against the pillows, the mission of finding your husband completed. 

Javi comes out of the bathroom moments later, wrapped in the most plush white robe you’ve ever seen while toweling his hair dry. And really, you’ve done nothing over the last three days except wet your sexual appetite–repeatedly and vigorously–with your husband. But seeing him like this makes you hungry; it drives a burning hot rod of arousal straight through the deepest, most unfathomable part of your gut. Your want over the past few days has been completely insatiable.

You look up at him—sleepy eyes half-lidded, wet hair slicked back, the faintest of smiles tugging at his perfect lips—and you are so, so in love with him. 

“Oh, you’re awake!” He says with a smile. “Do you want to order breakfast?”

You’re shaking your head before you can really stop yourself, because there’s only one thing that could quench your appetite right now and it’s standing right in front of you. “No, I’ve got my breakfast right here.”

His mouth opens to ask what you could possibly mean, but you catch his hand and pull him into a deep, languid kiss before he can say anything. It’s slow and syrupy, the morning bleeding into the action. You trace your tongue over his bottom lip and his mouth parts so eagerly to accept you. He’s become so familiar with your desires over the past few days, even after years together thinking he knew everything there was to know. But he keeps learning and adapting, finding new ways to draw little sounds and reactions from you. He’s nothing if not attentive to details and extremely eager to please.

He’s been doing a lot of pleasing over the past few days, though. He’s certainly earned a break and some appreciation, you think.

He lets out a little grunt when you gently push him into the mattress; his lips curl into a smile when you crawl over him to straddle his sturdy hips.

“Mi amor,” he mumbles, trying his best to lean up so he can keep kissing you despite your hands pinning his torso to the plush mattress. “Por favor–”

You lean down to appease him, lips feather-light against his as you whisper, “calmate, mi esposo. Yo cuidaré de ti.”

You can feel how quickly he hardens from your words even through the thick robe covering him and it sends a heady sense of power rushing through your veins. Your husband is a strong, important, powerful man–you’re the only person in the world who can bring him to his knees. He’ll even beg for it, if you ask. He’s putty in your hand, but you don’t take it for granted. You’re lucky and you know it–you’ll spend every day for the rest of your life thanking whatever deity there is for giving you Javi.

“Mi cielo,” he murmurs as your fingers find the tie of his plush white robe. “You don’t have to–”

“I want to, Javi,” you assure him as you slowly pull the knot apart. “Please?”

You can see the gulp that bobs his throat even as his eyes flutter closed and he tilts his head back. “Okay,” he whispers.

You unpeel the robe like a wrapping around a candy, appreciating the sight in all of its decadence but desperate to dig in. 

He’s desperate for it, too. Aching and hard just from your kisses, thick and flushed with arousal. Every beautiful inch of him is ready and waiting for your attention, from the soft curls at his base to the weeping mushroom head of him. 

The first touch of your fingers against his length is electric–he nearly jolts from it. Your fingers are so light and soft, it’s more like a whispering breeze than an actual touch. That is, until you wrap him firmly in your hand, fingers barely long enough to completely circle him. He moans then–a shuddery, shaky, utterly wrecked sound not quite like anything you’ve ever heard before.

“Still sensitive?”

He nods wordlessly, and you can’t blame him really. All you’ve done since arriving in Italy is go at it like rabbits, and last night he actually came dry. He’s bound to be a bit overstimulated, the poor thing.

You halt your hand and meet his dark brown eyes when his head pops up. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” He flushes a bit, surprised at his own desperation. “No, amor, por favor no pares.”

You can’t help the gentle laugh that flows from your lips–you love him like this. Stripped down, not just physically, but spiritually. Soul bared to you in a way that no one else has ever seen him. He allows himself to be weak and vulnerable in your arms because you build him back up stronger every time.

You lower yourself to him and lick languidly, one large stroke of your tongue up the vast length of him. He shivers with the stimulation and lets out a groan, hands clenching into fists at his sides to will himself not to squirm. It’s so hard to sit still like this, though–just the barest touch of your tongue, and he’s already near the brink.

He takes a deep breath, then another, then wills every cell in his body to not come.

Somehow, miraculously, it works–when you take his tip between your plush lips and swirl your tongue just right, he manages to hold it together. He lets loose a low grumble from deep in his chest, though, when your fingers dance down his stomach and over his hip to cradle his balls.

“Ay, dios mio…”

“Good?” You giggle when you ask, because you don’t really need him to answer. You can feel the way his thigh trembles beneath your free hand and see the way his chest hitches with shuddering breaths. His body is tuned like a fine guitar string to your skilled fingers–you know exactly the right chords to strum to get the sounds you want.

Your mouth presses deeper and deeper, the thick head of his hitting the back of your throat long before your nose finds those soft, soapy-smelling curls at the base.

“Ay, mi amor.” It’s more of a whimper than an actual spoken statement–high-pitched and needy. “Por favor…”

You pull off with a pop and let your hand take over with firm strokes that make him whimper. “Qué necesitas, mi cielo?”

“I need–” He gulps thickly, hips stuttering up into your grip, cock twitching as if in anticipation of your permission. “Need to come.”

You hum and lick slowly around his tip, dragging the flat of your tongue over his slit to taste the salty precum pooling steadily there. “Then come, darling.”

And Javi–ever only obedient to you–does exactly that. His body shakes with the force of it, beautiful damp sandy-brown curls splayed out against the pillows and broad hands scrabbling for purchase in the sheets as he fills your mouth. 

You never get tired of the taste of him; he’s the perfect mix of salty and sweet and something wonderful that can only be described as Javi. The first drop that meets your tongue makes you crave more–you push as far as you can to take every following spurt that he pulses into your mouth.

You swallow around him–drawing a whine from his throat in the process–before pulling off to admire your handiwork. And surely you can call yourself an artist, because the fruits of your efforts are a masterpiece. He’s flushed red from the shoulders up, chest heaving as he slowly steadies his breath, mouth agape around moans that have finally ceased.

You kiss up his body as he comes down from the high, over the soft round of his stomach and up his flushed neck, finally coming to his parted lips. His eyes meet yours, and suddenly the entire world is spinning on its axis until it’s flipped onto its back–your back. He chuckles as he hovers over you, scattering kisses all over your face.

“Gracias, mi amor,” he hums contentedly. Like this, you can feel every inch of his skin pressed against every inch of yours, the open robe falling around the parameters of your bodies and caging you into a soft, feathery cocoon.

“Was that what you needed, my darling?”

“Everything I needed and more,” he tells you earnestly. His kisses start to stray off course–across your cheeks, then along your jaw, then down your neck. “May I return the favor?”

It’s a tantalizing offer, certainly; as much as you’re eager to finally leave this room and go explore Italy, it’s not looking like today is going to be the day.

“Por favor, mi esposo.”

And Javi, ever the faithful servant, is more than willing to oblige. Con gusto.

THE END

➔ Translations:

calmate - calm down yo cuidaré de ti - let me take care of you por favor no pares - please don't stop qué necesitas - what do you need? con gusto - with pleasure

➔ A/N: the title of this one is another hozier song (big surprise cece) - "in a week" is so beautiful, pls give it a listen :) thank you as always to @shakespeareanwannabe for betaing this lil thing 🥺 thank you as well to the dieter bravo brainrot club for always enabling me <3

➔ Want to see more from me in the future? Follow @freelancearsonist-updates and turn on post notifications to be notified when I post new fics!

➔ Want to support me? Please reblog this fic! It helps boost it in the algorithm and gives it more circulation no matter what your follower count is :)

#javi gutierrez #javi gutierrez x reader #javi gutierrez fanfiction #javi gutierrez smut #javi gutierrez one shot #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal characters #the unbearable weight of massive talent #cece writes

[noxturnalpascal]

Devotion 🖤 I. Stronger Together (Ch 2)

CultLeader!Joel x OFC!Reader

Series Summary: When is it enough? When is it too much? When does Devotion become Obsession?

Visit the Series Masterlist for series warnings, cult info, timeline info, and HCs on ages. Reader has a nickname and some minor physical descriptions - is an OFC from Reader POV.

*This series is 18+ MDNI. I will not be listing individual chapter warnings as I don't want to spoil the plot of each chapter. Please see the series masterlist for entire series warnings to decide if this is for you.*

PREVIOUS

I. Stronger Together

CH 2 (5k) You follow Tess to a colonial style house one block away from the main town square. It’s not as tall as the church on the other side of the park, but its three stories still tower over the smaller structures around it. You realize it's close enough that you could see the house from the clinic, and think about all of the still-hot meals Joel has been bringing you three times a day.

The house has an open yard on one side and a porch wrapping around one half front to back. Tess leads you inside and gives you a brief tour. The first floor has a large dining room at the front and a kitchen in the back; a large sitting room located on the opposite side of the home with Joel’s office behind a closed door beyond. Tess shows you your small room upstairs, right next to the bathroom, crowded even with only two furnishings; a single bed and a nightstand. 

Three shirts hang from the single window’s curtain rod and she tells you that the room and the clothes are yours and to let her know if you need anything else. When you make your way back downstairs with her she begins to introduce you to the other women who live there. You’re not sure what you were expecting but it certainly wasn’t to find Joel living in a house full of women. 

You hate the way it makes you feel. It’s a cold hand grasping at your insides, clutching them hot and tight yet freezing them solid at the same time. It makes you sick. You feel a stinging at your eyes and blink rapidly, fighting the urge you have to cry at every new introduction. There are two women in the kitchen preparing dinner, one in the living room mending a broken bowstring, and one working in the back garden. And Tess.

Tess is the only name you can remember. Your head is swirling, your heartbeat is in your ears, and you’re struggling against the sick feeling in your stomach. You’re not even sure you heard all of their names. As if you could even remember them, there were too many to even remember. Had he ever mentioned he lived with five fucking women before? You’re pretty sure you would have remembered that.

Tess had spent the morning moving her housemates around to clear the room at the top of the stairs that Joel said you could have. She knew Bianca wouldn’t be comfortable sharing a bed, so she moved her up to the attic, switching one of the occupants there to share a double bed in the room across from her own. They all moved around expeditiously and with no complaint. The women she shared her home with were easy going, but she still didn’t appreciate Joel dropping this work in her lap last minute.

Tess excuses herself and leaves you with the two women in the kitchen, the one from the garden – whose name, ironically, is Rosie – joining you later. You work beside them, eager to lose yourself in activity and stop your mind from racing. You’ve definitely lost your ability to small-talk, but the women are friendly and seem happy to meet you. The one Rosie calls Bianca is timid and silent, but the other two, Rosie and the other one doing most of the cooking, talk boisterously and animatedly to each other as you work.They excitedly tell you about the community. This is your first time hearing details about where you’ve been living for the past two weeks and you’re shocked to hear that the leader of the whole place is Joel. 

Joel – who has been walking over three hot meals a day. Joel – who has been reading stories to you morning, noon, and night. Joel – who has been following you around the park asking you inane questions. Joel – who asked you to move in with him. That Joel.

He definitely didn’t mention that he was the leader of the whole fuckin’ community. You would have remembered that too. They tell you that he brings people into the community if they need shelter and they can follow the rules. The rules seem simple; develop a strong and cohesive community, guard and keep your territory, and work collectively to gather and store resources.

You like the way the women talk about the community they call The Valley. They seem cared for and safe, and that’s also how you’ve felt since you’ve been here. Even though your plan has been to leave when you’ve fully healed, you’ve somehow allowed yourself to get pretty comfortable here. You’ve been distracted by Joel’s daily visits, you’ve been getting lost in the stories he reads to you, letting your mind wander from the harsh realities of this world.

The reality is that society collapsed and all people want to do now is survive, by any means necessary. People have only ever used other people, they take. They did that before the outbreak, but now it’s even worse. You’ve been used. You’ve been taken from. But even though it seems like Joel failed to tell you some things, he’s never taken anything from you. In fact, Joel has been very giving.

He and his patrol killed the clicker about to attack you, saving your life. He brought you into his town and had the doctor give you medical care, even after you threatened them with scissors. He’s been bringing you food, keeping you company, reading those books to you, and helping you gain some of your strength back. Apparently he even gave you his blood after you spilled most of yours down the mountain.

He told you that you were free to leave when you got better. And maybe you will. Maybe once you’re at full-strength you’ll feel like moving on. But maybe you should stay here a little longer. You have a room of your own, a warm place to lie your head, you’ve not been this well-fed in years. Maybe this could be a safe place for you, when no place has ever really felt safe before. Maybe Joel could give you that too.

– 

You’re still processing the revelations about Joel when he comes out of his office for dinner. You keep your head down, busy helping the women set the dinner table, carrying in the prepared food and drinks. Joel grabs your hand as you walk back into the kitchen, pulling you close to him. You don’t recoil from his touch anymore, as you’ve been making physical contact with him more often.

You’ve touched his arm or shoulder to point out an animal on your walk, he’s taken your hands to help you up and down steps. Unlike he usually does, this time he doesn’t drop your hand immediately, he continues holding it. He asks if you’ve ‘gotten comfortable’. You’re not sure how to tell him that you’re actually a little uncomfortable, given all the new information, without insulting his hospitality.

“Who are these people?” you ask him, looking down at your joined hands, unable to meet his eye.

“They didn’t introduce themselves to you?” he says gruffly, looking over your head. You look up to meet his eyes and he looks genuinely confused. 

“Of course they did…”, you let your unfinished sentence linger in the air, hoping he won’t make your pathetic mouth finish it. You feel absolutely ridiculous. You feel one foot tall again. Here you are, at the end of the world, jealous over a man you barely fucking know. Jealous. You. As if you have any right. He squeezes your hand, making your eyes crunch tight in defeat. You have to complete your thought. Out loud. How embarrassing. “Who are they to you? Are you… seeing any of them? Not that it’s my b– business or anything, I just didn’t–”

“Oh, PJ.” 

He cups your face in both his hands and the move has you flinching in surprise. He brings his mouth to yours slowly, so slowly that you’re sure you could have stopped it ten times if you wanted to. But you don’t want to. You don’t move a muscle, you’re pretty sure you don’t even breathe. And then his lips are on your lips. Time freezes. The whole world stops turning and it’s just him and you; his mouth on yours and his large warm hands surrounding your face and his nose pressing into your cheek. 

After a moment the world starts turning again. You hear the other women continue to move in and out of the kitchen behind you, paying no mind to Joel’s lips on yours, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. His hands slip to your shoulders and he places more gentle kisses on your lips, your cheeks, your nose. Joel takes your hand and leads you into the dining room, guiding you to sit in the seat next to his at the head of the table.

The meal is hot and delicious, cheerful conversations drift over the tabletop as everyone eats. Joel sees your wide eyes staring at him the entire time, picking at your food, unable to process the kisses he’d bombarded you with. He’s not sure why he did that, a voice inside him was screaming not to, worried he’d scare you off and you’d be out the door miles away by now.

He kept himself in his office all afternoon, trying unsuccessfully to distract his thoughts from you. When he finally came out and saw you in the kitchen, his kitchen, his home… he couldn’t help himself. You were in his home. He grabbed your hand and pulled you close but he sensed you were upset. Were you jealous?

Sure, he probably should have told you about the other women in his house, but you were just beginning to trust him. He didn’t think he could spin this in a way that you would be comfortable with. He didn’t think he would be able to get you here if he told you the truth. So he didn’t. And when given another opportunity to tell you the truth in the kitchen, he kissed you instead.

It doesn’t matter. They don’t matter. Whatever relationship he had with these other women doesn’t matter as long as you’re here, and you’re here now. You’re in his home. You’re his. He’s going to make you his. It’s all he wants now. You’re all he wants now.

–

You sleep warm in your bed the first night in your new home, but stay up late listening to the gentle creaking of the house. The occupants prove to be sound sleepers, and you find out why when you’re woken up before the sun the next morning. The four women who aren’t Tess rouse you from your sleep and give you a choice of inside or outside chores. You choose outside, hoping the crisp dawn air will help wake you up. It doesn’t. 

You spend the day tired but busy doing chores with a woman named Sasha. She was only a teenager when the outbreak started but she has some really great survival skills. Before lunch she takes you to the basement where she teaches you how to assemble shotgun shells. After lunch she walks with you to the nearby creek to do some fishing. Well, she fishes, you keep thinking you have something ‘big on the line’ when actually your hook is just caught on rocks. Joel and Tess spend all day out of the house and when you finally see him again, sitting next to him at dinner, you can barely keep your eyes open.

The following day is easier for you, since you slept early and solid through the night like everyone else. On this day after lunch Joel has been in his office, meeting with a long line of people one or two at a time. Each one shakes his hand as they leave, thanking him for his time. You wonder how many meetings like this he missed while he sat in your room reading to you for the last two weeks. You’re sitting in the adjoining room, doing a terrible job of mending holes in socks - you think they might be Joel’s – when the last person leaves his office.

He looks around the otherwise empty room and then his eyes meet yours. He smiles at you and holds his hand out in an invitation. You can’t help but hesitate. You spent hours every day with him for two weeks and now it’s been days since you’ve been alone with him for even one minute. The nerves bubble up in your stomach and you’re not sure if you want to run towards him or run away from him. You opt for the former, grabbing his hand and letting him pull you into his office.

The door closes behind you and suddenly you’re very aware of how alone with him you are. You’ve been alone with him every day in the clinic, with the door wide open, voices drifting down the hall from the other rooms. This feels different. The air feels charged. You’re suddenly terrified, an ice cold fear washes over your entire body as he bears down on you. He comes toe-to-toe with you as you press your back against the door and look in his eyes.

You look like you’ve been dropped into the lion’s den. He notices your panting breaths. The last time you looked this scared you were pointing a pair of scissors at him. Hey, he coos, careful not to touch you. What’s wrong, he hums, fighting the urge to pull you tight to his chest. You shake your head and stammer, unable to form a sentence. He slowly reaches behind you and twists the doorknob.

Joel pushes the door back open a couple inches, whispering we can leave that open, as he walks to the other side of the small room. He sits down at one end of a large leather couch and points to a stack of books on the table, drawing your attention to it. The books. You’d forgotten about the books. You’d dropped them on a table when you arrived and so much was going on they’d slipped your mind. Your hammering pulse begins to calm as you join him on the couch and inspect the books he’s picked. 

You hand him White Fang. It’s shorter than some of the other books in the stack but it was one of your favorites as a child. Not your favorite – you still haven’t seen that one presented to you yet. He takes the small paperback and begins to read you the opening paragraph as you settle your mind and relax your body, curved into the opposite end of the big brown couch.

This is how the following weeks go. Your mornings and early afternoons are filled with chores, working side-by-side with the other women in the house. Your evenings are dominated by sleep, heavy and healing after days filled with hard work. Three times a week you take your turn in the town’s impromptu bath-house, bathing in one of their tubs – previously a horse trough – full of hot water. Twice a week you gather with the rest of the Valley in a communal meeting at the church followed by a large meal, and every Friday entertainment events go on around the town square ranging from sporting events to dances.

But every day, without fail, you get time alone with Joel. He pulls you into his office before, after, or between meetings and reads to you. Sometimes it goes on for hours and sometimes he can only give you twenty minutes. But he gives you that time every day. You don’t see him giving that time to anyone else in the house, not even Tess, and so your initial feelings of jealousy fade away.

The only thing you fight now is your own mind. You’ve been with men before, you’ve been in relationships before. You’re not a virgin and you’re not a prude. But you’ve also been hurt by men before. Too many men and more times than you care to recall. You don’t think Joel would hurt you like that. You don’t think Joel would hurt you at all. But then again, you don’t remember thinking most of the other men would hurt you either, until they did. You’ve learned not to trust.

–

The second time Joel kissed you was days after the first, when he finished White Fang. Just a gentle kiss on your lips as you left his office. The next day he repeated the motion and then it became an everyday occurrence. Shortly after, it became a habit to kiss him as you entered his office. You would casually peck his lips as you passed by him at the doorway. He would close the door, save for the last few inches, and join you on the couch.

What started as a sprinkle quickly turned into a storm. You’re still too scared to ask him to close the door all the way behind you but you can’t get enough of him when you’re alone in that room together. What began on opposite sides of the couch quickly changes to you practically sitting in his lap as he reads to you. His hands find yours, or rest on your knees, or wrap around you and pull you to his chest so you can listen to his heartbeat. You start to feel safe.

You don’t even pick the books anymore, he just grabs a paperback off the shelves behind him – the selection lately has been John Grisham. They’re taking a lot longer to get through too, since he’s constantly stopping to talk to you and flirt with you and ask you questions. He sneaks a lot of kisses in between chapters too, but he’s pretty sure you like it.

He thinks you also like the way he finds your hand underneath the dinner table each night, always meeting his eyes with a smile. In the mornings, he meets you in the hallway outside the bathroom and he kisses your cheek, smelling your sleep-mussed hair, but avoiding pressing his ever-present morning erection into you. He knows you’re still skittish and he doesn’t want to push you. He knows you just barely trust him and he won’t do anything to endanger that. He doesn’t want to give you a reason to pull away from him.

Joel’s reading A Time to Kill, trying to push through a particularly difficult description of the attack and assault on Carl Lee Hailey’s young daughter, when he sees you getting antsy beside him. He stops to look over at you and sees a familiar look in your eye.You look like you’re uncomfortable, your eyes glazing over and your body becoming twitchy and restless.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks quietly, his hand softly stroking the leg you have in his lap.

“When was your birthday?” you ask, in an attempt to change the subject.

“M– My birthday?” You’re not making eye contact, you look distracted, miles away.

“Yeah. When you told me how old you were, you said you just turned it. When was your birthday?” 

“Yeah I just had my birthday in September.” 

You finally look at him, your brows stitching together. “Isn’t it October now?”

“Yes,” he waits for this line of questioning to make sense. Then he realizes maybe it won’t make sense. Maybe you’re just craving a distraction.

“Did I know you when it was your birthday?”

“Yes,” he rubs your leg more, “You were at the clinic.”

“When?” 

“Do you remember a night when I brought you an apple dessert?”

“You–”, your eyes move around the room, “Yes, I remember. That was your birthday?” He nods. You’re not looking at him, but he knows you can see him nodding in your peripheral vision. “I wasn’t very nice to you that day,” you say, suddenly sounding sad. 

“It’s okay, you didn’t know.”

“Why did you spend all that time with me when I wasn’t nice to you and it was your birthday?”

“I didn’t wanna be anywhere else, PJ.” You close your eyes tight, letting the silence hang between you.

“Do you think Jake gets Carl Lee off for the murders?” You change the subject again, asking him to spoil the ending of the book for you.

“Yeah, I think he does,” he answers, and you take a deep breath.

“That’s good,” you say, as you reach forward and slip the book gently out of his fingers, returning it to the shelf behind him. 

You lay your head in his lap and spend the rest of your time together that afternoon with his fingers carding through your short hair, comforting you. He hopes you know he meant what he said. He knew it then as he knows it now. There isn’t anywhere else he’d rather be than with you, birthday or not.

–

As the end of October arrives, it signals that you’ve been living in Joel’s house for a month. The past month, in addition to the two weeks previous to that at the clinic, have your side completely healed. All the physical work you do around the homestead has helped you gain your strength back and then some. You’re most definitely at ‘a hundred percent’. You would be physically okay to leave at any time, and yet, leaving is the furthest thing from your mind.

Joel is on your mind. All the time. The way he holds your hands, the way he pushes his nose to yours and makes you laugh, the way he kisses your lips, your hands,, your forehead, and your neck. The way he looks at you. The way he looks at you. It’s equal parts exciting and terrifying. And the way he makes you feel is the same. You want him so badly. You don’t know if you can trust him. You don’t even know if you can trust yourself. 

You long for that office door to click shut, to be completely alone with him. You want to feel his arms wrap around you, you want to feel his hands roam along your body, you want to feel his lips on your skin. You want to feel him everywhere. The thought of it sends jolts of electricity through you. The thought of him makes you wet. You’re sure that if that door latched you would be all over him like a rabid animal.

But the thought of that kind of intimacy is deliriously intimidating. You think of the first man who touched you like that. Too young, you were too young to be touched there. It frightened you. You lied still like a scared rabbit, hoping he would think you were asleep and stop. But he didn’t stop. You think about the last man who touched you like that. It wasn’t even that long ago, with dirty rough hands and a burning touch. He told you in your ear that you liked it, but all you remember is feeling pain.

That’s the fear that grips you out of nowhere, that keeps you frozen still and awkward when Joel’s hands roam too far over your body, that keeps you from fulfilling any one of your fantasies of having him naked on top of you. You still have trouble trusting him completely. What if he uses you and then discards you like the others did? What if he hurts you, causes you pain in your body and your heart and your soul? 

One night he pulls you out onto the front porch and kisses you against the house, the chill of night giving visible life to your hot breaths, nothing but the din of crickets in the background. You hear him say so beautiful as he drags his cheek against yours, lightly scratching you with his facial hair. Your body reacts before you can reason with yourself, you push him away from you.

“Don’t call me that.”

“What? Don’t call you what?” His arms are still holding your hips, the crease between his eyes deep as he looks across your face.

“Beautiful,” you say quietly, the cover of darkness not giving you any courage. “D- Don’t call me that.”

“Can I ask why?”

“Yeah, cause I’m not.” You swallow around the lump in your throat. “I might be a lot of things but I’m not beautiful, so when you say it to me, it feels like I’m hearing a lie. And I don’t want you to lie to me.”

He wraps his arms around you tight, pulling you back together, his chest warm against yours. He rests his head on your shoulder and his hot breath fans across your neck. He places gentle kisses there while he whispers I won’t lie to you into your skin repeatedly. He thinks of the half-truths he’s already told you and decides that they don’t count. The things he’s done in the past don’t count. All that counts is the man he is going forward, the man he is with you. 

–

The next night you’re on cleaning duty with Bianca and you’re both in the kitchen after dinner washing up from the meal. You think you like her the best out of everyone here. Not just because she’s sweet, which she is, but because she’s very quiet. She barely says five words all day and when you’re in her company you can just relax. You can let your mind wander. You can get lost in your thoughts of Joel.

Tonight she doesn’t feel good and you’re not sure how to help her. You tried saying something to Tess earlier but she told you that Bianca could come to her if she needed to talk. Well Bianca doesn’t really talk, so you’re not sure what to do. Joel walks in the kitchen and smiles at you, immediately noticing your look of concern. He takes a quick look at Bianca and sends her to bed, telling her that he’ll help you finish your chores.

You know he’s a kind person but you feel like part of the reason why he sent her upstairs was so he could put his hands on you and kiss you, which he does nearly every moment you’re alone. But not this time. This time he stands by your side as Bianca was, taking his task seriously, helping you to scrub and dry the day’s dishes. 

You break the silence and tell him that you always hated having to do the dishes as a kid, how it kept you from the other things you wanted to do after dinner. He asks if you still hate it and you tell him no. You tell him that since there’s no TV shows to watch, no mall to go to, and no friends to call, you’re pretty content with washing some dishes. He chuckles and says his daughter used to hate washing dishes too. 

Daughter?

“You had a daughter?” 

His hands still their movement. He didn’t mean to let that slip. Shit. Fuck. Sarah flashed into his mind and his guard is so low around you, it just came out. Yeah, he nods, resuming his scrubbing. He doesn’t want to say anything else. He doesn’t want these memories to come rushing in like a tsunami and drown him. 

“Her name was Sarah. She uh….” he begins, dreading this conversation.

He feels your soapy hand cover his under the water. You grab his fingers, causing him to let go of the dish he was clutching. You squeeze his hand and when he looks up and meets your eyes he’s hit like a fucking wrecking ball. Wetness rims your waterline. You’re staring straight through him, right into his soul. You see him. You see him. And he’s never going to be the same.

“I know,” you hum. The whole universe is in your eyes. “You don’t have to–”

“Died,” he finishes his sentence.

You nod. You know. Everyone lost everything when the world ended. You most likely lost loved ones too. You’re all just broken shells of people walking around now, although some are worse off than others. Your lip trembles and your eyes are wet like you’re going to cry tears for his lost Sarah too. You open your mouth and begin to speak with a shaky breath.

“One time when I was a pre-teen, I put off washing the dishes until it was very late, almost bedtime. When I was done my dad wouldn’t let me get ready for bed. He called me to come sit with him in the living room while he watched the ten o’clock news. A segment came on about teen pregnancy and the whole time I just sat there embarrassed, not understanding what we were watching, or why. When that story was over he clapped his hand on my shoulder and said, ‘okay then, goodnight,’ and sent me to bed. It wasn’t until years later I realized that was his version of the sex talk,” you finish with a chuckle.

Joel huffs out a laugh with you, finding your dad’s awkward solution somewhat relatable. 

“I just gave her a book,” he recalls, “Don’t even remember who I got it from, I think one of her friend’s mom’s? I don’t remember but… it didn’t go over well. There was a lot of eye rolling.”

Your eyes pinch together as you both laugh, causing the tears that had welled up to spill from the sides.  You finish drying the last dish and head upstairs to bed, but before you can turn towards your room he gently grabs your wrist and places your hand in one of his. His face is calm and peaceful. He looks content. He reaches his other hand up and cups your face. You think he’s going to kiss you, but instead he just says thank you. He holds your face a moment longer before squeezing your hand and heading into his room. 

🖤

NEXT

LAYOUT OF JOEL'S HOUSE

Thank you endlessly to @papipascalispunk for helping me with this series and listening to me rant about Cult Leader Joel. 🫂 I appreciate you SO much.

TAGLIST (lmk if you wanna be added or removed) @strang3lov3 @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @covetyou @iamasaddie @sr-lrn @clawdee @theywhowriteandknowthings @beefrobeefcal @merz-8 @speckledemerald @alltheseperfectimperfections @survivingandenduring @afraidtofear @millennial-teenybopper @missladym1981 @xdaddysprincessxx@lumoverheaven @ghoulettesinspace @brittmb115 @wintersquirrel @obscurexsorrows @littlevenicebitch69 @lulawantmula @pedroswife69 @joeldjarin

#devotion series #cult leader joel miller #noxturnalpascal #ofc!reader #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

[greynatomy]

Who The Hell Are you?

Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader

This is a chapter from my wattpad book that I haven’t had any motivation writing from, but is one of my favorite chapters so I wanted to share it on here.

I changed my oc’s name to yn so if you see a name that’s not natasha or yelena then that was my oc.

Let me know what you think!

-grey

———

Standing in the kitchen, Yelena hears someone trying to pick the lock on the front door.

“I know you’re out there.” She says to the person on the other side of the door.

“I know you know I’m out here.” She hears a woman’s voice muffled by the door.

The door opens, then slams shut. Yelena grabs her gun, waiting for the woman to come closer.

“Then why are you skulking about like it’s a minefield?” She asks, pointing the gun in front of her.

“‘Cause I don’t know if I can trust you.”

Chuckling, “Funny, I was going to say the same thing.”

“So, we gonna talk like grown-ups?”

Turning the corner, Yelena points the gun at the woman. “Is that what we are?”

Both women point the gun at each other, Yelena slowly walks backwards as Natasha walks forwards.

“Put it down before I make you.”

“You put yours down.” Natasha replies.Yelena trips, “Watch you step.” Yelena chuckles softly.

Standing in the middle of the kitchen, They both grab the others’ gun, quickly pointing it back at each other.

Yelena and Natasha are now impatient, starts kicking each other. Yelena grabs Natasha and slams her to the walls. Switching it up, Natasha then grabs Yelena’s face and lifts her up to crash into the cabinet over the sink. Pushing her face down, Natasha tries to get her to stop fighting.

“Stay down. Stay down. Stay down!”

Letting out a scream, Yelena grabs a plate and smashes it on Natasha’s head. Grabbing a towel, it quickly gets wrapped around her neck, but uses it to her advantage to flip Natasha over her into a door breaking the glass.

Slowly getting up, staring at each other to intimidate, Yelena grabs a knife from the kitchen and stalks towards Natasha.

Trying to find something to use, Natasha sees a stapler and grabs it just before Yelena swings the knife at her. Swinging their desired weapons at each other, the take turns, blow for blow, kick for kick, hoping one would give up.

Both weapons quickly get disarmed by the other, Yelena tackles Natasha into the wall, Natasha grabbing the curtains off its rod and wraps it around Yelena’s neck, Yelena doing the same to Natasha after dropping her on the floor.

Both laying on the floor, cutting off each other’s breathing, Yelena being the stubborn one, won’t give up first.

“перемирие.” Truce. Natasha says, holding a hand out.

Letting go, Yelena gasps for air, unwrapping the curtain from her neck. Both laying on the floor for a bit, Yelena tries to catch her breath.

“ты вырос.” You’ve grown up.

“Ни хрена.” No shit. Yelena says, getting up from the floor. She walks to the kitchen, grabbing the vodka from the refrigerator and some shot glasses.

“You had to come to Budapest, didn't you?” Natasha asks, following Yelena.

“I came here because I thought you wouldn’t. But since you’re here, what bullet does that?” Yelena asks pouring some shots, then pointing at the wall.

Natasha looks behind her. “Not bullets. Arrows.”

“Ah, right.” She says, taking a shot.

“If you didn’t think I’d come here, why’d you send me these?” Natasha ask, putting the familiar bunch of vials on the table.

“You brought it back here?” Yelena walks away, Natasha following closely behind.

“I’m not here trying to be your friend, but you need to tell me what that is.”

“It’s a synthetic gas. The counter agent to chemical subjugation. The gas immunizes the brain’s neuropathways from external manipulation.” She explains, grabbing a bag.

“Maybe in English next time?”

“Это противоядие от контроля над разумом.” It’s an antidote to mind control.

“настоящая зрелая.” Real mature. Natasha replies, rolling her eyes.

“Why don’t you take it to one of your super-scientist friends? They can explain it to you. Tony Stark, maybe?” She asks, packing her bag with clothes and weapons.

“Oh, yeah. We’re not really talking right now, so…”

“Great. Perfect timing. Where’s an Avenger when you need one?”

“I don’t want to be here. I’m on the run. You could’ve gotten me killed.”

“Well, what was I supposed to do? You’re the only superhero person that I know.”

Suddenly, they both hear the front door open and close. Natasha quickly puts a new shirt on, grabbing a gun, while Yelena freezes, wide-eyed.

“Yelena Belova!” They both hear. Natasha points the gun at the door.

“Дерьмо.” Shit. Yelena grabs Natasha’s gun, lowering it. Natasha looks confused as to why Yelena looks nervous and not grabbing a weapon.

“Что, черт возьми, ты сделал?” What the hell did you do? Yelena starts to chew on her bottom lip, not moving from where she’s standing. “Лучше тащи свою задницу сюда, прямо сейчас.” You better get you ass over here, right now.

Yelena slowly walks out the door, to the kitchen, Natasha quietly follows behind, still being alert.

“Привет дорогая.” Hi, sweetheart.

“Не говори мне "Привет, дорогая". Что случилось?” Don't 'Hi, sweetheart' me. What happened? Yn irritatedly asks, hands on both of her hips.

“Well, you see, it was not all my fault.”

“Oh, yeah? Enlighten me. Who else did this?”

“She did.” Yelena says, pointing at the wall behind her.

“Funny. No one is there.”

“Wha-” She looks behind her not seeing Natasha. “Come out from behind the wall.”

Natasha slowly walks from the other side of the wall, revealing herself.

“Ah, Natasha Romanoff.” Yn scans her up and down. “Do you usually come to peoples homes and destroy things?” She sarcastically asks.

Yelena let’s out a snort, seeing Natasha shrink from Yn’s intimidating gaze.

“Uh, well, n-no.” Clearing her throat, Natasha puts her tough act back in front and asks, “Who the hell are you?”

“Yelena, it is very rude to not introduce me.” She says, poring herself two shots of vodka, downing each, right after the other. Natasha looks at Yelena, hoping to get an answer.

Yelena let’s put a loud sigh. “Natasha meet Yn… my wife.”

“Wife?!”

“I know. I can’t believe I married her either.” Yn say, walking up to Yelena to give her a peck on the cheek.

“Замолчи.” Shut up. She says, rolling her eyes, letting a small smirk show. “Okay, we are getting distracted.” Yelena says, becoming serious again. Turning back to Natasha, “I kept checking the news, expecting to see Captain America bringing down the Red Room.”

“What?” Natasha asks, shocked. “Taking down the Red Room? What are you talking about? It’s been gone for years. Dreykov’s dead. I killed him.”

Letting out a small laugh, “You don’t actually believe that, do you?” Yn asks. Seeing the look on Natasha’s face, she turns to Yelena, “She really does believe that.”

“Dreykov’s dead. It took almost destroying the entire city just to get to him.”

“If you’re so sure, then tell us what happened. Tell us exactly.”

“We rigged bombs.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“Clint Barton. Killing Dreykov was the final step in the deflection to S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Nodding and shrugging, “Simple as that?”

“Yeah, sure, ‘simple.’” She states, walking away from the couple. “That’s what I’d call imploding a five-story building and then shooting it out with the Hungarian Special Forces. Took ten days in hiding before we could even get out of Budapest.”

“And you checked the body?” Yelena asks, grabbing a gun off the floor, stuffing it in her pants. “Confirmed the kill?”

“There was no body left to check.”

“Oh, come on. You’re Natasha Romanoff. THE BLACK WIDOW and you don’t do something as simple as making sure he is actually dead. A body does not just disappear.” After a moment of silence, “You’re also forgetting about Dreykov’s daughter.”

The three of them freeze, hearing muffled footsteps. The ceiling suddenly explodes, creating a hole. Yelena snatches the vials, stuffing them in her bag. Yn follows her, pushing them both to the wall.

Widows are flooding into the door. Carefully peaking around the corner, Yelena sees two Widows jump down from the hole they created in the ceiling. Running across the room to a different room, Natasha grabs them both and slams them into the wall. Yelena reaches and turns the knob, making all the lights explode.

Momentarily distracted, Natasha, Yelena, and Yn take down a couple windows and makes a run out the front door. Peaking to see the other Widows, Natasha hides behind a wall as they start to shoot at her, same with Yelena. Yn grabs a grenade from Yelena’s bag and throws it downstairs to the Windows.

Running up the stairs Natasha asks, “Where are we trying to get?”

“Motorbike! East side of the building.” Yelena answers.

Jumping out the window, onto the roof, the trio try to run as fast as they could to the motorbike. Jumping and sliding down the roof. Finding a metal pole thing, Yelena quickly unlatches some screws and pushes her foot on the side of the roof, to disconnect it.

A Widow that has been chasing them jumps off the roof and onto the pole, slipping, but Natasha grabs onto her.

“I got you!” However, the Widow grabs her knife and slices Natasha’s hand, making her let go, so she falls. “No!”

The pole crashes to the side of the building, Yn and Yelena crashes into a window as Natasha falls off the side, crashing into the vents in the way.

Yelena groans and slowly gets up, using the wall for support. She limps over to where her wife is laying. “Yn, hey. Are you okay?”

“Lena, yeah. We have to go.”

Running down the stairs, out the door to where Natasha is, Yelena and Yn come to an abrupt stop, seeing her standing over a dead Widow.

Putting the vial back with the other’s being too late to free her, “Do you believe us now?” Yelena softly asks.

“How many others?”

“Enough.”

#yelena belova #yelena x y/n #yelena mcu #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova imagine #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff imagines #marvel x reader #the avengers #black widow #black widow x female reader #black widow imagine #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #florence pugh #florence pugh imagine #florence pugh x reader #scarlett johansson #scarlett johansson x reader #scarlett johansson imagine

[slaymybreathaway]

All I Wanted - Roderick Heffely x Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 742

Masterlist

"Y/n come over," Rodrick said through the phone, his room was in the attic of the house so he didn't really have to whisper.

"Why? What's up?" y/n said as she sat on her at her desk, putting on eyeliner just for fun. Her room was in the attic, too.

"Don't you wanna see Greg's face when I trick him into thinking it's the first day of school?" he said. Y/n could sense his smirk through the phone.

"Yanno, I would love too but I just got into bed. Damn," she lied.

The girl could hear footsteps coming from the other side of the phone and then the sound of curtains opening. "Liar. You're a bad girlfriend," Rodrick said.

Y/n winced in defeat as she walked over to the window. She could see straight across, to the Heffley's house. Rodrick stood waving through the top window.

"I'm not your girlfriend, Rod," Y/n said with no expression.

The L/n's moved in last year and it wasn't long before the Oldest Heffely brother made his feelings for the Oldest l/n sister very clear.

Y/n made an effort to show little to none romantic intrest in the boy but somehow, he just wouldn't back off.

"If, I come over will you stop telling everyone that I'm your girlfriend?"

Y/n crossed her arms. She could see Rodricks's visible disappointment through the window.

"Alright, fine," he sighed.

Y/n hung up the phone and put on her shoes. She crept down the stairs slowly, trying not to wake her family.

When she got halfway down the stairs she heard a little voice. "Y-y/n," her little sister, Janie, spoke while rubbing her eyes tiredly.

Y/n walked up the stairs and picked up the three year old. The little girl clung to her like a koala. "Come on honey, let's go back to sleep. I'll buy you some ice-cream tomorrow afternoon. Does that sound good?"

Janie nodded, sleepily. The second her head hit the pillow, she started to snore.

"Phew," y/n whispered as she returned to her original mission.

She made it out of the house with no further obstacles and as he walked next door, she could she Rodrick standing at the porch.

"What took you so long?" he whispered.

"Little sister caught me. I bribed her with ice-cream," she whispered back and walked through the front door.

They walked up two sets of stairs to rodricks room that was... Surprisingly clean. "It's not a pigstye in here," y/n crossed her arms.

Rodrick raised an eyebrow. "Why would you think my room would be messy?" he asked.

Y/n walked to the bed. "I can see more from my window than you think," she shrugged.

♡

They sat on his bed, talking for a while. Rodrick was showing y/n his ideas for new Loaded Diaper songs.

"Yeah and there's this one. Which I really like but it's a duet and none of the other guys would like this kind of song so I might just keep that one for myself," he explained.

Y/n looked at him confusedly. "So you are able to tell everyone that I'm your girlfriend but you can't even ask me to duet a song with you?"

He looked over at her "Wait, you can sing?"

Y/n giggled and nodded.

"Alright cool. We have practice here every Friday after school so just come by," Rodrick smiled.

In that moment, y/n forgot what she had against the black haired boy.

♡

An hour had passed and they were still in the same place, only this time, they were listening to music off Rodrick's ipod through his earphones. Each of them had one earbud in.

'All I Wanted' by Paramore started playing. Rodrick cringed, its the most 'girly' song on his playlist. He looked over at y/n to see her opinions on it when he had realised that she had fallen asleep.

He had really grown to like this girl but the only way he knew how to show his emotions was to be painfully obvious. He wished that he worked differently but hey, would it have led to her in his bedroom?

Rodrick lay down beside y/n , putting his arm around her waist just as the chorus of the song kicked in.

All I wanted was you

#roderick heffley x reader #roderick heffley #roderick #diary of a wimpy kid #doawk rodrick #emo music #paramore #Spotify

[buckyalpine]

Capture my Heart 1

18+ Minors dni

Lumberjack Bucky (and Alpine) x f reader 

Loved this so much @slutforsexyseabass​ As usual. I went over board. So I am going to write a lovely smutty part 2 for this. 

Warnings: FLUFF (Lumberjack Bucky is a beefy sweetheart) and angst (abusive ex, swearing) Smut in the next chapter, is coming, I promise. PROMISEEE  Word count: 4.7k Sorry. i am so sorry. 

Smutty part 2

-

Bucky sat up from his spot in front of the fire place, hearing the sounds of branches and twigs snapping outside. It wasn’t unusual to hear the faint rustling of bushes in the middle of the night; he was used to it by now, living in the woods in his cozy cabin. But he was also more than familiar with all the sounds he’d normally hear and this was different. These were footsteps, not a deer or a bunny rustling in the bushes. He looked out the window but saw nothing though the sounds didn’t stop.

Alpine ears perked as the sounds neared, hopping into Bucky’s lap because those noises were definitely unfamiliar and they were getting closer. There weren’t people near Bucky’s cabin, and no one walked through the woods at this hour. He placed Alpine back on the couch, grabbing his gun from the kitchen drawer, locking and loading it before moving towards the door.

*****

You could feel your heart beating out of your chest, your breath coming out in rasps as you ran blindly through the forest. It was too dark to see where you were going but at this point it didn’t matter. You were ready to die at the hands of nature over the hands of your abusive and possessive ex. You’d tried to end things amicably and at first he seemed to take it well.

Until he started showing up at your work place and apartment, trying to get you back. When his attempts failed, he became worse, aggressively stalking you, leaving gifts and letters at your doorstep. The final straw was when you tried to tell him gently it just wouldn’t work out. You didn’t want to aggravate him more by going to the police; realistically they would’ve sent him off with a warning and nothing more. He didn’t take it well. All you felt was the sudden pinch of a needle to your neck and next thing you knew, you were gagged in the back of his pickup truck, your hands and legs bound together as he drove you to his cabin in the woods.

You had to ensure days of his rambling and out bursts, insisting this was for the best solution for both of you. Your body was littered with bruises and scars from where he grabbed and shoved you, accusing you of being selfish for leaving him. He never let you out of his sight and you were too deep into the forest for anyone to hear you scream.

You’d somehow managed to convince him to get some wood for a storm that was approaching, carefully arming yourself with a wrought iron rod from the fireplace, waiting for him to come back. You swallowed thickly, waiting for his back to turn to you before hitting him on the head, letting him fall to the floor unconscious.

You only had a short time to run before he woke up, sprinting out the door in nothing but an oversized t-shirt and sneakers, having no time to grab anything but your phone. The air was cold; you no longer see anything in the pitch darkness,  having no idea which direction you were even going in.

You saw a faint light through a thicket of trees, deciding to run towards it but based on your luck, the person living there could be a serial killer. Or another abusive disgruntled abuser. You truly had nothing else to lose. You slowed as you approached the cabin, suddenly feeling unsure about if they’d even open the door for you. You could see the soft warm light peak through the curtains as you tip toed around the trees, hiding in fear behind a large one. You didn’t think this through. What if they held you hostage? What if they knew your ex. You choked out a sob, slapping your hand over your mouth, holding on to a tree branch, trying to collect yourself.

*****

Bucky silently moved towards the door, switching the porch lights on before stepping out into the cold midnight air. He squinted at the rustling he could hear from behind a large tree nearby, freezing on the spot when he heard a soft whimper. He held onto his gun, moving towards the sound, gasping when he saw you tucked against the tree, trembling, looking at him wide eyed in fear. You looked scared, shaking like a baby bunny, he wanted to scoop you into his arms and comfort you from your distress.

“P-Please don’t hurt me” You whispered, tears staining your cheeks as you sniffled, trying to wipe your face only to have fresh tears take their place. Bucky quickly tucked his gun away, taking in your dishevelled appearance. Small twigs were caught in your hair, your t-shirt torn, clutching onto a phone for dear life. His heart broke, watching you wrap your arms around yourself, he could see the torment in your eyes about trusting him or not. He took a step back to give you some space while you continued to cling to the trunk, shivering.

“Is someone trying to hurt you?” He spoke as softly as he could, staying in the spot where the porch light would allow you to see him better. You kept your head down, giving him a tiny nod, staying rooted to the spot. You started to feel tiny a drizzle, the telltale signs of a severe storm approaching, the tumbling of thunder rolling in the distance.

“It’ll rain soon doll, why don’t you come inside, I promise, I won’t hurt you sweetheart”

Bucky knew you had no reason to believe him but he couldn’t just leave you outside. You bit your lip nervously, itching to trust him but you couldn’t be sure. He could sense your hesitation, giving you a soft smile when you took a step forward. You cried out when you felt a sharp pain shoot through your ankle; the adrenaline had worn off and you could feel the pain from when you rolled your ankle during your escape. You whimpered in pain, as he quickly moved to your side, wrapping a thick arm around you waist, so he could support your body.

“Hey, here its okay. Lean against me, I got you”

You let him walk you to his cabin, some of your nerves easing in his hold. The firm strong grip of his arm made you feel safe and the soft scent of his cologne was comforting, like warm pine woods. He set you down on the large plush couch in front of the fire place, the warmth immediately soothing your cold clammy skin.  

“I’m going to get a first aid kit okay?” He walked down the hall, petting a fluffy white cat sitting in the corner curiously eyeing you, before turning to the bathroom. “Be nice Alpine, she’s a guest”

She sauntered over to you, sniffing you curiously, hopping onto the sofa and purring in your lap, her little kitty senses telling her you were in need of some love and affection (maybe a new mommy for her daddy?). You petted her soft silky fur, looking up when you heard Bucky return. You gasped when you saw him, having not paid attention to how he looked when you were outside but now. Fuck.

He was handsome. He stood tall in front of you, his dark chest nut hair pulled into a low bun that rested at the nape of his neck.  You didn’t realize it then, but he was huge. His Henley was stretched tightly across his chest, the material nearly bursting around his arms. His jeans hugged his muscular thighs and you could feel your face heat up when your eyes met with his soft blue ones.

He kneeled in front of you, removing the leaves and twigs that clung to your hair. He grabbed a few wipes to clean your scrapes, lightly blowing on your skin when you hissed at the sting.

“Sorry doll almost done and then I’ll wrap your ankle, okay?” You nodded, watching him carefully place a few band aids and gently wrap a bandage around your foot.

“My names James, you can call me Bucky though” He smiled up at you and you noticed his dark thick lashes, the light scruff that dusted his cheeks, the most perfect nose, and his lips. They were pink, soft, kissable- stop it, you don’t even know him.

“I’m y/n” Your voice came out a raspy whisper, tired and thirsty. “Thank you for letting me stay, I didn’t mean to come onto your property-

“You don’t have to thank me doll, you’re safe here” He shook his head, his hand gently stroking your knee, he couldn’t let you see the absolute rage that was coursing through his veins knowing someone had put you through this. The rumble of your stomach momentarily interrupted his train of thought, focusing back to you.

“I’ll get you something to eat. The bathrooms just down the hall to the left, I kept a towel and some clothes you can change into”

You were about to protest, but he gave you a pointed look, smiling when you giggled, making your way to the bathroom. As soon as you disappeared down the hall his jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists. He didn’t say anything but he saw the dark bruises and scrapes that littered your skin. Your wrists and ankles still had indents from where you had been tied up with rope. He squeezed his eyes shut, he had to focus on you and giving you what you needed first. He walked over to the kitchen, setting a kettle on and grabbing food for you to eat.

*****

You let the hot water wash away all the dirt and grime that clung onto your skin, wishing you could wash away the bruises that still lingered on your body. Your mind wandered to Bucky; everything about him was comforting. The way he touched you so gently, his soft smile, those blue eyes. You grabbed the fluffy towel he left you, wrapping yourself with it to dry off. You smiled at the large soft flannel shirt he left for you along with a large pair of sweat pants. The comfy material hung loosely on your smaller frame but you didn’t mind, you were more than happy to just be dry, warm and safe.

When you came back, there was a mug of steaming hot chocolate on the wooden coffee table, along with a tray piled high with different pastries. Bucky came back with a small dish of cat treats for Alpine, setting them on the floor near the couch before sitting beside you, keeping some space in between you both.

“I hope you like hot chocolate, I can make you tea if you like that better doll, I have lots-

“It’s delicious, thank you Bucky” You hummed at the creamy rich hot chocolate, holding the large mug close to you, letting it warm you up though the heat in your cheeks were because of his adorable smile. “I think I could live off of this alone”

“I’m happy you like it, took me years to get it just like my ma’s” Bucky grinned, grabbing the tray of pastries and placing it in the space between you. “Eat as much as you like doll, I made them all myself”

You giggled, looking at the comically large pile of treats; mini apple pies, strawberry Danishes, lemon tarts, butter tarts, chocolate chip cookies, coffee cake, scones.  

“You made all this?” You picked up one of the butter tarts, taking a small bite but the second it hit your tongue, you scarfed the whole thing down, immediately going for another pastry. The man had God like baking skills, you’d never tasted anything so delicious, you thought you were going to cry. “They’re so good- I-I’ve never had anything like these, they’re amazing”

“I usually bake for myself and pack some for a little old couple that owns the hardware store in town where I get my tools. Known them for years”

Alpine watched Bucky carefully, seeing him blush as you two spoke, his voice soft. She hopped up on Bucky’s lap, carefully tip toeing over the tray so she could plop in your lap again, purring when you scratched the back of her ears. Bucky cocked his head, raising an eye brow at his peculiar cat, surprised to see her acting so friendly. You giggled when she bumped her head onto your chin, nuzzling against you.  

“She doesn’t usually like people” Bucky snorted, shaking his head when Alpine narrowed her eyes at him.

“She’s very sweet” You grinned, rubbing her belly, cooing at the sweet fur baby as she tried to capture your hand in her paws.

“She likes you” He chuckled at the way Alpine snuggled further into your lap, purring like a motorboat. Bucky felt his heart skip a beat the second Alpine jumped into your lap, she always hissed at unfamiliar people. She wasn’t hardly a fan of regular people (only recently decided she’d tolerate Steve and Sam).

Between the warmth of the fire and the awful day you had, exhaustion began to take over. Your head nodded off as you tried to stay awake, your eyes struggling to stay open.

“Why don’t you get some rest y/n, just give me a second to get the room ready”  

“No! Bucky no, you’ve already done more than enough for me, I can just sleep on the couch, I couldn’t ask you to-

“You don’t have to tell me anything” Bucky nodded to some of the bruises that peaked under the sleeved you had rolled up. “But there’s no way I’m letting you sleep on the couch. You need rest and a proper bed; I’ll be back in a minute doll”

Bucky grabbed a few fuzzy blankets from the cupboard of the guest room, laying them out for you. He grabbed a water bottle for the bedside table, checking the windows were locked properly before coming to get you, smiling when he found you fast asleep, curled up in a ball with Alpine tucked into your side.

“Y/n?” He whispered, chuckling when you mumbled something in your sleep, tucking yourself further in the couch. “Sweet heart, the beds ready” Your eyes cracked open, having no energy to get out of the couch to walk over. You let out a tiny yawn, immediately going back to sleep. He tucked a hair behind your ear, carefully moving you into his arms.  

“M’gonna carry you okay?” You nodded slightly, snuggling in the warmth of his body as he carried you to the room. He set you down, tucking you in, doing a quick check of the room once more before leaving.

“Good night doll”

*****

The crack of thunder jolted you awake, your first thought was that your ex had found you, smashing the windows. You sat up, shivering when flashes of lightening poured through the curtains, heavy rain pelting against the windows. You couldn’t shake of the shock, your heart racing, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. You weren’t typically scared of storms but you were feeling over stimulated and had no way to ground yourself.

Bucky stirred at the sound of the raging storm, sitting up when he heard your distressed cries in the room across from his. He immediately made his way over, his heart breaking seeing you curled in a ball, trembling each time there was a clap of lighting to thunder.

“Y/n? Doll, are you okay?” Bucky switched the lamp on, hanging up an extra sheet over the curtains so you wouldn’t have to see the flashes of lightening. He sat down beside you, unsure if you’d be okay with him touching you, gently stroking your back.

“C-can you h-hold me? P-Please?” You whispered between sobs, your body trembling as you wrapped your arms around your knees tighter, trying to stop yourself from shaking.

“Come here darling” He pulled you into his lap with ease, tucking your head under his chin, his arms wrapping your entire body, holding you against him. You squeezed your eyes shit, your face in his chest, hands clutching onto his shirt as he rocked you, your body finally beginning to relax. Your sobs had reduced to sniffles while he played with your hair, gently grazing your scalp as your eyes started to grow heavy again, falling asleep and softly snoring his arms. Bucky tucked you back in, making sure you were asleep before getting up to leave. He blinked when he felt gentle tug to his wrist, your glassy eyes looking up at him.

“Stay? Please?”

He smiled, nodding and laying down beside you, keeping his hand in yours, squeezing it while you shuffled over to be closer to him.

“I’m right here okay? No one can hurt you y/n, I’m here, go to sleep doll”

*****

You woke up the next morning to a steaming cup of tea on the side table along with a note next to it

In the kitchen, breakfast is ready, come when you’re ready sugar

-          JBB & Alp

You tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered, finishing your tea before going to the bathroom. He’d left you another set of clothes to change into as well as a fluffy towel and new tooth brush. You made your way to the kitchen, the smell of fresh pancakes floating down the hall. He had a bright smile on his face, mentally putting himself on a leash when he saw you in his clothes.

“Good morning sugar, you hungry?” Bucky’s smile faded slightly seeing the bruises on your skin darker than the day before. “Let me get you some ice for that”

You sat at the stool, loading your plate; Bucky had cooked for an army. Unsurprisingly, he made the softest, fluffiest pancakes and you were struggling not to moan at the table. He held the ice to the darkest bruise on your arm, swallowing thickly when you hissed in pain.

“The person who hurt me,” You let out a shuddered breath while Bucky continued to tend to your bruises. “Was my ex”

Your eyes nervously flicked around the room, tugging at a lose string at the hem of your shirt. You knew Bucky didn’t expect you to explain your situation but you felt comfortable around him, plus you didn’t want to put him in danger because of your baggage.

“We broke up months ago because he was so controlling. Uh, he didn’t take the break up very well” You let out a shaky laugh, trying to make light of the situation, noting the way Bucky’s nostrils flared, his jaw clenched. “He drugged me and kept me up in his cabin. I have no idea for how long. The storm saved me in a way; I’d managed to send him away for some wood. Hit him and ran, he’s probably out looking for me now” Your voice had been reduced to a whisper, trembling again.

“You don’t have to worry about him, I’ll keep you safe y/n” Bucky pulled your into his arms, his lips lightly brushing your forehead. Bucky could feel his little fur baby wedge herself between his legs to get to you. You felt a little ball of fur near you feet, looking down to see Alpine rubbing herself on your leg. “Hm, sorry yes, almost forgot about you my fluffy marshmallow. We will keep you safe”

*****

Over the week, Bucky never left your side. As much as he wanted to hunt the asshole that did this to you, he knew you were in no state to be left alone. It didn’t help that the storm had knocked over a number of trees, meaning he couldn’t just drive you back to the city.

Truthfully you didn’t mind; you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt so safe and happy. Bucky had been an absolute sweetheart, never letting you lift a finger, doting on you every minute of the day even when you insisted not to. He did all the cooking, reluctantly letting you do the dishes because you insisted. The only problem you had was struggling not to fall for him. He had no idea what his lingering hugs, sweet words and gentle kisses did to you;  you had to mentally scold yourself to calm down at least 8 times a day (you had no idea Bucky was struggling just as much, he’d had many conversations with Alpine about it).

You’d managed to control yourself until he went outside to chop wood. Initially you’d been reluctant to go outside but Bucky insisted a bit of fresh air would be good for you. You ventured onto the porch with a blanket wrapped around you (comfy in his Henley and a pair of boxers), Alpine tucked under you arm. You nearly whimpered watching a very shirtless Bucky grunt as he brought the axe down, easily splitting a thick log into half, sweat dripping down his very toned body, biceps bulging each time he swung. His hair was tied up into a half bun, jeans resting low on his hips, giving you the perfect view of his happy trail; the man was sex on legs. He looked up, happy to see you outside, giving you a bashful smile before continuing to work, hoping the blush dusting his cheeks wasn’t too obvious. He couldn’t help the little jump his heart did every time you smiled or touched him.

You heard the rumble of a car in the distance, your eyes widening in fear as you ran into the house, with Bucky quickly following behind. You stood frozen in the middle of the living room, panic making it difficult to think straight. Your breaths came out in rasps, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, look at me, its okay. No one is going to hurt you doll, promise, I got you” Bucky rushed over to you, wiping your tears before sweeping you in his arms and taking you to his room. You clutched around him, refusing to let him go when he set you down on his bed. A knock at the door made your heart race.

“I’ll go see who it is, you stay here with Alp, okay? Come here and lie down darling, I’ll be back before you know it” Bucky gave you a warm smile as he tucked you and Alpine under the sheets but it only upset you more. He was a sweet heart and he didn’t ask to be dragged into this mess.

“What if something happens to you?” You looked at him with glassy eyes, your bottom lip trembling.

“Nothing will happen to me baby, its gonna be okay” He kissed your forehead, pulling an extra blanket over you before getting up and locking the door. He frowned as he made his way to the door, tucking his gun in the waistband of his jeans before throwing on a shirt and opening the door.

“Mr. Barnes”

Two police officers stood on his porch along with another shifty looking man who had a dark bruise on his head. Bucky shut the door behind him, nodding for them to talk on the drive way, further away from the cabin.

“There a problem?”

“We were wondering if you saw this young woman around the area, she went missing a few days ago” Thor pulled out a picture of you, handing it over to Bucky before continuing. “This is her boyfriend, she was staying with him in one of the northern cabins and may have gotten lost” He pointed to the man who shuffled on his feet, trying to look through the windows from where he was standing while talking to the other office. Bucky closed his eyes, taking a breath trying to calm himself. The fucker was right there and he couldn’t do anything. Yet.

“A word officer” Bucky murmured, walking off to the side of the cabin. Thor nodded to Loki, signalling him to keep the conversation going as he stepped off, following Bucky to a more secluded area.

“He’s an abuser” Bucky spoke lowly, “He drugged and kidnapped her and held her in his cabin. She managed to escape but had a feeling he’d come looking for her”

“I knew it” Thor scoffed, shaking his head. “The bastards got a bruise right across his forehead, can’t imagine he got it from hiking in the woods like he claimed”

“Can I ask a favour? Off the record?” Thor nodded, cocking eyebrow as Bucky’s fists twitched, eyes raging. “Don’t lock him up tonight. Do it tomorrow morning”

“Consider it done James” Thor snorted; he already knew what his friend was going to do. “She’s safe with you?” Thor whispered, breathing a sigh of relief when Bucky nodded. “She’s not here!” Thor stated as he walked around, back to the police cruiser. “Let’s go”

Loki smirked, figuring Thor must have learned something based on his smug facial expression and sudden cool demeanour. As soon as the men drove off, Bucky was running back to the house straight to you. He wrapped you in his arms, cuddling you close to him.

“Was it him?” He silently nodded, holding you tighter, softly kissing your head. You nuzzled into him more, clinging onto him. “Can we cuddle?” You whispered, peeking at him through your lashes, you just didn’t want to let him go.

“Of course my doll” Bucky tucked himself under the sheets, bringing you to lay on his chest. He stroked your hair, as you closed your eyes, letting his heart beat sooth you.

“Thank you for protecting me”

“Always, babydoll”

*****

Bucky gently shook you awake, chuckling at the way you’d fallen asleep in his arms, clinging onto him like a little koala bear.

“I have to do something quickly, but you won’t be alone baby, my friends are right outside okay?”

“Where do you have to go?” You pouted as he smiled, carrying you to the living room, setting you in front of the fire while he went to go put on his boots before pecking a quick kiss to your head.

“I’ll be back soon, promise y/n”

You followed Bucky to the door where you saw two men in a dark truck, one with straight raven hair, the other with long wavy blonde hair. They gave you a warm smile, waving over to you before nodding at Bucky as he climbed into his truck, pulling away and driving down the road.

Thor made the journey a little easier, having slipped Bucky the address to the cabin earlier. Bucky took large strides to the door, banging on it waiting for your shitty little ex to open the door.

“Who are y-

He didn’t even finish his sentence, immediately feeling a throbbing pain shooting through his head from where Bucky punched him.

“What the fu-

“Stay away from her” Bucky was seething, towering over your ex as he cowered on the floor, grasping his head in pain. “You stay the fuck away from her” Bucky grabbed him off the floor, pressing him against the wall.

“You bruised her here” Bucky snapped his arm easily, scoffing when he cried in pain. “And here” He kneed him in the stomach, watching your ex double over, sobbing on the floor. “And so many other fucking places, was it not enough?! Why the fuck did you come looking for her?!” Bucky dragged him over to a chair, swiftly tying him up, so he wouldn’t escape.

“She’s a little who-

“Don’t” Your ex flinched when Bucky took a step towards him, trembling in fear. “Just so you know, the police had footage of her running. From the other cabins. Footage of you dragging her here. I’m only leaving you alive because the police found you first”

Bucky made a quick phone call to his two friends, who pulled away to arrest your ex as soon as Bucky arrived back home.

“You’re safe now babydoll-

You immediately ran into his arms, just happy to know he was back. You kissed his bruised knuckles, before showering his face in kisses, you didn’t ask questions but you knew. You were safe. He made sure of it.

*****

Neither of you brought up the topic of going back home; Bucky didn’t want you to leave nor did you want to go home. You loved it here. It gnawed at the back of your head as you stayed another two weeks, cuddled up with Bucky on the couch eating pastries he made, something you did each night since the first night you stayed over. Bucky could tell something was off as you shifted slightly, your eyes a little lost.

“You okay baby?”

“I-I’m sorry, I’ve just been staying here, I should be going home, I’m sorry-

“You’re welcome to stay for as long as you like sweetheart, I…I like you a lot-

You didn’t let him finish, grabbing his face, pulling him in for a deep kiss. You hard tried to avoid it, you really did but it was too much. He had captured your heart. In the small time you were with him, he had it all and you couldn’t let him go.

Smutty part 2

-

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed! (also this is an 18+ blog, I can’t tag nameless/ageless blogs)  

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[goddess-aelin]

Little Falcon

For day 22 of Rowaelin Month: Magic/Shifting lessons with the kids

@rowaelinscourt

Masterlist

Word count: 1k

Warnings: none!

Aelin was going to kill him, she truly was. She usually was a forgiving soul, one of the kindest people he knew despite her penchant for violence and general mischief. But for this, she would kill him.

Because he committed probably the worst act he could have ever committed. Worse than killing a man. Worse than forgetting Aelin’s birthday. Worse than eating his wife’s chocolate hazelnut cake. No, Rowan lost their daughter. Alma was almost four years old, her blonde, shining hair always a beacon and her quiet, yet temperamental disposition a mirror of her mother’s. It seemed that she had also inherited her mother’s ability to sneak around. Because she wasn’t here. She wasn’t anywhere.

He’d been searching the castle for almost an hour, hoping to find the little trickster before Aelin was done with her meeting. He began in Alma’s room, hoping that her golden hair would be sticking out from her covers or her tiny toes from under her bed. No such luck was found. He made his way around the royal family’s wing of the castle with the same circumstances. He quietly asked the staff members if they had seen her, all to a resounding “no” and a look of disapproval that he lost Alma.

He was about to shift into hawk form to do a fly-by of the castle grounds but before he could, he heard footsteps coming up the stairs to their wing. Alma. Relieved, he rounded the corner, shouting her name and about to give the little girl a stern talking to when he stopped in his tracks. Aelin was standing in front of him, one brow raised and a knowing look on her face.

“Why were you calling Alma’s name?”

Rowan let out a nervous chuckle. “Well, you see…” He knew Aelin could probably see the sweat beading on his forehead. “Alma and I, we were….we were playing hide and seek! Yeah. And she’s just so good at hiding that I can’t find her.”

Aelin rolled her eyes. “You’re a terrible liar, Buzzard. Just tell me you lost our daughter so we can go find her.”

He deflated at that. “Fine. I lost our daughter. Happy now?”

“Not particularly, no.” Aelin sighed. “I was gone for less than two hours, Rowan. How did this happen?”

“Errin needed to be changed so I stepped out of her room for a minute. A single minute, Aelin. And the next thing I knew, she was gone.” Panic laced his voice and he knew that he was about five seconds from completely losing his shit. It was a miracle he had kept it together this long, to be quite honest.

“I put Errin in his crib for a nap–don’t worry, one of the nursemaids is in there with him–and I came back and she was just gone. I didn’t even hear her little feet scamper by or anything. I don’t understand it.” Tears were finally forming in his eyes as the realization that he lost their daughter set in.

Slender arms wrapped around his middle, embracing him tightly. “It’s okay, Buzzard. We’ll find her, okay? We’ll look together and we’ll find her.” Even if Aelin was putting on a brave front, he knew she was probably panicking as much as he was. “Besides, she has the bravery of both of her parents so I’m sure she’s totally fine.” Aelin gave him a small smile and pulled him by the hand toward her room.

Gradually, they overturned every cushion, ripped every blanket from her bed, and opened everyy door and drawer but still no Alma. Rowan tugged on his hair, hoping to relieve some of the tension that was building in the pit of his stomach again. Aelin was slowly putting everything back to where it was so he figured he’d go and make another round of their bedroom.

Aelin’s voice halted him about halfway down the hall. “Uh, hey, Buzzard?”

He doesn’t think he ever ran so fast in his life. With panicked eyes, he burst into the room like a tornado. Aelin was standing calmly in the center of the room, looking up at the small curtain rod that hung over Alma’s bed.

“Look there,” she pointed toward the ceiling where a small bird was perched on the curtain rod. A suspiciously golden-looking falcon stared back at him and chirped. The tiny falcon flapped its wings, getting enough air to rise up from its perch and glide down to land on Rowan’s shoulder.

Aelin’s voice was breathless when she spoke, “Is that–”

Rowan nodded. “I think it is.” Rowan brought a single finger up to gently pet the bird’s head, it’s color too close to Alma’s blonde waves for it to be a coincidence.

As his finger stopped its motion, a bright light flashed and then there was a familiar weight in his arms. He was shocked into silence as he beheld Alma sitting in his arms, smiling.

“I was hidin’ Daddy!”

Slowly, so as not to startle her, Rowan brought her into the tightest embrace he could manage without crushing her little bones. “I can see that,” he choked out. When he looked up at Aelin, she had a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. She gave him a look that seemed to say, Well, shit.

“Alma, how long have you been able to do that? Turn into a bird?”

“I not just any bird, Daddy! I’s a falcon! Uncle Fen said so!”

“Uncle Fen knew about this?” Alma nodded enthusiastically.

“Yeah! He said I should sup’rise you.”

Rowan smiled tightly at his daughter. “Consider me surprised, little falcon.”

His daughter put her tiny hands over her mouth and giggled. The sight made his cold heart melt. But quickly, the severity of the situation overtook him.

“You have to let me know when you’re going to shift, okay? I want to teach you how to fly safely so you don’t hurt yourself.”

“Daddy, you’re bein’ a Buzzard. Jus’ like Mommy always says.”

Rowan’s mouth hung open. Aelin’s cackle could be heard throughout the castle as she doubled over in hysterics.

Eventually, Aelin’s laughter died down and she met his eyes through her tears. I’ll get you back for that, Fireheart.

Mmhm, sure. Not before you murder Fenrys though, right?

Rowan gave a curt nod and pulled his giggling little falcon back into his arms. She placed a tiny hand over the tattoo on his face.

“Daddy, I can’t wait to fly with you! It’s gonna be so much fun.” And with that, she snuggled into his arms once more.

Maybe murdering Fenrys could wait a few more minutes.

A/N: I absolutely loved writing this one and I was squealing from cuteness while doing so 🥹

Tagging:

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[xiaq]

Steddie Time Travel Fix-it: Pt. 8

Ao3 Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5 Pt. 6 Pt. 7 Pt. 8 Pt.9

Eddie had never given much thought to how he would die, which was probably an oversight, considering.

Until now, if he had given it some thought, he imagines his cause of death probably would have been a toss up between the drugs or the homosexuality. Now, he’s pretty sure it’s stupidity. Because Steve had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he should not go back to the trailer. And he had. And now he’s going to die.

Then again, it won’t really be stupidity that kills him. It’ll be whatever interdimensional horrorshow beast is trying to crawl through his ceiling in the living room. Though his cause of death itself will probably be something like blunt trauma, or asphyxiation, or exsanguination, or––well, he doesn’t know how interdimensional horrorshow beasts kill people. There might not even be a corpse left for an autopsy. 

These kind of semantics are not what he should be thinking about while barricaded in the bathroom. He should be thinking about finding a way to not die.

He’ll get on that immediately.

Wayne’s shotgun is in the living room and isn’t loaded, so that’s not an option for defense. Aside from that, the closest thing to a weapon that they keep in the house is Eddie’s guitar which is already safely in the front seat of Harrington’s BMW along with Eddie’s record collection, six mugs, the entire drawer from the kitchen full of their important documents, and a duffel bag that’s half clothes and half an assortment of sentimental items he’d thought Wayne might want to try and save if he had a choice.

When he’d collected these things, slammed his way out the door and shoved them into the car, he hadn’t noticed anything wrong with the ceiling. Except as he was about to leave, he’d remembered his lunchbox with close to $50 of weed left in it and Steve’s walkie-talkie and when he’d gone back inside to retrieve them, he’d thought maybe he should grab some of his D&D stuff as well. The monster manual. The best of his minifigs. The paint set that had cost a pretty penny that Wayne got him for Christmas two years back. And after shoving those things in a bag, he’d stopped in the kitchen to grab some food because he might as well and that’s when––

Well.

That’s when some sort of vine-y tentacle-y portal cracked the living room ceiling in half  and something started to crawl out. Something because he’s not sure what else to call it because it was definitely animalistic in nature, but it also didn’t seem to have a fucking face.

So. He screamed and he barricaded himself in the bathroom and now his heartbeat is in his ears and he feels dizzy with the breath he can’t seem to catch and the closest thing he has to a weapon is the rusted rod holding the shower curtain which is too unwieldy to actually be useful. He considers trying to dig the walkie talkie out of the bag slung around his chest but even if Steve answers it’s unlikely he'll get there in time to save Eddie’s ass.

Except.

Eddie fumbles one hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out the knife Steve had pressed into his palm earlier. It’s not much, but it’s something

Okay. He’s not an idiot even if he likes to play one sometimes. The bathroom window is too small to climb out but the bedroom window isn’t and the bedroom door is right there.

He takes the deepest breath he can, which isn’t very, holds the knife in his right hand, and throws the door open with his left. He doesn’t look behind him when he runs for the bedroom, left hand reaching, again, for a door knob so he can slam something shut between him and whatever is happening in the living room.

He almost makes it.

He gets the door closed and—rookie mistake, he should really know better—bends over to exhale in relief, when one of the vines or tentacles or whatever the fuck they are shoots from beneath the crack where door meets linoleum flooring and wraps it self, sharp and burning and cruel around his ankle. He brings the knife down almost without thinking to hack at it and the second the thing is severed he tips over his dresser to cover the crack, climbs onto the bed, and shoves open the window with panicked fingers. When he falls out of it to land hard, chest-down in the dirt outside a moment later, he doesn’t make the mistake of thinking he’s safe. He just scrambles to his feet and runs for Steve’s car. It’s still idling, keys in the ignition, and his foot is on the accelerator before the door is fully closed, duffle bag pressed uncomfortably between his back and the seat, forcing him to hunch forward over the dash knife still trapped between his right hand and steering wheel.

He says “fuck” approximately 173 times on the way to the Henderson’s house.

***

It’s a short, curly-haired, toothless kid that answers the door at the quaint house in the quiet neighborhood where he parks more on the grass than the driveway.

“Eddie!” the kid says brightly, and then. “Uh, I mean, can I help you?”

Normally he’d ask how the kid knows his name but that’s pretty far down on his list of burning questions at the moment. 

“I don’t––I, uh.”

His hands are still shaking and he’s still holding the knife which is now smeared with some sort of black-red viscera.

The kid seems to notice this.

“Oh, shit.” He says. Not in horror or fear, which would be normal reactions to a stranger holding a bloodied knife on your doorstep, but something closer to resignation. “Were you––I thought Steve told you not to go back. What happened? Are you okay?”

Eddie laughs. It’s maybe a little hysterical. “No,” he says remembering the words Steve had said to him in the bathroom the first day they’d spoken. “No, I am not even remotely OK. What the fuck is going on?”

And then his day gets even weirder because several other people appear in the doorway behind the curly-haired kid. Most of them look to be the kid’s age. One girl is considerably younger. But behind the gaggle of children are Barb Holland and Chrissy fucking Cunningham.

“Oh no!” Chrissy says, “Eddie, you’re bleeding.”

He looks down and yup, sure enough. His ankle is bleeding bright and red down the side of his once-white sneakers.

And then, thank god, a woman appears. A mom. He has never in his life been so relieved to see an adult.

“Well what are you doing, let the poor boy inside,” she says, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. “Dustin, take him to the bathroom so he can clean up.”

It occurs to Eddie, belatedly, that he’s still sort of brandishing a knife, which most mothers would take exception to, except when her eyes slide down his arm she doesn’t seem surprised.

“You shouldn’t need that here,” she says. “But maybe it’s best to keep it within reach until the others get back anyhow.”

She turns like this is an everyday occurrence, humming as she walks back toward the kitchen and the kid–Dustin?--is pulling him down the hall.

He makes somewhat frantic eye-contact with Barb who looks…equally baffled.

“Nance just dropped me off and told me if I trusted her I had to stay,” she says. “Do you have any idea what’s going on?”

“Robin dropped me off,” Chrissy says. “Sort of. I mean, I drove us. But I also would love to know what sort of prank is happening. It can’t be mean if Robin is involved but the kids were definitely a surprise and none of them will tell us anything.”

“I have no idea,” Eddie says faintly as a ten year old bullies him into sitting on the closed toilet lid, muttering about disinfectant. “All I know is that is that Chief Hopper picked up Steve and Steve gave me his keys–”

“What?” One of the kids squawks, “Steve doesn’t let anybody drive his car!”

Eddie ignores him, “and he told me to come here––begged me, basically, told me not to go home and said something about a gate? Except I went home to get––”

“Eddie!” multiple kids he’s never met before shout at him at once.

This is the strangest day of his life.

“To get some things. You know, just in case. Because Steve was making it sound like the park was going to get wiped off the face of the earth. But then the ceiling––it was like…and there was a…thing.”

“A thing,” Barb repeats.

Eddie looks at the knife in his hand, then down to where Dustin is rolling up the bloodied cuff of his jeans.

There’s a mark there that’s very similar to the healing mark around Steve’s neck–a bleeding ligature line outlined in welted skin that looks almost like a burn, maybe.

“You wouldn't believe me,” Eddie says. 

“Oh we 100% would,” Dustin says. “But maybe don’t say anything until Steve gets back.”

“Yeah, no,” Eddie argues, hissing as Dustin pours alcohol on his wounds. “I’m going to need you to tell me what the hell is going on right now.”

“Seconded,” Barb says.

“Thirded,” Chrissy says.

Jesus. There are a lot of people crammed into the bathroom.

“I’m sorry,” Dustin says. “But I really can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Steve says we can't,” pipes up one of the other kids from just outside the door. “Not ‘till they get back.”

“What, and Steve is the boss of you?”

“Well yeah. I mean, with this stuff, yeah.”

“WHAT STUFF?” Eddie feels like he might be losing his mind. “Does your mom know what’s going on? I need an adult.”

“She knows, but she’s not saying anything either,” Barb sighs. 

Eddie doesn’t have a chance to further argue with the child wrapping gauze around his ankle because the walkie talkie in the bag still strapped around his chest, as well as the walkie-talkie Dustin had been holding, now located in the sink basin, go staticy before Steve’s voice comes through.

“Dustin, come in. Is Eddie there yet? Over.”

Dustin fishes the radio out of the sink. “Yup,” he answers. “But Eddie went back home first and I think the gate is open because his ankle is all messed up in a you-know-what kinda way and he’s asking a lot of questions, over.”

“He went back? After I explicitly told him not to?”

Eddie wrenches the radio out of Dustin’s hands.

“You were making it sound like the place was going to get nuked,” he hisses, “so sue me if I wanted to rescue some of the few possessions I have with sentimental value.”

“Nothing is worth your life, Eddie, Jesus.”

“Well maybe if you’d explained what the hell was going on, then I would have known that my life was in danger you colossal asshole.”

“We are having such a conversation when this is over,” Steve snarls.

“Oh believe me, I think that is more than warranted”

“Guys,” Dustin interrupts. “You’re supposed to say ‘over’ when you’re finished talking.”

“Don’t leave or do anything else stupid,” Steve says, “Dustin, we’re going in now, over.”

“Going in where?” Eddie asks.

There’s no response.

“Steve, going in where?”

The radio is silent.

“Steven fucking whatever your middle name is Harrington, answer me right now.”

He does not.

“He said ‘over.’” Dustin points out. “I think he’s gone.”

“If this is a prank,” Chrissy says. “I don’t like it.”

“I don’t think it’s a prank,” Eddie murmurs. “Hey,” he grabs Dustin’s wrist; makes the kid look at him. “Is Steve going to be ok? He’s already beat to shit, he shouldn’t be doing––whatever the hell he’s doing.”

“Probably?” Dustin says. “I mean, he always has been so far. Mostly. And he’s actually in a lot better shape now than he was the last time.”

“Last time,” Eddie repeats flatly.

“Dustin, shut up,” the youngest girl says.

“Look, Steve will be fine. Everyone is going to be fine this time. We just have to be patient.” But there’s something in his expression that belies the confidence in his voice.

“Patient,” Eddie says. “Fantastic.”

Pt.9

#steddie #steddie fic #myfic #eddie x steve #eddie/steve #steve harrington/eddie munson

[chaoticallywriting]

A Merciful King ☼ Chapter Three

Pairing: Aegon Targaryen II x Reader, Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Warnings: awkward sex? Eating out, voyeurism, public sex,

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N:  I originally posted this series on TheGreensWhore. Unfortunately I got shadowbanned on there so I’m reposting all of amk onto here and will be posting further chapters on here instead of there.

Synopsis: The war is over, the blacks have lost, and as Rhaenrya’s daughter it is your duty to marry a green to secure your younger brothers safety. If only Aemond paid attention to you like his brother does.

Previously || Next

Your handmaidens treat you as if it’s your wedding day. They scrub your skin until it’s a bright red.pouring various oils into the copper basin. Your hair is scrubbed, massaged, and braided while damp so that it would be curly for the big event. Lila even picks out a lovely night gown for you and sent for your favorite foods. None of which you can find the stomach to eat due to the revolting smells.

The other girls throw a gauzy fabric over the rods of your four-poster bed, creating curtains around all three sides that will offer an obscurity for the maester. It’ll be sheer enough to show your figures, but offers a little privacy. Lila helps you slip into your sage green nightgown. As she adjusts a tie, you feel her slip something small and cold into your hands, and you feel yourself tense up at the realization. The vial of blood, the one you no longer need.

Fuck. Roughly biting your lip, you turn your head to whisper “Thank you, but I won’t need another one after this.”

She nods and steps away, smiling at her handiwork. Myra, another one of your handmaidens, begins to unbraid your dried hair as the time nears. Your heart begins to pound, and you find yourself pacing after the handmaid's leave.You tuck the vial under one of your pillows and rack your hands through your curls.

Will he be rough? Quick and brutal, seeking only his end, or will he offer you the same kindness Aegon did? You fear that somehow this will all go horribly wrong, but you also fear your new reality. He cannot run away any longer, and Aegon seems intent on keeping you close to him. This will prove stressful and tiresome. You only hope that Aemond may stay bored of you, but also wish to seek a friendship with him.

All you wanted was peace. These last few years have been so harrowing, and you wish to know happiness once more. You scarcely remember what it was like to feel carefree How foolish you were to spend all that time wishing to be a woman, when all womanhood brought was pain.

After waiting for what felt like a century, someone knocked at your door. You're quick to pull it open, finding you’ll go insane if you wait one more moment. The maester stands at the front of the trio waiting outside your door. Aemond is at the back, towering over the other two with an unreadable expression on his face. Meanwhile, Aegon is nursing a goblet of wine, which does not surprise you.

There is a chilling anger present in his features. His glare holds a possessive tint that has you scrambling back to let them inside. This needs to end quickly. You can only hope Aemond is quick in bed as the maester shuffles in.

The door clicks shut, and you nervously fiddle with your gown. Aemond hasn’t even looked in your direction, opting to stare at the wall behind you, jaw clenched. Despite knowing this would happen, that doesn’t soften the blow to your pride. You know you look beautiful, hair silken and curled. Lila had dabbled rose oil onto your neck and wrists, while Myra had brushed some into your hair. A satin green robe was wrapped around you to cover your nightgown from anyone who isn’t your husband. The tie is wrapped tightly around your waist, cinching your waist.

“Your grace, the king and I shall stand to the side while you and your husband may start. It will be as if we are not even here.”

There is no way to pretend that is true. Even if they stay silent, you can feel Aegon's gaze on you. His eyes are full of lust, he looks at you how Aemond should. It makes this feel worse as you look into his own eyes, memories flashing between you. You find yourself blushing at his gaze.

The heat from before curls in the pit of your stomach as you tear your gaze from his. Aemond moves towards the bed, and you follow, slowly taking off your robe. He takes off his boots but keeps the rest of his clothes on, opting to untie his pants and pull himself out. You take a deep breath at the sight. He is longer than Aegon, but not as fat. You don’t know if that’s better or worse.

“Do you want me to…?” You gesture to your gown, going to untie one of your straps. He stops you and shakes his head. You nod.

The blanket is soft beneath your hands as you sit on the edge of the bed. Hands tightly gripping the sheets in anticipation. His hand finds your shoulder, lightly pushing you onto your back. The air around you two is tense and incredibly awkward. You look away when Aemond fists his member and jerks it a couple of times. His soft grunts fill the air before he stops and pushes your dress up to your hips.

You hate this, hate this, hate this. You want to push him away when he lines himself up with you, hovering above you and staring off at the blankets beside you. This was not how you imagined your first time with your husband. You had dreamed of him magically changing his mind and kissing you one day before taking you to bed. This is nothing like that.

The wind is knocked out of you once he bottoms out inside of you. Your hand grips his shoulder in a bruising hold as a breathless gasp leaves your lips. This hurts more than with Aegon. He’s deeper, and it seems the dryness has added an uncomfortable factor. You may have been a little wet at the thought of your night with his brother, but not much.

He begins to slowly thrust inside you, only adding to the god awful feeling. You don’t realize you're crying until you taste the saltiness of your own tears. A few moments go by with that awful feeling. You find yourself staring up at the ceiling above when the pain slowly subsides. It takes a few moments for the pain to subside. Not enough for you to suddenly enjoy yourself but enough to stop crying. Soon his thrusts turn sloppy and his breathing intensifies before stilling above you.

Aemond pulls out of you, stuffing himself back into his pants and standing up. You stay lying down, finding there to be an uncomfortable ache between your legs now. You don’t realize you were tightly fisting the blankets until reality starts to set back in. The murmurs of the maester speaking with Aemond can be heard, but it sounds far away. All you wish to do is curl up in a ball, but there’s a small part of you telling you to get up. To jut your chin out and act like the bedding did not bother you as much.

You are Rhaenrya’s daughter. A mighty dragon, not some sad little lamb to be devoured. Eaten whole and spit out the bones. You devour, you conquer. So with a shaky breath you pull yourself up until you sit on the edge of the bed, eyes a bit bleary as you watch the maester leave. Aegon’s cup seems to be empty, he eyes you with an unreadable look before storming out after the maester.

Aemond is putting on his boots as you try to find your bearings. You know he has a separate bedchamber nearby and is probably planning to head there. Clearing your throat, you wrap your arms around yourself and stare at your husband.

“I didn’t ask for this, you know?”

He scoffs.

“Truly, I was asking your brother for an annulment this morning, and now we are here.”

There are a few beats of silence. He won’t look at you as he thinks of what to say, so you keep talking.

“I know she holds your heart, I do not wish to steal it. I simply want to be friends, like when we were young and still happy with our lives.” You stand up, wincing at the movement, and pad over to him. He stares at the ground as you stand a few inches in front of him. “If we are stuck in this marriage then the least either of us could do is be nice to one another or the rest of our lives shall be miserable. I do not wish for that, and I assume you don’t either.”

“I love her” his voice is low, his eyes sweeping up to look at yours. “I will never stop loving her.”

There’s a stabbing sensation within your heart at his words. You may not love him, but to hear your husband declare his love for another hurts nonetheless. You are stuck in a loveless marriage and will probably never be loved. It is your fate to never know what it’s like to hold one's heart as this Alys Rivers does.

“I know.” you murmur. “But can you please stop talking about having me killed? It’s not a very nice thing to do.”

His lips twitch at that before nodding. You hope your words will stick, you’ll pray about it if you must. Aemond leaves soon after, and suddenly your room feels so cold. You climb back into bed, hand searching beneath your pillow before wrapping your fingers around the glass vial. You pour a few drops onto the bed where you once laid before disposing of the rest. That will assure Alicents spies that you are still a maiden. Hopefully your handmaidens will gossip and word of this night will get out. There won’t be a way to try to shame you anymore, at least not for now.

Many days have gone by since the consummation. It’s been long enough that your blood should arrive within the next few days. You obviously know it won’t and with that all will think you are with Aemond’s child. Little do they know it’s been two months, not just one.

Perhaps your handmaidens will be loyal, and you’ll be able to go on another month or so before the pregnancy is discovered. You wonder if it’s worth keeping a secret at this point, or if you should wait for someone else to point it out.

The stares have stopped, along with the whispers. You feel grateful for this and find yourself strolling through the gardens. Today you will not go to the godswood and spend the rest of the time panicking in your room. You shall go through the gardens, maybe stop by the nursery. Perhaps attend dinner for once instead of having it sent to your room.

Just off the path along the walkway in the gardens, you find a bench sequestered from the watchful eyes of the court and find yourself compelled to take a seat, so you may bask in the sun. You tilt your head back and close your eyes as you take in the shining rays, hands clasped in your lap.

The birds chirp peacefully, and the breeze shifts through the leaves. This moment is truly peaceful, but the peace does not last for long. It never does.

You hear the snap of a twig and open your eyes. In front of you is Aegon, surprisingly without a goblet in hand. He quickly approaches you and cups your cheeks. His goblet falls to the ground, and he pulls you in for a bruising kiss. He does it so quickly that you hardly have time to protest, let alone reciprocate it before he’s pulling away.

“I have been thinking about doing that since your night with my brother.” His lips trail down your neck, hands slipping to your thighs. You tightly close them and put your hands on his chest, ready to push him away when he continues. “I had to be there, to make sure you didn’t like it.”

“I didn’t, now can you stop? We’re in public.” He smirks against your neck, face tilting up to look into your eyes. “Anyone may see, and people just stopped talking about me.”

“Let them talk, I want everyone to hear your pretty moans. I haven’t heard them in so long” He kneels between your legs, slowly pulling them apart despite trying to keep them closed. “Please?”

You’ve never heard Aegon say such a word. It honestly stuns you. He takes this moment to rub up and down your thighs, pulling your skirts up enough to feel your skin beneath his hands. He kisses your inner thigh, and you find that heat returns. Gods you must be weak to consider doing this, but he desires you in a way no one else has. The things he’s made you feel have been otherworldly. You find yourself nodding before you can stop yourself.

Aegon smirks, nipping at your inner thigh before pushing his head under your skirt. You quietly yelp at his actions, a hand instinctively going to his hair while the other lays flat on the stone bench. He licks a thick strip up your folds, you find yourself shuddering and biting your lip to try to contain your moans.

You can’t close your eyes, you have to remind yourself to try to keep a watch just in case. He keeps licking your folds before his tongue finally swirls around your bundle of nerves, causing you to jerk in shock. A strained moan slips out at his actions, and you feel him tighten his grip around your thighs.

He wraps his lips around your bud, beginning to harshly suck on it. You instinctively grind against his face at the action, moaning louder and slapping a hand to your mouth at the noise. The hand in his hair tightens and pulls. The fire in your stomach is burning.

Aegon moans as you pull on his hair, the sound vibrating against your clit. Two of his fingers spread your folds apart. Running along them to coat his fingers in your slick before thrusting two fingers inside you. Your stomach tightens and not long after he finds a spot within you that brings stars to your eyes. You come around his fingers with shaking thighs and an arched back, strangled moans muffled by your hand.

He fucks you through your orgasm, letting go of your bud and opting to kitten lick it. He groans at the feel of your walls convulsing around his fingers, and slowly pulls them out once you’ve calmed down. You drop your hand and pant, hands pushing your skirts down when he pulls away.

Aegon pushes his fingers against your lips and says in a commanding voice, “suck.”

You find yourself doing as you're told without even thinking, mouth opening and lips wrapping around his fingers before you suck on them. Your eyes close as you softly moan, thighs rubbing together at the feel this brings you. Aegon reluctantly pulls his fingers out of your mouth and stands.

He’s smirking down at you, looking at your blown out eyes and flushed cheeks. Before he can stop himself, he’s leaned down to kiss you, murmuring against your lips. “I will find you tonight so that I may feel you against my cock again.”

He leaves you in that little hidden area of the gardens, a confident stride to his walk. You spend a few moments collecting yourself before rushing off, only hoping no one witnessed the two of you. You’ll need a cool bath now before dinner. The nursery will have to wait until tomorrow.

Family dinner comes and goes with little fanfare. Alicent spoke for most of it, trying to get her son to open back up, while Aegon blatantly stared you down. It was hard to focus on the food in front of you, and oftentimes found yourself finding comfort within your cups to keep from flushing under his stare.

Aemond hardly responds to his mother nor does he eat much. His mind is elsewhere. You’ve only seen him a handful of times since that night. Not as if you’ve tried though. Most of your time has been spent trying not to puke around others or make your obvious distaste about the smell of meat known.

By the time you made it back to your chambers, you found yourself particularly exhausted. Dealing with the minefield that is a family dinner while being an outsider to it has left you feeling faint. Once inside, you find yourself crawling into bed, not caring about your dress or the jewelry you wore and drifted off to sleep.

Your slumber did not last for long, though. You feel hands slowly peeling your dress off of you, soft ones at that. “No…” you mumble softly, half-heartedly pushing them away while keeping your eyes closed.

“Shhh,” the deep voice says. You know that voice, it’s Aegon. At this moment all you want to do is sleep, and you feel dread rattle your bones at what he might try to do. “I’m just taking this off.”

“Not tonight, please” you nuzzle your pillow and groan. “Just sleep tonight.”

Your dress is off now, and you shiver as the air grazes your skin. He takes some time figuring out how to take off your earrings and gives up on your necklace before settling in behind you. He pulls the blankets above you both before wrapping his arms around and nuzzles the back of your neck.

“I just want to hold you,” he says. His voice lacks its usual mischief, and you relax in his arms. His lips turn up against the back of your neck in what you can only assume is a smile before he sighs. “I’ve always wanted to hold you.”

Any other day, one where you are sober, his words would confuse you. Tonight, though, you simply find yourself humming at his words, too sleepy to realize what he may mean. Your legs tangle with his, and you sigh at the comforting feeling his embrace brings you. His fingers trace your bare belly, and he occasionally kisses your neck. Not in the hungry way that he did the night in his chambers, which confuses you.

Aegon did not seem capable of this type of thing. Ever since he married his sister, he was only known for fucking whores and getting drunk. He was hardly ever serious, at least from what you’ve seen. Certainly never sweet like this.

“I thought you wanted to fuck me?” You don’t know it, but gods, your words make him almost lose his resolve. He softly groans at your words before shaking his head, his voice is low and soft, almost sweet.

“Not like this, you seem too tired. My son must be exhausting you in there.”

“You can’t stay though,” your voice is groggy, and you briefly open your eyes before groaning and closing them once more. He nods, hand flat against your stomach, but doesn’t move.

“I won’t, just go back to sleep.” So you do, and your dreams consist of him, all him. But none of it is horrifying as it was before.

#aegon x reader #aegon #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii smut #aegon ii x you #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x reader #aegon targaryen ii x reader #aegon targaryen ii x you #hotd x you #hotd x reader #hotd smut

[howtotwirlaknife22]

Hi, could you write a Hesh x Fem reader fluff based on this? 🥺👉👈 (kinda would be cool if reader was single yk 👀) tysm!!

Hi!!! I’m just now seeing this ask I’m sosososos sorry 😭😭😭 yes yes ofc I will write this (this is so funny lmao)!

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That’s not mine?

David “Hesh” Walker x Fem!Reader

Summary: you found a jacket thinking it was your boyfriends and you thought it was the most comfortable thing you’ve ever worn, so you decided to play around and wear it until he noticed.

Warnings: Slight NSFW scene, mostly fluff

You and Hesh had been living together for about 3 months, and things were going pretty smooth so far. You were both able to coordinate your lives around one another pretty well and you knew how to handle a set chore schedule also. Your active bedroom life was definitely a plus as well. It was a lazy Sunday, and you had decided to finally take care of the pile of laundry that had been building up in the bathroom hamper. As you entered the bathroom, you navigated your way around some scattered sink parts and tools, as you had a repairman over to fix your sink since there was something wrong with the pump. Hesh had whined about you calling one in the first place since he swore up and down he could fix it, but after 3 tries and the bathroom nearly flooding after the last failed attempt, you caved and called the landlord to get someone over as fast as possible. You made your way to your hamper and rested it on your hip as you collected stray articles of clothing that had fallen from it. You noticed a dark black hoodie slung over the shower curtain rod and you raised an eyebrow, not noticing the hoodie. You knew Hesh’s closet pretty well, given that you both shared one. But this was new. And it smelled…good. You grabbed the hoodie and smirked as you placed it on top of the other clothes and made your way to your laundry room, quickly tossing the load of laundry into the washing machine and holding the hoodie out in front of you. You knew the repairman wouldn’t be back for another 4 hours, and Hesh should be home in the next 30 minutes or so. He had gone out to get groceries for the next week so he had been at the store for the last half hour. You decided that you were going to give him a fun little surprise for when he got back, so you stripped yourself down and tossed your lounge clothes and undergarments into the washer as slid his hoodie on. You started up the washer and made your way back to your shared bedroom, slipping under the covers and waiting for him to return.

A few minutes later you heard the front door open, and you smirked to yourself in anticipation as you heard his footsteps creeping closer towards the bedroom. You saw the door creak open and your boyfriend stood in the doorway, smiling at you.

“Hey babe, I’m back.” His eyes scanned your body that was half covered by the covers and the other half covered by a hoodie. He raised an eyebrow at the hoodie when he saw it. You began to shift out from under the covers and his breath was caught in his throat before he could say anything about it as he saw your bare legs come up to your chest.

“Hey, don’t mind me..I was just doing some laundry, and I found one of your old hoodies. Thought I’d make the most of the load and just..use this as a cover instead.” You smirked and pulled the hood off of your head, gesturing for him to come closer. He obeyed, and leaned down to kiss you passionately. You hummed against his lips as you felt a calloused hand make its way from your ankle and all the way up your leg to your thigh. You let out a sigh against his lips and pulled away with a devious smirk. “How about you get me out of this hoodie, and come under the covers with me?” Hesh’s eyes were blown out with lust, and he nodded as he reached for his belt. He couldn’t stop thinking about the hoodie though. When did he get this? He didn’t recognize it at all. It wasn’t until he was fully stripped and reaching for the hem of the hoodie that he noticed a little logo on the bottom: “Sparky’s electric and plumbing”. His eyes went wide and he looked up at you. Your cheeks were rosy and your eyes were also blown out. You cocked and eyebrow at him and tilted your head. “Is something wrong?” You asked. Hesh couldn’t help himself and began to laugh, letting go of the shirt as more giggled broke out from him. You gave him a puzzled look and furrowed your brows. “What? What is it?” Hesh was now full on cackling and wheezing as you crossed your arms, growing more frustrated with the situation as he continued to laugh. “David Walker! What the hell are your laughing at! I swear if you don’t tell me right now!” You scolded him as he was now on the ground laughing. Hesh took a moment to breath and catch his breath before he leaned against the edge of the bed on his elbows.

“Babe, that’s not my hoodie…that’s the repair guys hoodie. Look at the logo.” He pointed to it and all the color drained out of your face.

“It’s not…yours?” You questioned, feeling your cheeks start to burn up in embarrassment.

Hesh took a deep breath and wiped a stray tear from his eye as he had finally managed to stop laughing.

“Nope. Not mine.” He smirked and grabbed the hem of the hoodie again. “But, maybe we should get you out of it because of that, yeah? Can’t have my girl walking around wearing someone else’s clothes now can we?” He kissed the tip of your nose. “Just wouldn’t be a good look…now my ACTUAL clothes, that’s a good look on you.” He teased you gently as he yanked the hoodie over your red face, stripping you down completely.

A few hours later, you had taken the hoodie back into the bathroom, and you were thankful the repairman wasn’t back yet. You slung it over the shower curtain just as you had found it and got out of the bathroom as quickly as possible, feeling embarrassed by the whole situation. You knew Hesh was going to hang this over your head for a long time, but you were happy that he wasn’t mad about it. You and Hesh had been cuddling on the couch for a few hours when the repairman finally did come back to fix your sink. Your face felt hot and you could almost feel the smirk on Hesh’s face. You refused to look at either of them and instead chose to focus on the TV show in front of you. At least, you were focusing until you heard the repairman from the bathroom.

“Why does my hoodie smell like perfume?”

You placed your face in your hands and you could feel Hesh’s body cracking up with laughter once again. At least now, you had one of Hesh’s actual hoodies you could wear. And this time, you made sure to ask him for one directly.

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Taglist: I’m always shit at making the Taglist, so please comment if you want to be added to it so I can copy and paste users for it!

Inbox is open, send in your Ghosts requests! 💌

#cod hesh headcannons #hesh #hesh x reader #cod hesh #hesh hivemind🍯 #hesh walker x reader #hesh cod #david hesh walker #hesh walker #call of duty ghosts #call of duty headcanons #cod x reader #cod ghosts #cod ghosts fic #cod ghosts headcannons

[sunlightmurdock]

hurt/comfort drabble with firefighter!bradley and neighbour!reader involving his EMT knowledge

this strayed from the prompt a bit, but I give you: the time you dislocated your shoulder in the shower !!

So Bradley’s just chilling at home, probably sitting on the couch in his underwear, probably watching reality TV that he will vehemently deny enjoying. And then he gets a call from you. He answers it with a mouth full of popcorn, expecting it to be you asking him to hang out again. Nothing out of the ordinary.

And then he hears the laboured breathing and running water on the other end of the line.

Then, comes your voice. “I need to ask you for a favour and you need to never tell anyone about this, ever. Okay?”

So, he’s walking into your apartment in shorts and a hoodie and snapping the lock on your bathroom door, which he already knows you’ll call him for help replacing.

“Don’t you dare look!” You yell at him from behind the curtain.

“I feel like grabbing blind is probably a worse idea than just letting me get you. What happened?” Bradley walks gingerly towards the curtain, brows furrowed together.

“I slipped.”

“Is something broken? — Can you warn me before I get jump scared with an ankle facing the wrong way or something?” Bradley complains, reaching around the curtain to turn the water off without looking. For the first time in twenty minutes, you’re not almost waterboarding yourself.

He looks around him and finds your towel. “Here, put this over you and I’ll pick you up.”

“I was hoping you’d be able to tell me if something’s broken.” You tell him, reaching around the curtain to take the towel and cover your naked body with it. You’re hoping to wake up from this disgustingly embarrassing dream any minute now and be back in the real world where you aren’t naked and injured in front of your stupidly hot neighbour. “My arm really hurts.”

He curses under his breath and leans his head back. Something in his gut already tells him that this is going to be above his fucking pay-grade. Why couldn’t you have just grazed your knee and let him put a cute little bandaid on you, or something?

“Alright. I’m gonna pull the curtain back now.”

“Okay.”

You close your eyes as the curtain drags along the rod, pulled back and exposing you to him. Huddled awkwardly at the bottom of your shower, your phone in your hand just out of the pray of the water.

“Oh, shit.”

Your eyes fly open, widening up at him — more importantly, the look on his face. He’s grimacing right at you.

“Is it bad?”

“It’s not broken,” He says gingerly. “Actually I’m not supposed to say that. It might be. It doesn’t look broken.”

You swallow, a shiver starting to set in now that you’re cold, wet and stuck against the floor. “What does it look like?”

“I’m not supposed to diagnose in the field.” He mumbles, still grimacing at your fucked up shoulder. He leans down and tucks his arms under your back and your knees, “C’mere.”

You gasp and wince as your afflicted shoulder presses into his chest. He becomes more confident in what he thinks you’ve done.

“Bradley, I’m not going to write to your boss. Just — what is it?”

“Can you, like, move it?” He asks as he carries you from the bathroom and into your bedroom. You know that saying no isn’t the right answer, but that if you say yes, he’ll ask you to prove it.

“No.”

“At all? Like, not even if you kinda tried?”

“You’re freaking me out.”

He sets you at the end of your bed softly, then turns away from you immediately to search through your closet. “Do you have anything without arms? — Like a poncho?”

“Wh— what? — Why? — Bradley, come on, you know first aid. Just, like, fix it.” You plead with him, using your good arm to keep your towel around you. He scoffs and continues to dig through your closet.

“I’m not popping your shoulder back into the socket. That is not the kind of thing that I’m supposed to do.” He finds a pair of comfortable shorts and tosses them in your direction and then continues searching again.

Your eyes widen. “It’s dislocated? — Fuck. Wait, no, I don’t want to go to the hospital. You used to play football, can’t you just like, try to fix it?”

“Absolutely the fuck not.” He almost shudders at the idea. “We’re gonna do this the right way for you, alright? — Make sure it actually heals right.”

He finds one of his shirts on your floor and tosses it in your direction. He leaves them here sometimes if he gets hot hanging out. It’s hard to argue with him when he phrases things like that.

“Bradley, stop throwing clothes at me. I can’t…”

He turns towards you again, pursing his lips. In that moment, you’re adamant of two things: he is not seeing you naked, and he is not taking you to the hospital. An hour later, you’re sitting in the emergency room in a mismatched outfit with both of those resolutions completely betrayed.

“You’re being really brave, honey,” Bradley smooths his fingers over your scalp softly as you rest your head against his annoyingly perfectly healthy, uninjured shoulder. “We won’t have to wait much longer.”

“You have to take this to your grave, Bradshaw. If you tell anyone about this—“

“Your secret’s safe with me,” He decides amusedly, resting his cheek against the top of your head. “But, uh… was that that a tattoo that I —“

“Shut up.”

#firefighter!bradley #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw

[theweightofakiteofdreamsingold]

Mirrors – J. Kiszka

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, mature themes, unprotected sex, fingering, language, MINORS DNI

A/N: Im not exactly sure what the deal is with my brain and Josh and showers and smut, but enjoy some kinky mirror sex w/ Josh lol 💁‍♀️🫶

Bajabule,

-Han

As you slid the curtain down the rod, you watched the steam from the shower float through the air of the bathroom, the condensation making the floor tiles slippery as you padded across them. You took your towel from the hook on the wall and dried your body before tousling your hair with it to get off the extra water.

You opened the bathroom door to find Josh sitting propped up against a mound of pillows, his brown eyes sweet as they watched your every movement across the room.

“What?” you asked, your voice meek and small.

“Just admiring, mama.” His voice was soft and sweet, and his eyes glimmered as they raked over every feature of your body that wasn’t still covered by your towel.

“Not much to admire,” you chuckled softly.

He scoffed, his mouth sitting open, while his eyes roamed over you again. “Baby, you’re gorgeous,” he said, peeling out from under the blankets on the bed and crawling to the end to be closer to where you were standing. “Come over here, sweet girl,” he said, standing up on his knees and stretching his arms out to you.

You bunched your towel and held it together with one hand while you walked to him. His hands held both sides of your face and he dragged his gaze slowly from your eyes to your lips while he moved his mouth closer to yours. Your breathing was steadily picking up, the closer he got to you; not with anxiety, but rather with anticipation. He had moved himself close enough to you for the tip of his nose to rest on your cheek while his lips practically brushed yours as he whispered to you.

“Here. Let’s slip this off, huh?” His hand gingerly held yours that was keeping you clothed. He swept his fingertips across the back of your hand while his big, brown eyes melted every solid part of you. “Lemme see.”

Your eyes immediately dropped to the floor and you felt your cheeks get hot. You’d never been able to shake your self-consciousness, even though Josh made it his life’s mission to never let you forget how beautiful he thought you were. He was always reminding you every chance that he got, always trying to do things to make you feel pretty.

“Mama, gimme those pretty eyes.”

You flicked your eyes to him, and his were practically dripping. They were the deepest brown you’d ever seen, and you couldn’t look away from them. You loosened your grip on the edges of your towel and let one corner slip through your fingers, never breaking from his stare. The towel fell, exposing one side of your naked body. You felt it continue to uncover you until it was hanging loosely between your thumb and forefinger. You let it slip between them, feeling it hit your feet as your eyes stayed locked with Josh’s. His eyes squinted slightly, and the corners of them crinkled as the most brilliant smile spread across his face.

It reflexively made you smile, and you felt his hands take hold of your hips as he stepped down onto the floor from the bed. He guided you toward the dresser where the mirror hung above it on the wall.

“Look at you,” he whispered. He was standing behind you with his hands on your hips, gently leaning against you, while your hands rested on the dresser in front of you. “So beautiful, you know that?”

You cast your eyes down again, letting a small huff of air escape through your nose. You felt your head shake just slightly while your face wore a sheepish smile, an unconscious display of self-doubt that had imbedded itself into your body language over the years.

“Don’t think so?” you heard him ask, “You need me to show you, mama?” His words were drawn out, and his voice was quiet.

You watched him in the mirror, your chest heaving, as you searched for a response. His hands trailed over the front of your body, and you couldn’t take your eyes off of his fingertips as they grazed slowly over your skin. You watched as his hands moved up your sides, the pads of his fingers pressing softly into the spots between your ribs before continuing up to your breasts. As his hands made contact with them, you saw his eyes flutter closed and felt a sigh tickle the shell of your ear, sending a chill up your spine, followed by a flood of warmth that spread from your middle, down to your toes, and all the way out to the tips of your fingers.

You leaned back, relaxing into him as he held you, his hands gently squeezing the swells of your breasts as he hummed against your neck. Your mouth fell open as your breath sucked in and out of it.

“Look at you, baby. Already so gorgeous under my hands.” His lips latched to your neck then, softly sucking and licking spots on the delicate expanse of skin while his thumbs toyed with your hardened nipples.

He pulled back from your neck again, letting out a sigh. “Want you to see how beautiful you look when you cum for me, lovely.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as he moved one arm to bar across your chest, pulling you back to be flush against him as his other hand snaked its way between your legs. They immediately snapped together, and he chuckled.

“Shhh, you’re alright, baby,” he coaxed. You relaxed your legs and felt his fingers slip through your folds with liquid ease. He toyed with your entrance before settling on your clit, making a dripping mess of your heat. You whimpered as the tip of his middle finger held the perfect amount of pressure against you as he traced sharp circles around the bundle of nerves, igniting a fire in the pit of your stomach. Your breath picked up quickly as he continued, unrelenting in the pace of his fingers and drawing you to your edge faster than you’d expected.

“Fuckk, Josh,” you breathed.

“What is it, mama?” he cooed softly, “you want me to keep going or do you need something else?” He pressed his lips into the junction of your neck and shoulder while simultaneously pressing his hardened length against the small of your back. You let a moan escape from your chest at the feeling, and you arched your back into him. You consequently felt him smile into your neck.

“Aww sweet baby,” he hummed against your skin, “You need my cock in that gorgeous pussy?”

His middle finger made quicker, tighter circles around your clit as he spoke, fanning the flames in your stomach hard, threatening to burn out before you were ready to give it up. A whiny “please” was the only sound you could muster, and he immediately obliged.

Both of his hands moved to your back, and he gently nudged you so you’d lean down with your elbows on the dresser, giving him a solid angle to insert himself at an agonizingly slow pace. Once he’d reached as far as he could go, he smoothed his hands over the soft skin of your back as he gently pulled his hips back and pushed them forward again, making long, deep strokes.

Because of the upward angle of his thrusts, the head of his cock rubbed against the spot inside you that only he could reach with every forward movement of his hips, each one making your muscles clench around him. Gasp after gasp rattled from between your lips, and your head hung down as you leaned on your forearms.

“Come here, mama,” he panted, “Wanna hold you while you watch.”

He repositioned himself before barring his arm across your chest again while he held you flush with his own. Your head tilted back into him as you watched his hips jut into your ass, jolting your entire body. Your eyes found his, and he was already looking at you, intently watching your face as it twisted with pleasure.

“Look how gorgeous you are. So perfect for me,” he said, keeping his eyes locked with yours.

The hand that wasn’t holding you against him reached back between your legs to finish the job, and you cried out for him when his middle finger started tracing his sharp circles again. You felt your legs begin to quiver as he quickened the pace of his hips. He kept his strokes long and deep, but they were fast, each movement eliciting a whimper from you. The faster he went, the closer together your sounds became, stringing themselves together so closely that they were nearly continuous.

As you felt your orgasm take over your entire body, Josh stabilized your chin to sit straight before the mirror in front of you, and you watched the heat that he created spread throughout your being. He continuously whispered to you throughout your high, keeping it going.

“Doing so good, honey,” he breathed, “Keep fucking giving it to me. So goddamn good, mama. So pretty.”

Your mouth hung open as you continued to moan for him, and his hips started to stutter against you. He followed closely behind you with his release, painting your insides with it while you were still coming down.

The two of you stood, you leaning on the dresser in front of you and him, flush against your back, as you took turns heaving air in and out of your lungs to catch up. After you both did, you felt him softly press his lips into your shoulder and his hands reached around your middle, giving you a little squeeze.

“Wanna go take another shower?” he asked as a crinkle-eyed smile spread over his face.

You huffed out a laugh and rolled your eyes, following him back into the bathroom.

#greta van fleet #greta van smut #greta van fic #josh kiszka #gvf #starcatcher #greta van art #josh kiszka fic #josh gvf #josh kiszka smut

[eddies-house]

The Under-Ground

Chapter One - Welcome to The Under-Ground

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 |

Modern!Barista!Eddie AU - In which you work at the local Hawkins coffee shop where you thought you'd be able to escape the horrors that were high school a few years after graduating. Until one of those horrors lands a job in the closing shift with you...and you have to train him.

Enemies to Lovers, Modern!Barista!Eddie AU, Eddie x Fem Reader

5K Words

Warnings - Eddie is an asshole, eventual smut, I don't think there's anything else but please let me know if I missed anything

Author's Note: I finished this sooner than I thought I would...pls let me know what you think, I am having so much fun writing this so far and I can't wait to keep going

Masterlist

Next ->

The chill Autumn air infiltrated the apartment and left you shivering, the wool blanket atop your comforter did little to aid you in getting warm.  That’s what five hundred dollars a month got you in small town Hawkins, it's what you could afford.  Old striped wallpaper that alternated a faded baby blue and pale yellow that seemed to have been glued to the wall since the 70’s barely clung to the walls, a majority of it peeling and begging to be torn off.  The stained white linoleum throughout the kitchen had seen better days and the carpet in the living room and bedroom was dingy, so dingy that no vacuum could possibly come close to cleaning it.  The lock on the door was on the verge of breaking and almost didn’t work–almost.  And of course the heater was definitely broken, the creepy landlord would take his sweet time to fix it, leaving you with a freezing apartment as the seasons changed and Hawkins welcomed the fall.  A broke college student by day and a barista by night, these are the cards you were dealt for now.  

Classes at the community college had finished for the day, rotating to the night courses.  A few papers were due next week, one for your business class on the effects of product promotion in business growth that happened to be stressing you out extra.  Your fingers tapped away at your laptop from your mattress nestled in the corner on the floor of your tiny bedroom.  4:30PM, the time in the corner of the screen read, just half an hour before your shift at The Under-Ground.  With a groan, you click save on the document and shut the laptop which was certain to be opened later tonight after your shift only to continue the torturous essay.  Begrudgingly you began your pre-work ritual of grabbing whatever snack or meal you had in the fridge, scarfing it down, and then tidying your appearance a bit while listening to your daily playlist named “Eh” on Spotify.  Today’s vibe was set by Dreams by Fleetwood Mac.  

The rusty bathroom faucet sputtered water before allowing a full stream to flow into the sink.  You splashed some water on your face to feel more alive although it may have been a mistake in hindsight since the apartment was already cold and rather than feeling refreshed, you felt like a wet dog.  Dabbing your face with a towel hanging from over the rod where the tie dye shower curtain hung as well, you collected any leftover mascara from the previous night beneath your waterline and around your eyelids.  Moving to the compact closet in the bedroom, a simple outfit of jeans and a maroon knitted sweater you’d ‘claimed’ from the lost and found at the college were chosen and paired with your only signature docs.  Lastly, your apron was tied around your waist in a neat knot.  

Grabbing your keys from the laminate countertop and shoving your laptop in your bag, you make your way through the damaged and scratched up wooden door that was the entrance to your apartment, the number seven nailed to the front of it.  “God dammit.” you jam your key in and out of the lock, twisting and repeating until it finally clicks in place.  The door leads right outside into the biting air and you scurry down the concrete stairs while avoiding touching the nasty railing, Mrs. Harrison’s chubby cat, Raphael is perched right at the bottom like he always is.  His large green irises stare up at you, giving the appearance that he was just a fluffy ball of black fur with eyes.  “Ralphy” you mumble your nickname for him affectionately as you steal a pat from his head on your way out of the apartments, a small meow chiming through the air.  

The Under-Ground wasn’t a far walk but it sure did seem that way the colder it got.  You’d been working there since the Spring and so far had no issues with weather but you knew it would bite you at some point.  The walk through downtown Hawkins is crisp and cloudy, leaves blowing delicately from the trees and laying perfectly in the street, colors varying from red, orange, and brown.  It was mid September.  Patrons wander about the streets attending to their daily errands.  Teenagers mess around at the entrance of The Hideout, no doubt attempting to use their fake IDs only to be turned away by the bouncer, Stan.  

Joyce Byers cleans the storefront window of Melvald’s, taking care to not miss a single streak.  Her face lights up as her son, Will approaches the store.  Max Mayfield skateboards past you down the sidewalk at lightning speed, the only reason you know it's her is a flash of her flaming red hair as well as Lucas Sinclair trying to keep up with her on his own board, a nervous expression written on his features as he carefully maneuvers.  Nancy Wheeler hurriedly gets into her car, wrapping up her workday at The Hawkins Post while Jonathan Byers gives her cheek a kiss and heads over toward Will and Joyce.   

The Under-Ground comes into view as you round the corner, the brick building vacant of customers at the moment from what you can tell through the windows.  The evening rush hasn’t picked up yet, usually kicking in at around six when the college students like yourself would make themselves at home and study over lattes and espresso shots.  The bell chimes above the door as you pull it open, the smell of coffee beans and pastries flooding your nose and some upbeat jazz playing through the speakers.  Robin sits atop the counter much to the boss, Ronnie's dismay but he’s not around to scold her.  Her dirty blonde bob is freshly trimmed, bangs laying just right across her forehead while she has a lollipop sticking out her mouth and she skims through a magazine lazily.  One leg is hitched up onto the counter with her bright yellow converse on display, knee to her chest.  She’s wearing jeans with a few holes and a vintage tee.  Her bright blue eyes glance up and land on you, face lighting up as she greets you.  “Hey, Robin!” you greet back, making your way behind the counter to clock in on the computer.  

“You’re lucky, it’s been dead for hours.” she says while setting aside the magazine.  “Think it’s gonna rain too so it’ll probably stay that way.” she continues.  

“Good, I can probably catch up on some homework then.” you hum, punching in your employee number.

“Oh and some new guy is supposed to close with you tonight, I think you’re training him.” she mentions.

“So, no catching up on homework then.” you sigh.  Training someone new wasn't necessarily difficult however it was draining since you already knew how to do everything like the back of your hand.  Dumbing it all down always took a minute since you had to slow down and give them time to catch on.  

“Did Ronnie say who?” you ask, turning to face Robin.  Hawkins was small which meant that everyone knew everyone.  Which was unfortunate sometimes since that also meant everyone knew everyone's business.

Robin hops off the counter, hair bouncing as she does.  “Nope, I just know that it's some dude.” she crunches down on her lollipop and discards the stick in the garbage a few feet away.  

With a sigh, you head to the back room to put your bag in your locker only to find Steve lounging at the lunch table, his feet crossed on top of it while scrolling through his phone and two legs of the chair he occupies off the ground as he balances.  Today he sports some red corduroy pants and an ivory crewneck sweater finished off with converse, just like Robin’s, only black.  “What’s up?” he greets, not once looking up from his phone.  

“Scrolling through Tinder again, Stevie?” you mock while setting your bag in your locker for safe keeping, hooking the lock around the metal and clicking it into place.

“Actually, it’s Grindr.” he says matter of factly.  

“My bad, you find anyone cute?” you ask, peering over his shoulder, his aftershave smelling subtle and pleasant.   

He lands on a cute blonde guy with green eyes, most likely from a town over.  “Not really.” he exhales, running a hand through his voluminous hair.  

“Well what about him?  He’s pretty cute.” you encourage.  

“Dude, it says he likes to do Karaoke for fun.” he glances behind at you with a raised brow.  You shrug, unaware of why that would deter him.  

“If that's not a red flag, I don’t know what is.” he states, shutting his phone off and shoving it in his pocket while standing, making his way to the vending machine.  “What happened to me, Socks?  I used to pull 'em left and right and now no guy or girl will give me the time of day.”  Socks was your nickname given by Steve and Robin after the dreadful incident where a pipe burst from one of the sinks and you happened to be standing in front of it, the bottom half of your pants along with your socks becoming soaked.  The rest of the evening you worked your shift without shoes, only in your sopping wet socks with your jeans rolled up.  It had been an ongoing joke since, although you always reminded them how horrible it is to go around in wet shoes, the squeaky sound they would make against the floor and the squishiness of the soles.  They always disagreed, insisting that it would be worse to work in only socks and how they’d just opt to continue wearing the drenched shoes.  

“Steve, I think Grindr and Tinder and all the dating apps might be giving you unrealistic expectations.” you tell him truthfully.  

“Okay, but who the hell else am I gonna find in Hawkins?  Been there, done that, this is my only option."  He inserts a dollar into the vending machine and punches in his selection, shortly after a bag of pretzels falls.  

“Pretzels, Steve?  Really?” you taunt.  “How bland of you.” you deadpan.  He pulls open the packaging and tosses a pretzel in his mouth all while giving you his signature pout.  “Maybe that's your issue, you dumb yourself down for these people you don’t even know.” you continue.

“Wow.” he raises his arms in disbelief, a hint of humor evident.  “That…” he flings a pretzel at you, hitting your chest.  “...was mean.” he sasses.  “But probably true.” he finishes.  “Don’t you have a job or something?” his head tilts toward the door.  

“Yeah, and so do you.” you shoot back, grabbing his apron from where it hung over one of the breakroom chairs and throwing it at him.  

Exiting the room, you hear Steve chime in one more time.  “I’m off in like fifteen!”  Your shifts always overlapped with Steve and Robin’s, them usually taking the morning to afternoon shift and you taking over closing.  Ronnie would always hang out in the back office so you didn’t have to close alone but that was pretty much the extent of his labor.  The beans needed to be ground for the next day, chairs stacked on the tables, bathroom tidied, ingredients prepped, counters wiped down, etc.  And you were always the one to do it, not that you minded so much.  Ronnie never micromanaged and you had gotten good at closing so it became somewhat of a meditation time.  The town winded down and the dim lighting provided a relaxing glow, almost as if you were in a spa.  You could at least pretend anyway.

Robin was making herself a latte, carefully pouring the milk over the coffee in an attempt to make a design.  She’d been practicing for weeks with no success.  “Dammit!  Another wasted latte!” she slams the small pitcher of cream onto the counter.  

“That for me?” you question over her shoulder, spotting the blob of white draped over the coffee.  You ended up drinking them most of the time, always looking forward to your daily latte handcrafted by Robin.  

Letting a breath out, she hangs her head in defeat.  “It is now.” 

Steve saunters out from the back, stopping in his tracks right next to Robin.  “Another one?  Seriously?” he mutters before continuing to the espresso machine to make probably his fourth drink of the day.  

“When is the new guy scheduled to come in?” you ask as you pour yourself an iced coffee.  Everyone was allowed one free drink a day however it was never enforced unless the owner, Ronnie’s mom was around.  She owned The Under-Ground while her husband owned The Hideout.

“5:30, I think?” Robin answers.  The clock on the register currently reads 5:20.  Steve glances at you, trying to hide a smirk as he quickly looks in the other direction.  

“What?” you demand.  Shaking his head he continues pouring an espresso shot into paper to go cup.  A tug on his sleeve doesn’t get him to budge.  “Steve, why did you give me that look?!” you hound him.  

“Nothing!” he raises his hands in defense, a shit eating grin on his face.  

“Steve.” you narrow your eyes at him, brows knit in frustration.  

“Yeah, Steve.  What do you know that I don’t?” Robin steps towards him while crossing her arms in offense.  

“Nothing!” He lies, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Steve.” Robin glares at him.

“Y’know, this is already getting to me.” he points to his cup.  “I gotta run to the bathroom.” he rushes to the back once again, holding his stomach and pretending to grimace in pain.

“What’s up with him?” you look at Robin, the two of you left standing there without any idea.  She shrugs, handing you the botched latte she just made.  

Pushing aside your theories, you begin setting up for your shift, restocking the cups and making sure there’s enough whip cream in the canister.  The Under-Ground had a very cozy vibe, dark mahogany woods decorating the interior, little twinkly lights draped above the windows, and a snug book nook tucked away in the back corner with large shelves that took up the whole wall.  Accompanying it are a few tables and chairs, their wood matching the counter and on top of each table sits various houseplants that you’d have to remind yourself to water.  

Robin tops off the pastries as she always does at the end of her shift, adding some chocolate croissants, blueberry muffins, brownies, and a brand new lemon loaf to the case.  She finishes off by wiping off the glass with a rag and then ensures the display of gift cards and bags of coffee beans on the counter is dusted off and pristine.  

You busy yourself by restocking the to-go sandwiches in the open cooler at the front of the counter, making a note to also grab a few more parfaits from the back since those were running low as well.  A few books are scattered among one of the tables so you take it upon yourself to collect them and tuck them neatly back on the book shelf.  Other than that, nothing else is left to do and you should be ready to start training the new hire without any distractions.  You reward yourself by sipping on the latte, the bitter taste gracing your tongue and warmth coating your throat.  Robin disappears to the back briefly, coming back out with her bag while shoving her apron into it, ready to clock out the second it hits 5:30.

The roaring of an engine suddenly echoes in the streets, an obnoxious sputtering filling your ears as you glance up and out of the front window.  It comes to a screeching halt as a motorcycle pulls up into one of the parking spots horizontally rather than vertically like the rest of the vehicles.  Jackass, you think to yourself as the owner kicks the kickstand down.  He wears a standard black motorcycle helmet, a leather jacket, ripped black jeans, and some combat boots, a walking stereotype for some kind of punk ass kid.  

Jim Hopper catches him, his cop car parked a few spaces away while he does his crossword in the driver’s seat.  You can’t quite make out what's being said but as Hopper exits his car in a hurry,  you can tell they have most likely had run-ins like this before.  The jackass looks up in aggravation as he still straddles the bike, the sky reflected in the visor of his helmet.  Hopper appears to be telling him off but not giving him a ticket when he most definitely should.  Jackass reparks the bike correctly, gesturing to it as if he’d performed a magic trick, Hopper with a hand on his hip and a scowl on his face.  He points a finger at him, muttering one last thing before retreating back to his own car, eyes never leaving the guy.  

Steve emerges from the back again, carefully.  “Shit.” he mumbles.

Your gaze moves from the scene outside to behind you at Steve who is also now looking out the window.  This provokes you to look back outside.  Just as you’re about to ask, the jackass removes his helmet, revealing a head of wild brunette curls, his hand adorned in chunky rings as he grips the helmet.  Rolling your eyes, you turn your attention back to inputting some inventory in the computer.  Out of the corner of your eye you can see that he’s making his way toward the door.  “Are you kidding me?” you say under your breath.  

“Thought trendy coffee wasn’t his style.” you say to no one in particular.  Steve inhales as if waiting for some kind of impact.  

“Oh…” Robin says in some kind of realization.  

The bell above the door rings as he swings it open, striding across the shop and in front of the counter, his eyes are a dark abyss as he looks from you to Robin and then to Steve.  

“Munson.” Steve acknowledges him.

“Harrington.” he says back, a tinge of disgust rolling off his tongue.  Robin’s eyes are wide as they shift between you two.

“What do you want, Eddie?” you bite, voice full of malice as you glare up at him.

Bringing his hand to his chest, his face contorting into a mock pout, he sets the helmet on the counter.  “Ouch.  That make you feel better, sweetheart?”  Sarcasm drips from his tone.

You scoff about to tell him to leave but he just continues.  “Make you feel all big and bad?  Get it out of your system yet?” he taunts, a smirk playing on his lips.  

“Oh no.” Robin says quietly, leaning over you to clock out and then subtly making her way around the counter.  

“Why don’t you get the hell out of here and find someone else to dick around with?” you snap, grabbing his helmet and forcing it into his hands. 

A cocky look takes over his features.  “Well what if I’m a paying customer?” 

 “I have the right to refuse service so, I’m refusing.” you can feel anger coursing through your veins, blood running hot.  

“That’s unfortunate.” he frowns, moving to make his way behind the counter.  “For you.” his stare burns into you, two black holes nearly swallowing you up.  

“I don’t have time-” you begin but are cut off when he reaches over you and starts typing away at the computer, clocking in.  His cheap cologne and cigarette smoke flood your nose.

Steve looks at you apologetically as Eddie passes him on his way to the back.  A silence lingers as you process that you’ll be forced to work with the one person in this town you can’t stand.  Eddie Munson was the new hire and of course he had to be scheduled on the closing shift with you.  Life couldn’t get any worse than this, a shitty apartment, and now a shitty job that you used to love combined with mountains of homework.  Your eternal hell.  Work was supposed to be a place you could briefly escape.  Sure it was still work but you didn’t mind.

“Steve!” both you and Robin scold him at the same time.  He squeezes his eyes shut in preparation for more yelling.  

“You knew Ronnie hired him and you just didn’t tell me!” you seethe.  “You could have warned me!  I could have switched shifts or something-or, or–or tell Ronnie he’s a criminal or something!  So he wouldn’t get hired!” your eyes are bulging out of your head as you reprimand the poor guy.  

“Okay, see, the way you're reacting right now doesn’t give me any confidence that you would have reacted any differently if I told you earlier.” Steve explains while clocking out.  

“So you think springing it on her like that was any better!” Robin says loudly.  Steve contemplates for a moment.

“Look, Socks.  I’m sorry.” he apologizes sincerely.  

“Socks?” Eddie stands in the doorway that leads to the back, now free of his leather jacket and wearing a black Metallica tee.  “What kinda fucked up thing did you do for a nickname like that?” he asks, a smug grin on his face.

“Oh, kill me now.” you drag your hands down your face in agony.  Steve and Robin slowly make their way toward the front door, looking at you sympathetically.

“See you tomorrow?” Robin awkwardly points finger guns at you before they speed up and shuffle out the door.

You sigh heavily, dropping your arms limply to your sides.  Turning around, Eddie is about to speak up again but you cut him off. 

“I don’t wanna hear it.  You don’t talk unless it's about work.  I’ll train you today and then I’ll ask Ronnie to move you to mornings or something.” you tell him in one breath.  

He laughs before replying.  “You’d like that wouldn’t you?  Hate to be the bearer of bad news but you’re stuck with me, doll.” he chuckles lowly.  “I only work nights.” he says with that stupid grin.  

“Who did I piss off for this to happen?” you mumble to yourself, rubbing at your temples.  “Put this on.” you shove an apron at his chest.

He grunts at the impact.  “No.” he simply says, refusing to grab it from you.  His expression is blank.

Scoffing, you shove it against him even harder.  “This is work.  We work here.  Stop acting like a damn child.” you say sternly.  

Now taking the apron in his hand, you think he’s finally come to his senses until he bunches it up and tosses it onto one of the counters, eliciting a groan from you.  You were foolish to think he would play nice.

–

Trying to train Eddie was as useful as training a fly.  He didn’t listen and would purposely mess things up claiming he didn’t know any better and he almost charged one of your only customers that night double the actual cost.  It was like watching a toddler, you couldn’t take your eyes away from him or all hell would break loose.  The cherry on top was all the snide comments he would make which led to more bickering.  

When it came to closing time at 9:00, you were exhausted and could practically feel the eyebags hanging off your face.  There was not enough espresso in the world to keep up with Eddie’s antics.  You were counting the money from the register, making sure all was accounted for, Eddie watching as he was supposed to be learning when really he was zoned out.  

“Alright, Socks, are we done here?” he says with a bored tone.  

You glance between him and the cash, still counting under your breath while ignoring him.  Poking your arm, he tries again.  “Socks.  I got things to do.” he continues.  “Hey, I’m talking to you–”

“--Oh my god, just go.” you break, finally completing your counting and setting the money back in the drawer neatly.  

“Fuck yeah.” he whispers, rushing to the back to collect his things.  Pinching the bridge of your nose, you only hope he quits before you have to work another shift with him.  Eddie wasn’t just an asshole, he was the asshole who was partially responsible for your shitty high school experience.  You know it's dumb, there’s no reason to let something keep a hold on you for so long but it just does.  It makes you cringe, it's like the equivalent to peaking in high school but opposite, and yet you can’t seem to look past it.

Nothing but the twinkly lights and the dim overhead lights lit up the shop, a moment of peace taking over you while the town outside laid itself to rest.  Shutting off the music and untying your apron to drape it over your arm, you do one more scan to make sure everything is set for tomorrow.  Satisfied, you head to the back to retrieve your bag.  Eddie passes you, almost running you over on his way out, his stupid helmet in hand.  

“See ya tomorrow, Socks.” he salutes as he clocks out, shortly after you hear the bell chime signaling that he had left.  He was overusing that nickname but you knew it would only please him to call it out.  You had to keep your cool until he figured out he didn’t fit in here and quit.  Exhaling, you unlock your locker, grabbing your bag and tossing your apron in before exiting and heading for the door.  

The door is locked and double checked as you step out onto the sidewalk only to find that it was still raining.  Just my luck.  Eddie’s dumb motorcycle roars to life again a few feet away from you, a nuisance to the tranquil town around you.  Rolling your eyes, you begin your damp journey home.  It’s not until you’re in front of the movie theater that you hear that damn bike behind you.  You think he’s going to speed past you, maybe splash some water on you while he’s at it but the engine rumbles as if right next to you–which it was.  

“Are you lost?” you spit, continuing to walk.  

He rides beside you slowly, irritating you to your core.  “Need a ride home?” he asks, slightly muffled by his helmet.  

You huff before responding.  “No.  I don’t need anything from you.  Get the hell out of here.”  You keep your gaze straight ahead as you walk, him still following behind.

“Sweetheart–”

“--Do NOT call me that.  Ever.  Again.” you scold, taking a moment to point your finger at him, your face displaying disdain toward him.

“Look, I may be an asshole but it's raining.  I can give you a ride.” he coaxes but it doesn’t work.  You keep on, the rain drops collecting on your eyelashes.  

“Get bent, Eddie.” you say, now walking faster, hoping to evade him.

He lifts the visor on the helmet, now showing his eyes as he keeps up with you.  “Get on the damn bike.”

“Fuck you.” you snap at him.

Desperate, you start jogging across the crosswalk and that's when he gives up.  Glancing behind you, he flips the visor down and revs the bike before speeding off.  You weren’t stupid and you weren’t going to play into his little sadist games.  Life was already steamrolling you and you did not need some jackass to factor into it.  After a few minutes of walking, you finally rounded the corner and the faded powder blue apartments came into view, street lights illuminating the way.  The streets were sleek with rain and oil, giving off reflections of the traffic lights and buildings.  You were careful to scurry your way across the parking lot to avoid any of the creeps that hung around late at night.  It wasn’t exactly the best area, being notorious for drug deals and any other illegal side hustles.  

Raphael’s spot on the stairs was vacant due to the downpour which you frowned at, you always looked forward to seeing him upon coming home.  A few skeezy looking men stood nearby however they seemed to be involved in their own drama as they argued and took no interest in you.  Gratefully, you continued quietly up the stairs and hurriedly unlocked the door, jamming the key in the lock until it gave out to you.  

Slipping into your nightly routine, you begin to unwind as much as you can.  A quick shower awaited you since the hot water was limited and you couldn’t wait to munch on one of the sandwiches you snagged from work.  In your defense Ronnie had ordered way too many for the week and the back fridge was overflowing with them.  The local deli they came from, Anderson’s had some fairly good quality meats and cheeses so for that you were thankful as they pretty much kept you fed.  Tonight’s would be turkey and swiss with mayo on sourdough, your favorite.  The lights flickered on as you hit the switch, another quirk that came with the run down apartment.  The living room and entryway were now bathed in a warm and quite dim glow, or in other words if you wanted to read a book, it’d be quite difficult to see.  Shivering from being drenched in rain, you set your bag on the kitchen counter adjacent to the entryway and start taking off your damp clothes, peering into your room to toss them into the hamper and slipping into the bathroom.  It was a tight space, not a whole lot of room to do much but it was home.  

Turning the faucet to ‘hot’, you wait for the water to get warm enough to bear, the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom still bothered you no matter how long you lived there.  You stood on the bath mat feeling the water with your finger until it was to your satisfaction, stepping in and feeling welcomed by the sudden warmth you’d been waiting for all day.  In that moment you feel relief from the pressures of the world, the deadlines, bills, loans, essays, all of it.  Everything melts away for approximately three minutes and that's when the water starts to turn cold again, returning you back to the dreadful reality you wish you could neglect.  

But to your dismay, the cycle just starts all over again, keeping you hostage.

~end~

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Masterlist

tags - @mmunson86 @haylaansmi

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie x you #eddie x fem reader #eddie x female reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson angst #barista!eddie #eddie munson fic #eddie fic #eddie munson smut #stranger things fic #eddie munson fluff #the under ground

[angelicyouth]

Youth ; Chapter 15

⇢ pairing: kenny mccormick x marsh!reader x craig tucker

⇢ synopsis: ❝Growing up with the boys as the sole girl of the group, it was only natural for them to grow protective over their pseudo-little sister as the years went by.❞

⇢ [AO3 link] ; [series masterlist] ; [previous] ; [next]

The shrill sound of the telephone wakes up the sleep deprived group of teens slouching in on each other for more comfort. The rickety chairs that have been more or less their tentative homes in the recent days squeak and groan at every movement of their too-large bodies as they shift to forced consciousness. 

Their bleary eyes scream at them when they fight off the last dregs of sleep desperately begging to bring them back into its embrace, the glowing numbers of the clock hanging on the wall announcing to them that the time is now currently 2:48AM. Tired hands come up to their faces, languid in its motion as it takes a couple of times to direct the appendage to wipe at their sleep encrusted eyes when it repeatedly misses its intended target.

Hearing the muffled words coming in through the transparent window separating the boys from the detectives at their desks, Stan immediately shoots up in his seat when he hears my name being tossed around. He shushes the tired groaning of the others, bringing a hand up as a nonverbal command to keep their bodies still.

Results.

Phone tracking.

Location.

Now.

This is the last thing the elder Marsh hears before he clumsily heaves his body up, hands blindly reaching for his jacket to throw onto his rushing form as he runs out of the double doors leading to the outside world of the police department. 

・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

A sea of luxurious silk linen lightly caresses every curve of my body, the softness of the mattress surrounding my form as I lay in the depths of its smooth embrace. I’m seated upright in the temporary fortress that I’ve woken up in since the day of my abduction—a four poster queen sized bed with a canopy of gentle white, the soft material cascading down into billowing curtains over the metal rods that support the structure.

Shackled around my ankles are a cool metal, heavy in its weight and linked to the bedposts at the base of the two rods in front of me. Higher above the swollen, red skin that’s been uncomfortably chaffed into tenderness from my confines is nothing but a babydoll dress made up of black lace adorning my frame.

To erase anything from your old life, they had said.

Sick pervert, I had thought back in discontent.

My wrists are currently screaming in searing pain, the bones that make up my non-dominant hand dislocated and mangled beyond belief as I forcibly slip it free from the rough texture of the ropes that bind them together. I will myself with all of my might to not pass out from my self-inflicted agony as my head becomes increasingly light, the mounting dizziness forcing black spots to teeter into the edge of peripherals.

Body trembling from the excruciating torment, I can feel my perspiration begin to lightly bead against my hairline as I force my shaking hands to bring the thick cord back around my wrist to keep up the illusion of detainment. My throat tightens around itself as I force the bile that threatens to come out back down from the burning feeling. I try to focus on the distinctive, copper taste that my teeth invokes from my lip in an effort to discourage any sounds from escaping my mouth.

I curse inside my head when the door to the room opens up, my perpetrator perching themself down onto the length of the bed in front of me. Their added weight makes my body lean closer to theirs, the slight shift of my faux bonded hands behind my back making me want to scream into oblivion. In stark contrast to the binds that keep me in place, their touch is gentle as they carefully bring the metal edge of a spoon towards my lips, silently urging me to take in a mouthful of food. 

My head stays slightly lowered in submission, my eyes never making eye contact when a few seconds pass by with no movement on either end. I don’t even flinch when my captor predictably loses their temper at my disobedience, the piping hot bowl of soup getting thrown at the nearest wall when I refuse to eat.

As always, my assailant will become violently upset when I don’t part my mouth for any sort of nutrition they try to provide me with and I wonder when it will inevitably turn into their seething appendages against my flesh. My eyes don’t waver from its unrelenting focus onto a particular spot on the blanket covering the bed as they loudly curse to themself at my predictive unwillingness to cooperate, their thundering footsteps echoing out into the hallways before they come back to clean up the mess they have made.

Investing their time into bringing the room back to its orderly state allows them enough moments to calm down before they resume their undivided attention to my still form, their body settling back down onto their previous position from before their little tantrum. A warm yet damp washcloth glides over my smooth skin, running along the droplets of stew that became a casualty in its demise as my perpetrator’s hands softly tend to me.

“... I’m sorry you had to see me like that. You know that I just care about you, right? I wouldn’t ever hurt you. It only worries me when you don’t eat.” Their voice is hushed in the otherwise quiet room and my mouth remains shut. 

I have not deemed my captor worthy of my voice for anything unnecessary since the kidnapping and they routinely sigh at my expected muteness, their larger hand coming up to lightly cradle my cheek when my skin is deemed soup-free. I’ve been extremely selective with what I say, the rare times my lips part to let out my thoughts are when I ask them to let me talk to or see my friends and family—nothing more.

My throat is sore from disuse and my refusal to drink even a bit of water. I don’t even allow myself the short respite of sleep because if I do, the waking world will greet me with severe disorientation and a panic attack when my eyes settle onto my unknown location. I didn’t need my captor rushing into the room from my distressed cries and screaming to comfort me, not wanting a repeat of the first time it happened. The less contact with each other, the better.

My assailant’s thumb is almost nonexistent, my brain not registering the carefully gentle movements as they attempt to soothe the soft skin of my cheek as I begin to disassociate. “You haven’t eaten anything since you’ve came and you don’t talk to me. I’m just trying to help you, you know? You’re safer here and I can give you anything you want, Y/N… I can make you happy.”

Better than most situations, yes.

But it was still disgusting, to be frank.

Almost vile.

Sickening.

Granted, my perpetrator didn’t mistreat me in any way or intentionally inflict any abuse either physically or psychologically onto my person. But, their sick delusions in keeping me locked up for their own selfishness made me sick to my stomach—the obsession this person harbored that grew until they couldn’t hold themselves back any longer when they saw me alone at the parking lot. 

The one, rare moment that I wasn’t seen with any of the boys and they jumped at the opportunity. Just thinking about it brings up the nauseating question: how long have they been closely watching me to seize such an infrequent occasion? 

There’s a stretch of silence between the two of us before they sigh in defeat from my unwavering stubbornness and I try my absolute hardest to refrain from sneering in disgust when they plant a gentle kiss onto my forehead. My jaw tightly clenches and my eyebrows crease together as I feel my anger manifest into the physical remnants of tears beginning to thinly coat my eyes in frustration.

I count it as a small victory when nothing escapes from my eyes—they didn’t deserve my tears.

・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

It’s a whole operation, one with full combat gear and everything. Exhilaration fills everybody’s system as they follow the glaring colors of red and blue sitting on top of the multitude of police cruisers rushing down the desolate streets of South Park. 

It’s quiet in the car, the teens forgoing the sound of music in exchange of the wailing sirens from the Tactical Response automobiles that they closely keep their eyes on. The prospect of finally getting their missing member back fills every pore in their body with a nervous thrum of anticipation, hands trembling on their seated laps in bottled up energy as they come across a swarm of officers exchanging words and talking into radios behind the police tape.

When the boys unload the two vehicles that they all crammed into, they’re predictably denied entry from getting closer to the site as they were deemed unauthorized personnel. They instead take the time to take in their surroundings and from mere observation, it seems that the signal they traced from the phone call brought them to an industrial block close to seemingly nowhere.

Most of the buildings seemed to be factories and warehouses, almost eerily abandoned from the husks of cement that encloses them. The windows adorning the stretch of structures are eerily dark, resembling the empty eye sockets of a person in its lifelessness.

Kyle subtly motions his head in the direction of the surveillance van that is heavily armored and the group catches his nonverbal cue as they pretend to leisurely check out the area in order to bring their bodies closer. From their position, they can see an abundance of green-tinged surveillance screens and a multitude of unfamiliar electronics that flash LED lights. 

Interlaced with the humming and whirring of the electrical devices, they can hear a detective murmuring directions into their mouthpiece as they keep their eyes glued to a live feed of one of the helmets of the men inside. The night vision of the cameras give the screens beyond the mess of wires and cables a green hue, looking similar to the ones you’d see in ghost documentaries or horror movies. 

Suddenly, words become more rushed and frantic as fingers rapidly begin to dance along the keyboards stationed inside the array of devices, the boys instantly surging into impulsive action when they hear the words: getting away. 

・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

My lack of clothing causes goosebumps to arise all over my body as it hits the cold Colorado air, my perpetrator hastily shoving me into an unmarked van in an attempt to put distance between us and the frenzy of law enforcement that steadily gets louder as they approach our location. Curses cut through the air of anxiety ridden breathing when we suddenly hear loud footsteps, a foreign body suddenly tackling my assailant from behind.

Taking this opportunity of transferred attention, I finally cease my charade of faux restraint as I push the tangle of bodies away from me to run in the opposite direction and take cover to the closest area. The sound of scuffling continues with the added noise of yells so I keep my body hidden in a mixture of nervous anxiety, not wanting this sliver of hope to diminish if I were to be seen.

My body curves in on itself as I crouch as low to the ground as I can while my hands cover my ears, shaking fingers curling over my unwashed hair as I pray that no one finds me. I force myself to pay attention to the pieces of gravel painfully digging into my bare feet while I try to regulate my breathing, my body hunching in on itself even further to insulate more heat.

It isn’t until the sounds of grunts and fists making contact with flesh come to a stop that I chance a peek over the broken rubble of what was possibly a wall long ago. My eyes widen in surprise when I see that my boys have come to my rescue, covered in an array of both cuts and bruises with their chests rapidly heaving up and down from exertion.

The moment of elation immediately turns into dread when I see that my captor has unfortunately obtained a new hostage in my absence, the air thick with newfound tension. Butters winces at the tightening arms locked around him, his hands shooting upwards to soothe the exerted force of the headlock he’s in. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck.  

Adrenaline starts to pump through my veins as I try to desperately rack my brain for any ideas on what to do when something catches my eyes. The reflection of moonlight creates a glare over its shiny cover, the item that piqued my interest under stray pieces of rubble. I silently make my way to the object and feel the corner of my lips quirk up when I’ve identified the heavy steel as a compact handgun—a fully functioning glock that must’ve been knocked away during the altercation minutes ago. 

I would say that I’m pretty adept with using the weapon—my Uncle Jimbo having taught my brother and I at a young age whenever he took us out to spontaneous camping trips as a sport, but most importantly to teach us a decidedly lethal form of self defense. He began to take us to shooting ranges instead, however, when our combined stubbornness caused us to refuse the purposeful harm of inflicting wounds on innocent animals.

I step out of the concrete camouflaging my body to reveal myself, my face devoid of any expression and my voice flat yet loud. “Let him go.”

“Y/N!” All of the boys exclaim in relief when they spot me but I don’t acknowledge any of them, refusing to look away from my target for even just a second to allow them an opportunity of escape.

My perpetrator’s eyes widen behind the material concealing their identity when they land on my form, a black ski mask with just a large oval cut out of it for their vision. They laugh, irritatingly confident with fake assurance of our time together. 

“Come on, babe. You wouldn’t shoot me. Now be a good girl and come back here so I can let your little friend go.”

I let a few beats of silence go by and when time proves that they won’t relent, I tiredly close my eyes.

Breathe in, and out.

Concentrate.

My chest rises up as I inhale a deep yet steady breath to bring clarity into my mind, my neck leisurely rolling my head around before I grant myself my vision back and focus. Steadily bringing my arms up into the stance deeply ingrained into my body from my adolescence, my fingers take off the safety to pull the trigger and shoot. 

The sudden onslaught of meticulously thought out bullets causes my assailant to drop Butters in their surprise, but none of the shots I take pierce at their skin. I only have the metal pieces graze at the fluttering material of their clothes in warning and the outline of their body in an effort to intimidate them. I walk forward with confidence, expertly dropping the first magazine and quickly reloading it as I let muscle memory take over.

In my ruthless shooting, I don’t take notice of Kyle whacking both Craig and Kenny behind their heads in admonishment when their lips slightly part at the sight of me in awe. Deep vermillion shades their cheeks despite the situation, their hands distractedly coming up to pat Butters in reassurance when the blonde hastily makes his way back to the group.

My eyebrows don’t even furrow in my unwavering concentration, my face apathetically blank as I finally stand in front of my disguised perpetrator. The conservative amount of openings on their mask doesn’t provide much but the sight of their eyes is all I need to know that their body is racked with fear.

Without breaking eye contact, I reach into the front pocket of their flannel shirt to lightly graze my fingers against the box of cigarettes that I know is almost permanently etched in there. Bringing a stick up to my lips, I light it up with the lighter kept in the box for convenience and languidly inhale the toxic fumes until it fills up my lungs. 

Tendrils of smoke begins to slowly leak from my mouth before I mockingly blow a stream of it onto my assailant's face, my eyes lazily trailing down when I see the growing pool of wetness that forms between the material of their shaking legs. The pungent smell of urine invades my nostrils from our close proximity and I cruelly smirk around the rolled-up nicotine, my hand bringing the pistol in between their eyes.

I slowly lift up my unoccupied hand, ignoring its screams for medical attention as I lightly graze the cheek of the person in front of me. Gently grasping the course material covering their face in between my fingers, I take my time in lifting it further up and away from their head. 

The boys behind me suck in a sharp breath when it’s finally revealed that it was none other than the teen that approached me at North Park Funland’s food court when I was waiting for the guys to grab lunch.

“What the fuck?” Someone exclaims from behind me in a mixture of confusion and exasperation, desperately grasping onto the faint remnants of memories that contain the face in front of us.

Pressing the cool metal further against his skin in threat aides him to nervously speak up, his mind running at a million miles per hour as he answers the unprompted questions in all of our heads.

“Don’t you recognize me, Y/N?” Despite the anxiety overcoming his body, there’s a manic grin that begins to stretch wide on his face yet I continue to keep my face devoid of any emotion.

He laughs and the sound of it makes everyone in its vicinity uncomfortable, the madness and hysteria in his tone sharply bleeding through his vocal chords. “See, this is why I took you. I bet you only remember me from the time I came up to you at the amusement park, huh? I went to North Park High with you, and I loved you. You never dated anyone so I thought you returned my affection too, just waiting for me to finally gather up the courage to speak to you.”

“… Holy shit.” A voice exclaims from behind me at the deranged confession.

“But before I could, you suddenly disappeared at the beginning of sophomore year. I was devastated, Y/N. How could you do that to someone who loves you? How could you do that to us? How could you just leave me so easily? When I finally saw you back at the amusement park at North Park, I thought you finally came back. I knew I had to talk to you when I took all of the times that I could have for granted but when I finally did, these bastards interrupted. They took you from me, Y/N.”

A shaky hand reaches forward in an attempt to caress my cheek but I just press the cool metal harder onto the skin of his face in wordless threat. “You understand, right, Y/N? That I had to do it, for us. They changed you—you weren’t like this last year so I knew it was all of their faults.”

My eyes apathetically blink slowly at the pleadings leaking out of the mouth in front of me, the glowing embers of my cigarette casting a warm light against the visage of the begging teen in front of me. The mixture of shades are reminiscent of the color I’d associate with the blazing pits of Hell, a place that’d be worthy of housing the pathetic figure in front of me.

“Just come with me, Y/N. I didn’t hurt you, right? I showed you that I could take care of you and I wasn’t lying when I said that I could make you happy. Come on, Y/N. Let’s go.” He offers me a placating smile, wobbly around the corners yet gentle all the same. But despite the soft way his lips curve around his cheeks and how his voice noticeably lightens when addressing me, the deranged undertone of his intentions cannot be ignored.

A beat of silence stretches on as everyone tentatively soaks up the onslaught of information, a whistle cutting through the area. “… What the actual fuck.”

“This guy is actually batshit insane.”

“More like pathetically delusional.”

“You sick fuck! I swear I’ll bash your fucking head in!”

“N/N! Back up before he tries to do something!”

In answer to everything and everyone, my wrist fluidly turns the object in my hand around to harshly slam the butt of the gun onto his face. When his hands shoot up to nurse the blood streaming down from his now crooked nose, I pounce on his larger form and begin my assault on his face with my relentless fists. 

There’s a small quirk to my lips when I hear the satisfying sound of his bone crunching underneath my knuckles, the voice below me just begging for reprieve. The point of contact between the both of us that I know will inflict a world of hurt causes an overwhelming sense of euphoria, the body trembling underneath me in both unadulterated fear and absolute pain.

For the first time in days, I feel good.

・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

My revenge didn’t get as far as I would have liked it before a cacophony of panicked voices fill the air at my merciless revenge, arms settling themselves over my waist as they heft my body away from my assailant. When the distance between us steadily grows, I take petty satisfaction in spitting at the vivid reds and deep purples beginning to bloom in a sea of blood.

When my cigarette is but a slowly diminishing roach, my hands flail to extinguish the flame onto the skin of his face. I struggle for a bit as a scream of anguish rips out of the gurgle of blood in his throat but my quick attempt as a last resort of revenge proves to be fatal when my perpetrator quickly grabs onto my mangled wrist.

I yell in excruciating pain as they purposefully exert force in the hold that they have over me, knowledgeable of the tender skin laying underneath their grip and using it to their advantage. Their unoccupied hand hurriedly reaches into the denim of the back pocket of their jeans, the arms wrapped around me frantically trying to pull me further away as I desperately try to wrench back my screaming wrist.

Their efforts prove to be successful as if in slow motion, a syringe filled with a sickly green gets brandished before they try to stab the thin metal into the expanse of skin onto the arms wrapped around me. I can physically feel the color drain from my face when I can feel a slight pinch in my skin come from the needle being ruthlessly jammed into my arm in its haste, my veins beginning to feel like they’re burning as he mistakenly injects me with a foreign liquid. 

My body immediately falls limp like a puppet whose strings got cut off at the unknown intrusion, the other boys quickly tackling my assailant to properly hold him down. He begins to maniacally laugh as he eerily smiles at me, my eyes glassy and distant as I stare back. It’s like I have no control of my body, my mind desperately willing my fingers and toes to move, to do anything but all my attempts are otherwise unacknowledged by my body.

I can’t do anything as I fall onto the rough asphalt of the floor, pieces of gravel painfully digging into my exposed body as Tweek falls from my unexpected dead weight. The blond cushions the rest of my body as he cradles me in his lap, my head facing up into the dark sky from my new position. 

There are no stars up above to provide me Craig’s gift of everlasting comfort, I realize.

Tweek’s shaking hands push my limp head to the crook of his elbow, my form draped across the safe solace of his lap as he adjusts my body for comfort. Slender fingers tremble as they try to clumsily push away the stray strands of hair that fell over my face, my sticky cheeks making it harder as silky locks are wet from the tears that were invoked when my assailant forcibly applied pressure to my self-mutilated wrist.

My body feels as if it’s alight in pure hell as every single cell in my body begins screaming at me, willing it to do anything to rid my system of this tortuous sensation. Tears begin to gather at the corner of my eyes, my vision glassy and unfocused at the pure agony that my nerves rapidly signal to my brain for some desperate help.

“Guys! GUYS!” In my silent suffering, I fail to notice the apprehension of my prior classmate as the boys begin to quickly gather around me at the sounds of Tweek’s frantic yelling. 

His erratic fingers continue to desperately push away the locks of hair obscuring my vision, his chest quickly heaving up and down in panic as he takes in my state. “Ngh! She hasn’t moved since the guy injected her with something—she hasn’t even BLINKED!”

“What?!” Kenny roars in anger, not comprehending how the situation got even worse than it already was at the slight error on their part for not quickly capturing my perpetrator as soon as I started attacking.

“What the fuck did you do?! Fucking ANSWER ME!” My brother thunders out loud this time, but nobody can provide an explanation as they watch my terrifyingly still body.

Kenny shoves his way to where Tweek has me, the blonde getting roughly pushed aside as I’m forcibly transferred onto another lap, the new face revealing itself to be my blonde lover. His brows are furrowed in frustration and his normally crystal-like eyes have a thin film of cloudy tears around it, threatening to break free when he heaves a shaky breath out at seeing my unresponsive face.

“No. No, no, no. Princess?” His whisper is so feeble and weak, his normally confident and easygoing voice utterly distressed as he frantically scans my face for any detection of life. 

“Come on, baby. Don’t do this to me, please. No more, I just got you back.” Shaky hands gently grasp at one of my shoulders, softly urging me to do something as his pleading voice transitions into feeble begging.

He lightly presses his forehead against my own, his fingers softly grasping onto my hair and twirling it around his fingers as an outlet to release his nervous energy. My body screams out at him but no one can hear me, my form as limp as ever and still burning. However, Kenny’s arms wrapped around me so securely after so long apart causes a bit of relief from my own internal torment.

He can’t help the sob that shakes his entire body at its sheer magnitude when I don’t respond to his familiar touch or the soothing cadence of his voice like I usually do after minutes of trying. The blonde’s breathing becomes increasingly panicked, every inhale and exhale of his chest shaking my own form as he cradles me against his clothed one.

“Always and forever, remember? You can’t leave me now. We’re supposed to get old and grey and when our lives are almost done, you’re supposed to grin and turn to me and Tucker and tell us all about how much fucking fun you had.” His voice comes out in broken whispers, almost becoming delirious from his haywire emotions in its rawness and how utterly torn it sounded. 

As ironic as it is, up until this moment the blonde truly thought he knew death. Dying as often as he did, Kenny figured that it could never get worse after all of his gruesome experiences with it. But it never quite prepared him to consider the other perspective of it, to watch someone else pass and the foreign emotions that came with this new territory. He’s lost his limbs, even his own heart, but he has never felt such a loss like this in his entire life.

In the privacy of the darkness that overtakes his room with nightfall, he would consume a conspicuous amount of alcohol and drugs in order to numb the pain of constantly dying. But after the discovery that I’d remember if he left, he realized that he didn’t need all of that anymore when he knew that someone was expecting him back. That sole moment of discovery was an absolute dream come true because Kenny absolutely hated dying, the way the hurt never got better and how it made him feel so forgettable and insignificant.

It was the reason he opted to take home economics in elementary school instead of the shop class filled with sharp material and dangerous equipment with the rest of the boys. It was the reason he chose to be a fucking princess in their fantasy role-playing game, wanting to be the one who got saved for once in his life from his intimate relationship with death and his time as Mysterion, the superhero who rescued others. 

Because he never understood—who saved him while he always saved everyone else?

But at this very moment, he thinks about how he’d gladly take my place if it meant seeing my smile again. Despite how much he grew up absolutely dreading the familiar emptiness that came whenever he woke up to the water-stained ceiling of his bedroom. Regardless of the way the people he held so dearly to him acted so normal when he came back, as if something wasn’t amiss despite their swollen red eyes or the lingering smell of alcohol on Stan’s breath.

Because to Kenny, the blonde saw the heavens every single time my lips curved in happiness. And he didn’t want to lose the one good in his unfortunate life full of poverty provided by his deadbeat parents.

Not now, not ever. Not when there was still a promise of always and forever.

・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

Red locks suddenly appear in my peripherals, a large hand going over my chest as Kyle leans his head closer to my still body. After a few seconds, he places his fingers on the pulse of my neck and wrist before ultimately placing a finger in front of my nose.

“… There’s no sign of breathing.” It feels like a cold bucket of water drenches my body at the curly haired teen's whispered words, my mind screaming that no, I’m still alive. 

“How the—but she was just… Is she dead..?! Please don't tell me she's dead.” Clyde’s panic-stricken voice wobbly sounds out from somewhere to my left, the boys yelling out shocked expletives at Kyle’s solemn announcement.

“There’s just no way. Try again, Kyle. Please.”

“No. No, no, no. Not her. Please, not N/N.”

“Are you sure you checked correctly? Maybe it’s faint, check the pulse on her neck or wrist again!”

“How..? She was just breathing.”

All variations of false hope, all coming to the same conclusions no matter who checks and how. Stan doesn’t relent in his desperate attempts, determined to hear the sound that belongs to the other half of him.

It just didn't make any sense, it couldn’t even register in his mind despite everyone’s efforts and their repeated confirmation. I’ve always been there with him. Who was Stan Marsh if not the twin of Y/N?

My heartbeat is all that he's ever known, the one thing he’s so sure of in a universe filled to the brim with the undiscovered. It’s something that he's so in tune with—he knew the exact beats of it and could recognize the warmth of it whenever he was near me. But right now as I lay still with my eyes wide and glassy, it was like listening to deafening static and hoping for nothing.

I would’ve jolted if I had control of my limbs as an agonized scream sharply cuts through the air, my brother’s voice full of anguish at the reveal. “WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?!”

“You better speak the fuck up or I swear to fucking God that you’ll wish the police got to you before we did.” Craig’s monotonous voice rings out from somewhere to my side, my screaming brain wailing out to my raven-haired lover because I feel scared even in the comforting presence of the others. 

I hear something loudly make contact with the ground, my perpetrator grunting a little further away. “FUCKING DO SOMETHING! YOU WANTED US, RIGHT? NOT HER! YOU WANTED TO MAKE HER HAPPY YET YOU STILL DID THIS TO HER! TAKE ME INSTEAD!”

In the quietness of the night, so soft that it’s almost hard to hear he speaks again. “Please. Please, just take me instead.” 

The raw pain colored in Craig’s voice hurts my apparently unbeating heart even more, his voice breaking apart as it dissolves into a small plea at the end of his sentence in unadulterated desperation. A drop of liquid falls onto my face as he threatens the teen and my eyes shift up to see Kenny softly weeping over me, the sight making my heart feel like it's breaking into a million pieces as I desperately wish to just reach out and soothe the weeping boy.

Nobody says anything, the sound of sobbing and sniffling the only thing filling the air.

When the blonde pulls me closer to his chest in order to bring my limp body into a tight hug, the slight alteration to my position allows me to see Craig as he takes a few quick strides to where he threw my assailant. The groaning teen begins to cry out in pain when the ravenette intentionally grabs him by the shoulder where a deep crimson begins to bleed through his jacket.

“FUCK YOU, you sick fuck. I can’t believe you’d kill someone you claim to love. If you make it out of this alive, just remember: when you killed her, you didn’t kill just one person.” He raises his fist and roughly slams it against the already battered visage of the bleary eyed teen in front of him, quickly lifting his curled fist to deliver repeated punches again and again.

He laughs but it’s devoid of any emotion. Yet it’s somehow ruthlessly cruel in its emptiness and hollow in its hurt.

“Never get too attached to anyone, dipshit. Unless they also feel the same way towards you. Because one-sided expectations can mentally destroy you. Well... I guess it’s too late for that, you crazy fuck.” Craig cuts off the boy begging for mercy or for any sort of undeserved reprieve as he kicks him down onto the ground, pressing a knee onto his chest as he scoffs at the delivery of his too-late advice.

He exerts as much of his weight onto the wheezing body in front of him, the struggling teen spitting out the onslaught of blood that pours into his cut lips from his broken nose. His hands clumsily shoots out to try to relent some of the pressure from the ravenette’s knee as a large hand reaches for his hair to harshly slam his head onto the ground. 

My unnamed assailant frantically begins to yelp, his voice raspy as he tries to force out the words from his throat. “Stop, STOP! She’s alive, okay?! Just let me go and I’ll do something.”

Kyle backs away from me and I feel the tears begin to leak out from the corner of my eyes quicker than when I was in pain and I know that my body would have been absolutely sobbing in distress if I could move. The diminishing presence of the boys around me causes my brain to go into a frenzy of panic, desperate to be heard from the others and to keep their comforting presences with me.

Already overwhelmed with the ongoing pain coursing throughout my body, the additional panic of the boys losing hope wills myself to open my mouth to yell out for them. When nothing works, I curse at the fact that my eyes were left open because now I just wanted to block everything out—for everything to be over with. Whatever was injected into my body was killing me and I could feel it.

It’s as if whatever higher deity is up there finally answers my prayers as tufts of silky blonde hair enters my vision from the corner of my eyes, Butters expression filled with melancholy as he scans my face. He brings a hand up to the skin of my cheeks, his touch so soft that it almost feels nonexistent. He lightly skims his fingers over the expanse he has access to and when they creep towards my damp eyelashes, his hand stills from their gentle ministrations.

His eyebrows furrow, his voice soft in its disbelief as he speaks up. “She’s crying.”

“What?” Tolkien approaches my view, his own expression tensely mirroring the blondes in his well-deserved skepticism. He carefully watches as Butters brings up the soft material that makes up the sleeves of his jacket to gently dab at my eyes, the area not staying dry for long before my tears immediately resurface.

“Holy shit, she’s crying.” He echoes out in confirmation, a mixture of bewilderment and confusion painting his words.

A beat of silence tells me that they’re all looking at the previously masked teen for answers, the boy speaking up at their expectant faces when the sound of a fist meeting skin sounds out through the air. “Fuck! I told you, it’d be a slow and painful death. She’s not dead, yet. She’s still alive, I can do something if you just let me.”

“No fucking way! We can't trust him!” Cartman barks out to the group in caution, a sneer deeply curled onto his face as he stares down at the beaten teen.

Butters immediately starts sobbing at my lifeless face, the salty tears that are escaping his eyes begin to gently drop down his face until they meet the already damp skin of my own. He’s frantic in trying to catch every drop that trails down from my own orbs, his aim not that accurate due to his shaky hands.

“Fellas! FELLAS!” The blonde musters up what little of his strength he has left as he yells over the boys arguing, effectively cutting off the voices fighting over our heads. 

“We have to help her. We have to. She’s my little sister, I can’t lose her.” He hysterically babbles, his frantic speech making it hard to make out his words.

“Butters, calm the fuck down.” A hand tries to placate him by laying itself on one of his shoulders, the blonde venomous as he urges everyone to just listen as he sharply slaps away the comforting touch.

Although hope was beginning to form due to Butters’ efforts, the pain coursing my veins was starting to change, feeling like something within me was ominously shifting. While everything still hurt, my senses were beginning to gradually fade as my body began to give up its fight. Everything around me felt like it was getting duller, my brain slowly starting to not register the feeling of Butters’ fingers against my face and the surrounding voices of the others.

“We can’t trust him! He can’t do anything, he’s just fucking lying again! He’s deceived us once and he's just going to do it another time. She’s GONE! He can't bring her back!” Cartman impatiently tries to yell some sense into the boys, everyone lost on what to do and sharing conflicted looks with one another. 

“Let him go. Do it.” Stan decidedly breaks the silence, tensely forcing his demand out through gritted teeth as he vehemently glares at my assailant. 

I felt so… gone.

But my brother knew he had to take the chance, however small and uncertain it may be. He had promised and he was going to do whatever he was capable of doing at this moment to keep it. Every time he was there, he always told me that I’d be safe and he’d be damned if he turned his back on his baby sister. Because if there was even a chance, a small sliver of hope that I was still alive…

“He might be lying, Stan…” Kyle shakes his head, a pained expression crossing his face as he whispered logically to the furiously demanding teen.

“DO IT! I’M NOT FUCKING AROUND, FUCKING FIX HER!” His scream pierces through the air, a few of the boy’s bodies jumping slightly at the sheer volume of his distressed voice. He ignores his best friend’s reasoning, not even sparing a moment to acknowledge that his emotions may be irrationally controlling the decisions he’s making.

No one moves for a moment, everyone warily eyeing each other. Cartman furrows his eyebrows and takes a step forward before Kyle stops him. “If you do this and something happens, it’s on you. Would you be able to live with your conscience if nothing happens to N/N and he’s able to get away?”

“It’s a chance that I’m willing to take, Kyle. Don’t fucking question me, this is my fucking sister.” Stan impatiently snaps at the curly haired teen, the redhead glaring back at the bleached blonde from the insinuation of his words.

“Don’t fucking play with me, Marsh. She’s my little sister, too.” He bitterly bites back as he roughly pushes past the sneering teen and grabs the discarded gun from the floor before kneeling down, freeing my perpetrator from the thick rope the boys used to crudely detain him with.

Kyle threateningly points the heavy metal towards his head, the other boys closely watching to see if he’ll flee as their bodies tense on the chance that they may have to jump into action. My captor grabs something from the unmarked vehicle, his hands nervously shaking as he brings another syringe out to imbed into my skin. The boys all collectively flinch when they watch the long needle trespass against my arm, their breaths baited as they tensely observe from the crowd formed around me.

The second the liquid enters my system, it’s as if my body got released from the paralysis keeping me shackled in its silent hold. Only one deep breath gets heaved out before I let out a bloodcurdling scream to vocalize the intense agony I’ve been feeling all this time.

Shocked, the boys didn’t know what to do as they watched in muted horror as I begin to scream bloody murder on Kenny’s lap. They just kind of expected me to wake up, never having guessed that they’d be presented with the painful image of my back contorting to an exaggerated arch and my limbs violently flailing everywhere. 

My sobs begin to combine with my torturous screaming, my hands failing multiple times before they’re able to grab onto the material adorning Kenny’s frame as I shake his still body. “MAKE IT STOP!”

The screeching finally prompts him into action as his hands attempt to restrain my thrashing body, my chest painfully heaving as I blabber nonsense to anyone listening through my thick tears. All the boys could do was cry at the sight, feeling useless and frustrated as a few of them join us on the ground to assist the blonde in keeping me still.

From upside down my vision, Craig gently but firmly grabs onto my cheeks to still my flailing head as he presses his soft lips onto my skin to speak against my forehead. “Shh, I’m here, babe. It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.”

All the boys let out their own shaky variations of both verbal or physical assurance and comfort yet nothing changes. Clyde hysterically sobs, turning his face from where it was nestled into my neck to beg at the teen who administered my pain. “STOP THIS!

He glares at my former classmate without breaking contact with me, the teen looking sheepish as he averts his gaze from the deathly looks of the group of teens. His voice is low and meek as he mumbles to the others, “... Her body’s been getting tortured like this since the moment the liquid entered her system. It’s just that now, she's finally able to physically and verbally react to it.”

Everyone feels their entire guts plummet at the information revealed to them, my body beginning to weakly curl in on itself as my screams fade away to loud sobs. They’re speechless at the fact that I’ve felt like this the entire time, all of them ignorant to my silent pain and for thinking I was already dead.

“I’m going to fucking kill you.” Kenny vehemently seethes from where his own body is wrapped around my own in an attempt to comfort my relentless weeping, his form shaking in unbridled rage.

My whole body twitches and throbs before the pain manifests itself into bile forcibly exiting my mouth, my delirium unable to put a name to the voices and hands trying to soothe me. Whatever happened with the second dose made my eyes heavy with fatigue, my head going eerily limp from the sudden decrease in energy.

“Stay with me, okay, beautiful? It’s over now, you just need to stay awake with me. We’re going to keep you safe.” 

But I was too tired, too filled with pain, and too weak to keep the promise of the comforting voice. I could feel gentle fingers stroking my cheeks, soft kisses placed against the skin of my face, and both of my hands in someone else's grip.

“Come on, baby. You can do this. Stay with me.”

The sounds around me gently morph into an orchestra of panic but all I can do is lightly smile at the cacophony of hysterical noise as the warmth from everyone comfortingly surrounds my whole body to rest. 

・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

My parents had offered to drop my brother and I off to school, the both of them pulling Stan aside to exchange a few hushed words as I patiently wait along the pavement of the frosted sidewalk. I vibrate in place as I wait for Stan, excited to finally be away from the sterile, white confines of the hospital walls.

Once their conversation concludes, he walks the short distance between us as he intertwines our fingers together, his moving feet leading me along the almost desolate hallways of the school. His body is slightly ahead of my smaller one, as if shielding me from anything that we could possibly come across and I just softly smile at his ridiculous yet endearing overprotectiveness.

I unconsciously shrink in only myself before he notices and shoots me a comforting look, his supportive smile making me stand a little bit taller in confidence before he pushes the heavy wooden door to our first class of the day–homeroom. My eyes flicker from side to side, slightly widening as I take in my surroundings to look at the faces around me in a mixture of both anxiety and excitement. 

Not paying much attention, I fail to notice that my brother has stopped walking as my body softly runs into the thick material of the jacket that adorns the back of his body. I lightly giggle at my clumsiness, my inattentiveness making the both of us grin as he begins to slightly pull our interlocked hands to bring my form a little forward. 

The expression on his face is soft as he lightly smiles down at me as a form of reassurance, his eyes taking the time to run along my face to take note of any signs of discomfort. Once satisfied after nothing sets off his instincts, I offer a soft grin of my own when my brother brings my attention to the group of teenage boys gathered in front of us.

They’re all in varying stances, some perched onto the seats of their desks while a few lean against the table top of the hard structure to be in closer proximity with their friends before the school day starts. My face slightly angles downward towards the linoleum floor when I notice that all of their expectant gazes are carefully watching me, nervous energy reverberating from their bodies in barely contained energy. 

Of what, I’m not quite sure as my eyes look back to search for ones identical to my own in encouragement as the nervous thrum begins to run along my veins at their attentive stares. My brother’s voice is patient when he speaks up, soft in between the contrasting air of chattering students surrounding all of our bodies.

“N/N. Do you remember any of them..?”

My body seeks refuge from the intense gazes of everyone as I slightly retreat to hide half of my face behind Stan’s clothed arm, my hands clenching around the ones in my hold in anxiety. I shake my head, the nonverbal answer knocking the bated breaths out of the group of teen’s bodies in a mixture of evident disappointment and apparent anguish. 

There’s an apologetic expression on my face as I whisper honestly to my brother.

“No.” 

#south park #south park x reader #kenny mccormick x reader #craig tucker x reader #kenny mccormick #craig tucker #south park fanfiction #lalawrites