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netherfeildren · 3 months

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Honey, Stomach, Mine ; 1. Genus: Tragedy

Series Masterlist ; Part 2.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Existence is a needful thing. Choice is fickle, nature inescapable. Run to the end of the world, Joel, all those things will still find you.

She'll still come for you.

-OR-

the A/B/O outbreak AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics; Dystopian Society; Outbreak not Cordyceps AU; Light Angst; Slow Burn; Shocking Considering the Implications of Me and This Trope but Alas; Biologically Assigned Soulmates; Power Dynamics; Topping From the Bottom; Government Controlled Reproduction; Segregation of the Designations; Institutionalized Sexism; Vaguely Handmaidien Undertones; Incredibly Soft Despite the Tags; Be Not Afraid, Dear Reader!; Yearning; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Competence Kink; Alpha Joel; Omega MC; Very Soft Joel; Older and Jaded Alpha; Young and Needy Omega; Age Gap; Size Difference; Size Kink

A/N: I've found there is an absolutely shocking lack of A/B/O in this fandom, and this is my contribution to begin rectifying that. I swear that despite the way the tags read, this is entirely and sickeningly sweet soft, comfort, caretaking fic.

Share thoughts, please. It's sort of a different one.

Word Count: 6.3K

Read on AO3

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Genus : Tragedy

To a one Mr. Joel Miller,

500 Sheahan Road

Clallam Bay, WA 98326

United States

We are writing to inform you that as of January 8th, 2015 there remain two weeks until your designated omega’s twenty second birthday, and a year since she has come of age. We have made several attempts to contact you with no response. As mandated by the federal government, you must collect her by January 22nd, 2015 or she will be distributed to another individual of the designation alpha who would be willing to accommodate her.

The omega’s evaluations are all up to date, and she has displayed pristine results in both health and behavioral tests. It is estimated that her first heat will occur soon, and we strongly encourage you to collect before the fever starts and our facility is forced to place her with another willing alpha that may see the process through. As she is part of the Federal Alpha/Omega Pairing Program, and is biologically paired to an alpha already, that being you, if not collected she would be placed in the bidding pool and distributed to the highest offer.

Again, we strongly encourage you to contact our facility with a response on your decision as soon as possible so that we may prepare the omega. We would like to remind you that these creatures are delicate, and unexpected changes to their habitats and surroundings cause high levels of distress. It is of the utmost importance that we proceed in accordance with the omega’s nature.

Enclosed is a brief note from your omega that she has requested to attach:

Dear sir,

I hope that you are well. I have been told that you have not decided if you will come for me, but I ask that you please do. I have been waiting, but they have told me I cannot wait anymore, and I do not know what will happen to me if you don’t come. I promise that I’ll be good if you do.

And at the bottom, in a pristine and swirly pen, and kindly, her signature, there for him to see. The name of the woman, or girl, who seems to have taken all of Joel’s choices from him. He follows the letters with the nail of his thumb, scratching at the ink as if he could make it disappear, make the reality of this poor thing out there in the world waiting for him, disappear.

At the outbreak of the designations, twelve years ago, there had been mass hysteria, mass chaos, a terrible uncertainty of how the world could continue on, segregated into biological designations as it had suddenly become. Thought to be a product of the dwindling population rates, some whispered a government experiment gone awry, a freak genetic mutation had begun to appear within the biological markers of certain people.

Designations: Alpha, Beta, Omega.

It was not that society had unfolded, lost sight of itself, it was more so that from one day to the next, a new and unknown sort of hierarchy had been established, those that were, those that were not. Those that could live their lives as they’d always done, unruled by their biological urges, and those now marked as something new and different and set by a different sort of mandates.

Joel had been one of these people.

The designations had become controlled, weaponized, systemized, almost immediately. Almost. Before the government had mobilized and taken stock and hold of the situation, there had been a momentary lapse of order. Chaos wearing the names and faces of the people he’d once known, people that should have been safe or protected, protective. The true nature of the dynamics were quickly revealed. Obvious: an unmated alpha in need of an omega was a volatile thing, quick to aggression, hungry for violence. Less so: an omega, once thought self sufficient, independent, autonomous, was found to be at times fragile, vulnerable, full of necessity. Both connected by that string of desperation that could only be soothed in a pairing of the two. The desperate drama of being no longer only yourself.

It should have been an obvious thing, the mutation, a byproduct of the dwindling population levels, reproduction rates, was in service of something that would correct this misdirection of nature. Alphas and omegas were, are, idealized pairings for one another in terms of reproduction, in terms of biological pairings. It should have been obvious that this would be wielded as a means of control. It should have been obvious that this was an untenable situation that would cast people into roles that left no choice for autonomy, for freedom.

It should have been obvious to Joel, who almost immediately, and even though he had been well into adulthood, a father to a young daughter, presented as an alpha, growing pains once again this late into his life. It should have been obvious that this was a situation that should have necessitated greater care, vigilance, protection. After all, this was the role of an alpha. He should have listened to this new nature of his that was suddenly, demandingly, presenting itself, acted quicker, stronger, with more wisdom. But he’d failed, he’d continued to fail for years to come after that terrible night when the world had turned back to its base nature in a hedonistic attempt for the preservation of humanity.

Alphas were immediately feared, ostracized, and above all else, obvious. A designation was not a thing a person could hide, especially not an alpha, the truth of their nature. Many were gunned down in the streets at the start, imprisoned, experimented on and sold, debased and tortured. They’d been caught, him and Sarah, separated from Tommy trying to escape the madness. She had, in her innocence and without designation, still only herself, still only his little girl, been caught in the crossfire of a world's desire to tame or trap something it could not understand.

Joel had, in many and the worst of ways, been caught in the crossfire too.

With time, years and the sort of suffering that can only be forced upon anything that is different or out of the norm, a system had been created. Government mandated programs, laws, registries that kept track of the designations. A hierarchy in which those that were essentially and biologically considered stronger than what a normal human should be, were ostracized, exiled, denigrated, muzzled, and those that would be considered weakest, left without any voice at all, without freedom either.

The Federal Alpha/Omega Pairing Program had been established for the continued preservation and furthering of reproductive rates. A registry was created in which all those with the designation either alpha or omega had to present themselves on, biological markers determined, all choices stripped. The program served as a match making machine, when two biological markers presented themselves as compatible, as mates of one another, an omega was assigned to an alpha for keeping. To do with as they’d see fit.

He had gotten word of her only last year. Twelve years of solitude, of nothing, of running from a girl with green eyes he’d not been able to protect and the reality of himself he detested, the what and why of who he was. He’d left Austin, wandered and hidden and groveled in the dirt like a worm until he’d finally found a quiet place to settle. A place alone, undisturbed. And for so long, he’d not been happy, surely, but he had been. Joel had been.

He looks down at the letter in his hand, dragging his thumbnail over the swoop and slope of her signature once again. This was a person who, as mandated by law or biology or fucking whatever, had been deemed as his. His other half, mate, ball and chain. The terrible reminder of what he really was and could not escape, in the form and shape of his perfect opposite.

Last year, when he’d gotten word of her existence, that she’d reached the age of twenty one and was now ready and available for his retrieving, he’d balled up the letter and thrown it with such weightless force into the fireplace in his living room that the air filled wad of paper had fallen limp and nothingful just shy of the flames, rolling in the ashes and dust, coating the reality of this imposed, undesired fate in dark soot. He’d been so angry he’d gone out and howled at the moon like the beast the world would have themselves believe he truly was.

He did not want to be an alpha. He did not want an omega. He did not want to live off the coast of Clallam Bay alone in this house he’d built with his bare hands because he had no other use of them now, no other function or purpose or meaning. He did not want it to be now, he wanted it to be twelve years ago. He wanted to still be a father.

He did not want to be an alpha.

He did not want an omega.

He crumples the letter in his fist, looking out at the bay over the edge of the cliffs from where the cabin is perched. From his spot on the deck he can see as far out as the sea allows, sight stopping suddenly as if the edge of the world had dropped off a ledge. Sometimes he longed, so, so badly, to go find that edge, to drop off it as well. He had only tried once. Never again. The grizzle of scar tissue at his temple, a testament to yet another one of his failures.

The first summons had come two weeks before her twenty-first birthday, and he’d laughed, after the anger, he’d laughed. A girl-woman of only twenty one years, deemed of age, for the role the government or God had deemed her ready for, served up on a platter to him for his own ravaging. For the correction of what nature told was an anomaly that only their coming together could solve. It was sick, disgusting. He wanted no part of it. And so, despite the knowledge that this poor thing was out there, in some government facility, places they took omegas, many orphans, but also, oftentimes separating them from their families for so called safe keeping, just another word for kidnapping. Rearing and breeding and no choices, no choices for any of them ever.

He’d ignored it, turned a blind eye and a revolted heart away from it all, and shirked the supposed responsibilities he owed this omega who he knew nothing about, who knew nothing about him. But nature is, after all, a terrible and inescapable thing. And not even so much the nature of his designation, although that did, unfailingly, play a part in his demise, surely, but the nature of his character, of Joel’s heart, that was the true heavy player. He was not the sort of man who could turn away from someone who’d rely on him, who’d need him. A responsibility. That was, he convinced himself, all he should or could see her as. And for a year there’d been a sort of tugging of a string from behind his navel, an umbilical cord connecting him to his ignored fate. He hated it all. He wanted nothing to do with any of it. He wanted to rot in his aloneness and misery and bitterness, fester in the fear that lived around him from the world. It’s why he’d come here, it’s why he’d exiled himself. Balanced on the tightrope border between the Salish Sea and the Makah Reservation on this high and pristine cliffside cut from the crust of the earth; he was left entirely alone, at peace with only his own chaotic demons to torment him. He wanted it this way, he wanted this; please, please, he’d already given away so much, lost so much of himself. Should he also be forced into this too? To sacrifice the terrible peace of his solitude to save this poor creature that was being forced on him. He wanted to say no, that he didn’t give a fuck, that what would happen to her could, it was no business of his. But those words… another willing alpha, bidding pool, highest offer… they made him see, not even red, black, black and devastating anger or rage or something horrible and base, and what could only be a product of mother nature railing against him for ignoring what he truly was. Something that whispered terrible words of mine, mine, fucking mine. A hiss he did not recognize, did not want to admit he recognized.

He was old, weathered and beaten and past his prime. Unmated. At the end of his line and unmated and purposeless, and his bones were tired, but itching and clamoring within the confines of his skin that this was wrong, that he was wrong, and that he needed to right this immediately.

That she’s waiting, and dear sir, I do not know what will become of me if you do not come. I promise that I’ll be good if you do.

And so Joel goes to her because he knows she is waiting, because fate or purpose or nature is not a thing to be ignored forever.

“It’s her birthday today,” the caretaker says, voice ascetic and cold and direct. Not a voice, Joel thinks, for soft things; cadence that has his teeth on edge, hackles raised. “You’ve arrived just in time. She’s been asking for you, and we’d just set her name in the pool, ready to release for auction tomorrow.” That black rage muddies the corners of his vision, and he focuses on the cold shock of the blank white hallway they’re making their way down. Hospital-like, barren and hard, this place, facility, prison, they keep them in, the omegas in the program. He feels slightly sick, uninhibitedly angry as if his teeth would fall out of his skull, as if he could throw himself to the ground as a child throws a fit, spew his anger for the world to see how much he does not want this, how vehemently he’s opposed to it all.

“She may seem young and small, but she’s twenty two now. She’s ready, and she’ll take it as you wish. It’s what she was made for.”

Joel seriously considers, just for a moment, killing the cretinous little man beside him. Take it, he says as if he has any right to speak of you taking anything that Joel would give you, as if it’s any of his business, anything he could ever understand if the beta stench oozing off of him is any indication. He hums nothing more than a grunt of acknowledgement. If he parts his teeth he’ll take out a chunk of flesh. He should behave, there are easily frightened things nearby.

White doors with a small circular window at the center line the hall on either side, endlessly down the length of the seemingly endless corridor. The caretaker, white scrubs, pristine like the rest of everything here, and Joel feels suddenly huge and bestial and brutish, marring and dirtying this place that is supposed to be of peace and quiet for the fragile things locked inside.

A terrible place that makes him desolately depressed. You’ve been here so long, and he had not come, and it’s all just one more tally of failure on his rap sheet.

When they finally stop before a singular door, the number fourteen emblazoned in large black, bold print just beneath the small viewing window, Joel suddenly feels– he can’t say for certain, he doesn’t know, or doesn't want to acknowledge the truth of the voices and sounds ringing in his ears, but he knows, recognizes it for the sound of the moment Sarah died all those years ago. His past and present suddenly clashing to meet here in this antiseptic white void, before the door to this fate that’s clamored in quiet waiting for exactly a year today. The sound of her voice, calling his name, saying it hurts, Tommy, his shouts ringing loud and then ebbing soft and as lifeless as she was while the reality of what they were living came to pass before Joel too, could realize. He’d left too, his brother, ran from the truth of Joel at the first easy opportunity. And she’s just there, her voice and her eyes and the feel of her is just there in his mind, on the tip of the tongue of his memory, and then the man opens the door and then there you are.

He feels worse now, hulking, deformed, malformed like he was born wrong. “I’ll give you a moment,” the man says low, that cold voice monotone and almost too quiet to bear now. Joel feels he needs something loud and shocking. He fears he won’t fit through the door. “It’s better if you meet for the first time without distractions. She knows you’re coming.”

He thinks he asks if you’re sleeping, he can’t be sure, but he feels the vibrations of his throat work, his jaw move as if it’d come unhinged, his tongue swollen in his mouth, gums fat and painful, full of bile and terrible memories, and he is a badly made thing in need of some goodness in this moment. And then a shift of the small lump beneath the blankets, the reality of the moment snaps into focus, he steps inside the white box cage you’re kept in. The door shuts behind him, and then it is only him, the thing he would not be, and you, the thing he would not want.

He doesn’t decide it until he finally peers into your eyes, that he can’t, will not, keep you.

Wide, luminous and wet, but not afraid, wholly curious, peering up at him from above the edge of a thick wool blanket. Something drab and gray and stiff looking that immediately sets him on edge, brings that anger back, just the simple sight of the blanket. The two of you stare at each other in silence, the weight of that thing that tells of what you are, sitting heavy between the two of you as he looks down at you from his great height, presence that should be intimidating and cowing, looming over your prone and small form on the bed. But despite his stance, something swelling within him causing him to puff up like an angry dog and want to bear his teeth at you, despite the curtain of tears in your eyes, there’s nothing of the stench of fear.

He shuts his eyes to the sight of you, huffing long and bullish through his nose, mistake, the scent of you, God, help me, and he listens to the rustle and shift of the blankets, opens his eyes to see a little nose peeking out from beneath the gray, drab thing to sniff primly at the air he’s now filling with his presence.

Soft and warm and woman, the smell of a cunt that belongs to him. That’s what it is at its basest. More complexly: vanilla, bergamot, juniper berries, sweat and fever and salt. Taking a plunge off the cliffside, bypassing the sharp teeth of rocks that would kill you, waiting for the dark ice shock of sea and finding nothing but molten life. This is what you smell like.

Worst of all, there is something in you that smells of him. His, yes, but not what he means, not his, him. Something that smells of recognition, like the two of you are the same.

Something chained inside of him rattles at the bars of its cage, desperate to be let out and quenched.

He steps back, frightened at your movement, at the reality of what the two of you are, so obvious here in this cage, at your perking up, your recognition of who and what he is, what he’s come for. You don’t speak, but you tell him. You wriggle beneath the covers, shimmying to turn and face him more fully, still clutching the blanket up high over your mouth, still covering half of your face, and he wants to bark at you to let him see, that he needs to see, but he grinds his teeth together. Molars going to dust down his throat, muscle wrapped around his mandible strung so tight he fears the fibers of it might burst and pop.

You settle on your side facing him now, and then something to beguile him, to bring him to his knees muzzled and obedient and calm, the sweetest, sultry little crooning cry. Something provoking, alluring, something to beckon him to you in surrender and acceptance and welcome, come from your chest up your throat to his ears. He jerks back at the sound, your big eyes still expectant and wet but demanding now. I am here waiting for you. I have been here waiting for you. Come now. He steps back to your bedside, a too small, too stiff metal railed cot he’s going to wrap around that fucking guard, caretaker, idiot, whatever he is when he comes back, falls to his knees, and your little fingers peek out and up and over the edge of the blanket now. And you surprise him doubly, tenfold, more than he can comprehend – but he already decided he will not keep you, he already made up his mind – when you say: “You came. You remembered me.”

He could never have forgotten.

A low hum, a sound to make your eyelids flutter and your legs shift beneath the heavily draped blankets. “Today’s your birthday, sweetheart, is it? Would you like to come home with me as your gift?”

He could never have forgotten.

The house that the large man who you’d waited your whole life and then a year for, brings you to – and you can’t be entirely sure, for you’ve so little experience or knowledge – but from what you can think you’re feeling now, from what you can decide, is lovely.

He had taken you in a car, a truck, you like the sound of the word, —ck, —ck, —ck, and driven a long while, through the big city which you’d seen little of, between forest and beside sea, and then finally up a long and winding road and more forest, more trees and green than you’d ever seen in your entire life, until you’d come to a cliffside, the backyard a drop off of air and rock and endless dark water, and a small house perched just there at the edge. Wooden slats, weather beaten and salt lashed, a copper sloped roof, and two pert chimneys, despite the not large area of the house, cabin. It looks, very much, as if it had grown straight from the cliff rock, sprouted by the forest, strong bones that spoke resolutely of remaining where they were no matter how hard the wind howled.

“How did it get here?” You ask the man, alpha, who’s name is Joel who has finally come for you after a life and a year of waiting.

“I made it,” and his voice is rough and demanding of attention, demanding of you, even if you don’t know, although, you do understand, what it is he’s demanding.

And you think, yes, of course. It looks a little, a lot, like him. Obvious, that it came from him.

It would be easy to think that you’re nothing but young and stupid and untried. Just a little omega kept in a cage. But you feel, after this life, not life, of being you and the thing you are, that you’re none of those things despite it all. You had lived, you had been out in the world at one time, even if briefly, even if only as a child, green and inexperienced and innocent, and although you still remain all those things, you had been out there at one point. You had never had a mother or a father, dead when you were an infant, killed in the outbreak, but you had lived with your aunt, your mother’s, many years older, sister, until you’d been ten years old. So you see, and he should see too, this man now before you, this alpha, that you were untried and inexperienced and young compared to him, but you’d had a decade of real life, even if it was the life of a child, even if afterwards it was a not life, but the before, that counted very, very much to you and so deserved respect and acknowledgement. And he should see that, although you do not know, you do understand.

After your aunt had died, and they’d taken you, first to the orphanage, and then to the place for omegas, after you’d started to mature and develop, perhaps that real life had ended. Or been put on hold, waiting for him, this alpha who seems, for all intents and purposes and from what you can gather from his sullen silence and dark looks, nothing like pleased at your presence here now. But then there was the: today’s your birthday, sweetheart, is it? And yes, yes it is your birthday.

It’s your birthday, and you’re free. And yes, you’d lived the not life in the white box for so long, and yes, you are, in fractions, so afraid and knowing so little of the world, but you do know that you want to live and to see the sky.

You want to see the sky every single day.

His big clunking truck rolls to a slow stop before the house, a wide deck wrapping around the entire boxed thing of it, and he starts to move, unclipping his belt, grabbing the bag he’d brought with him stuffed with his clothes he’d promptly tucked and folded you into when he’d shuffled you into the cabin of his truck, and you’d been all thank you, sir, to which he’d given a shake of his head, only Joel. Only Joel. No other words, no other directions, only his hands pulling your strings like a puppet. You had accepted it for the chance to feel his touch, to familiarize yourself with the closeness of him.

You want to know things. You want to know him.

He’d barely said a word the entire drive here, but you could be patient, and they’d prepared you for this, after all. They’d prepared you long and well and told you all they thought you’d need to know. So you find yourself, and not at all shockingly, as you’d waited so long for this, for him, for freedom and the sky, and look, now there’s even sea too, not even a little bit afraid, only anticipatory in bated breath, stuttering heart, excitement.

You had never seen the sea before, and you want to know things. You want to know him.

He jumps heavy and thudding form the truck, and you start to shift, something suddenly frantic and clawing rolling in your chest when you realize he’s leaving the confines of the small space the two of you had found yourselves encased in together, the warm heat from the vents blowing his smell, his smell, all around you. You’d never encountered anything like it before. Salted vetiver and warm cardamom, something sweet and musked and heavy like what your fingers taste like after you’ve pet long and needy at that soft wet place between your legs when the hurt was so tight you felt nothing would sate it. It’s a scent that you think would devastate to have taken away now that you’ve tasted it. And it’s everywhere as the two of you’d sat in his staunchly imposed silence on the truck ride to this place he was bringing you to, his home at what seems like the end of the world. It’s in your nose and down your throat, heavy and cloying and sweet on your tongue, wrapping around your waist and covering your skin and your hands so that you’d even pressed your palms entirely over your face and rubbed yourself like a cat, coating yourself in him.

The door slams, bringing you out of his scent induced reverie and back to the present, and you scramble to undo your buckle too, even though when he’d clipped it for you he’d very sternly said to not take it off, desperate to follow him wherever he’d go. But you realize quickly he’s coming around the front of the truck to your door, and then he’s there pulling it open and letting in a biting gust of wind come off the sea and up the cliffside to slash you across the face with its icy rancor. You shiver, teeth clattering and chattering in your mouth, trying to gather the blankets he’d cocooned you in, his too big, so soft clothes, more tightly around yourself, and find your feet.

He gives a rough but soothing noise, and easy as anything, plucks you up and out of the seat and into his arms, kicking the door closed behind him as he goes. Into his arms. You hold yourself stiff and wide eyed, chewing on the tips of your frozen cold fingers, and staring at him this closely, it’s shocking. Large, had been the first thing. Tall and broad and thick the way they’d said alphas are. This you had expected. The rest, you had not. The eyes, you think, more than anything. His eyes, a strange mix of hazel and brown, but dark. Eyes, that even in your greenness, you can recognize as sad and angry. And the creases at the corners, between his brows, the gray threaded through the lush, dark curls and at the corners of the hair along his jaw. He looks like he would be someone’s father. The patch of bare skin, heart shaped, amongst the whiskers. He’s beautiful, and unthinkingly, or perhaps entirely intentional, you stick out one of your saliva soaked fingers and poke him gently there, only a small prod, to feel what the heart feels like. His gait stops instantly, that permanent frown he’d worn since you’d first laid eyes on him, deepening. “Don’t do that,” he gruffs, continuing his steps up the porch now, the dark, heavy boots you’d noted as he’d taken you from the facility falling thunk, thunk on the wooden boards beneath. He’d not given you shoes of your own. And at his tone, the grumpy look, you have the inexplicable urge to laugh. To laugh at him. Surly, you want to tease, but swallow it, itchy fingertips back into the warmth of your mouth to stop yourself from touching again.

Another gust blows against the two of you as he somehow transfers you, cradled into only one arm, to pull the jingle of keys from his pocket, and you’re jarred with painful shivers, huddling closer into the unbelievably broad expanse of his chest, the unbelievably steaming warm slab. At the touch of your cheek against his collarbone you realize all he’s wearing is a simple, green flannel, no coat, nothing warm. “Aren’t you cold?” It seems suddenly, supremely important you ask, head shooting back up. He peers down his nose at you, finally getting the door open, and his eyes are a very peculiar sort of dark, you cock your head at him, a very strange sort of creature this man is, who’s come to collect you, who you’d waited all your life and a year for.

“I’m fine,” he says.

You don’t believe him.

He sets you down on a large, dark leather sofa, chocolate, the hide smooth and worn and lived in. The rest of the house, not only a house, also a home, for it’s obvious in the way of his things, the way they’re arranged and fixed and the way they too live here, not only exist here. I’ll be like that too, you think. It’s all comfortable, it’s all warm, like a den and a place to relax and be protected, juxtaposed by the sight beyond the large windows, nothing but dark, violent sea as you’ve never before seen.

He really had found a perch at the edge of the world, brought you here to perch as well.

There’s a large fireplace, inlaid with large slabs of dark stone and thick beams of wood, and yes, this too is also obvious in a peculiar and particular way. The house very much looks like it was made by the hands of a single man in some way that you cannot specifically say, but can obviously see the truth of. He made this house, and then he came for you and now he’s brought you here, and you feel, suddenly, so pleased and warm and right. Everything feels so, so right. You sigh dreamily, suffused at once with a tight, deep heat at the pit of your belly, the scent of him everywhere, bubbles floating up from the bottom of you and seeming to pop out your ears. You lean back into the deep couch, wiggling this way and that, rubbing your bottom into the soft cushions to snuggle up, bringing the neck of his sweater he’d put you in up to your nose to breathe deep and long.

He’s moving around, arranging things this way and that, a thick log in the slumbering coals, a pillow here, another blanket atop you, not looking at you, setting a wide berth once he’s settled the throw, not talking to you. It’s fine, let him do as he pleases and needs, you’ll sit here and watch. You can tell he doesn’t like to talk, that words cost him something, and you know so little, but you understand this. Words do cost something, truths, the truth of your before life and your not life. The truth of those realities cost. So, yes, you understand, and he doesn’t have to talk if he doesn’t want to yet. And looking at him, you realize that everything inside of you feels soft and bruised and little. And yet, despite all that, ready, in want and need of him. Ready to be big.

Joel.

You must say the word out loud, his name, for he stops and finally turns to face you. There is something vibrational within him. Different. You’ve never seen a creature as such. You’d never seen an alpha before, not since you’d presented, you’ve never been around one. The caretakers were all always betas, people who would not be affected by the omega’s presence and fluctuations.

He swallows once, twice, twitches and jerks and heaves a big sigh. He’s so full of energy as you, suddenly, in opposition, feel so sleepy and drowsy and ready to close your eyes and only feel warm and relaxed. You like his house, you might love it, even.

Your eyelids droop low, slow blinks, and you watch his face fold into a frown. You want to laugh, he does that so much. They’d said that alphas could have big tempers, that they could be brash and aggressive and loud, but that the omega would naturally temper that. You think it may be true because as you watch him through the weave of your lashes, his frown deepening the longer he stares at you slowly drowsing on his couch which you hope he’ll never make you move from, the jitters and the shakes and the trembling that he’d seemed, just a moment ago, to be so full of, begin to quietly abate.

He takes a step toward you, another and another until his shins meet the edge of the sofa, and you snuggle deeper into the cushions, making yourself into as little a ball as possible, so full of sleepiness.

“How do you feel?”

“I like your house so much,” you slur, head drooping, lashes drooping.

He clicks his tongue, makes that rumbly noise you think is an alpha thing because it has your eyes suddenly clicking open, sleep haze clearing momentarily so that you can look up at him again, and he’s looking at you so peculiarly. You scrunch your nose up at him, there’s no need to look at you so, you’re only an omega, only a little tired, nothing to stare at so strangely.

“I’m–” he clears his throat, makes that rumble, growl, huff sound again, “I’m glad you like it. I wanted you to be comfortable while you’re here.”

And oh, he’s so nice, you tell him, and, “I am. I’m so comfortable.” You melt further into the couch, and he crouches down to peer at you more directly, pulling a soft pillow from the opposite end and tucking it under your head, the large, rough cup of his paw cradling your skull, big fingers weaving through your hair. He arranges you so gently, like he’d take care of you. Like you’re here, finally, finally, you’re here to be taken care of.

It’s what they’d said would happen, and you’d waited so long. You’d waited too long to be let out of the white box, for him to come, to see the sky. And now there was so much; of him, of the house, of the sky, of your whole life and the sea.

You nuzzle your head into his big hand, the heat of it searing your scalp, your ear tucked into his palm. “Brave girl,” he hums. He has such a deep voice, a good voice for an alpha, you think, a very good voice. You feel it vibrating in your toes and in your eyelashes and in your belly. “You’ve been through a great deal, haven’t you?” You want to say yes, you want to remind him that you’d waited for him for so very long, and that when you woke up, if you remembered, you’d be very cross with him for taking so long to come for you.

“You rest now,” he says. “It’s all alright now.” Yes, a very good voice.

2. More Intelligent Than a Face

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#HSM fic #vic fic #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #the last of us AU #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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neptunes-sol-angel · 3 months

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What is your healing era giving? Pick the pile(s) that you're drawn to the most then scroll down for their corresponding message.

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Pile One

You’re shocking people with the ways that you are healing yourself. What they see as they witness your transformation, is the walking embodiment of a high priestess, the keeper of knowledge and a vessel of magnificent secrets. Who you are, in this healing era that you are in, is an enigma that won’t be locked away or censored. The way that you’re healing is spiritually ancestral. You possess the kind of wisdom that isn’t gained from age, it’s inherited. You’re a generational curse breaker, someone in your bloodline who finally recognizes a poisonous pattern in your family with the strength to be the one to not consume it. You’re observant, you’re emotionally intelligent, and you have a mind of your own even when growing up in an environment that was meant to control you, this era is making you embrace the thorns in your roses. You’re becoming the modern-day Joan of Arc by having more self-conviction even when being outnumbered by people trying to convince you out of what you know to be true. You’re healing the perception of purity and time in not just yourself but others too. If you grew up sheltered with a family relative that infantilized you with malicious intent to keep you dependent on them, your healing era is helping you break out of those barriers that kept you from making choices to improve your happiness, success, and progression. You’re no longer afraid of getting hurt or “tainted” in this world, you’re living for yourself and what makes you complete. Learning feels like freedom now because fear is no longer your teacher. Don’t feel down about being a late bloomer because it is better to be late than never, there may be people in this pile who approaching their 30s/40s and feel like they haven’t accomplished anything, but your healing era is reminding you that it is never too late. People forget that youth is ever flowing, you can’t flourish by remaining stagnant because of how you think you should be to achieve something. Don’t underestimate how massive things can change for you when you believe in how capable success is, as you already are. Your healing era is a correcting history, you won’t be burned at the stake this time, you’re going to be walking through fire by knowing that the secret power is to just keep moving.

Pile two

Immediately, I’m hearing “tuh...”. Yeah! This era in your healing journey has been long overdue, but at last bitch, it’s here. Speaking of bitch, you’re finally understanding that you’re THAT one, and you shouldn’t be humble about it anymore. Your enemies knew this before you did though, and of course, they had to attempt to knock you down a peg to make themselves feel better. This goes beyond people simply trying to make it seem like you’re not attractive when you are or people noticing your light but pretending not to see you until they get the validation from other people to do so. Your healing era is very much like this video I saw where people are like “it ain’t that deep” and this girl said, “okay puddle, I’m the ocean”, you’re realizing that yes, you cannot control the people that act crazy towards you because of their insecurities, but you can control and make it known about what you will not allow, and this is about your personal day-to-day interactions with people, like not keeping it in about the things that offend you and constantly giving grace to people who know that they’re exhibiting petty behavior to disrespect you. To stop trying to make “IDGAF” wars happen when you know that you actually do care about things, and it’s okay to do that regardless of what society thinks is cool nowadays. Your healing era consists of a makeover in love by no longer settling for shallow relationships or the utter thought of a situationship when you know that you want to be romanced and catered to like a deity. You’re bulldozing so much of who or what isn’t supportive for what you need as a person, and you aren’t afraid to do it because you now know your worth and that you have the tools to build everything over and this time in your image. Your social circle is improving, your experiences in loving others and being loved is improving, finances improving, and your skin might even be improving because this entire era of your healing is like one huge detox, you’re clearing out the toxicity out of your inner world. The words that debilitate your self-esteem, the people that say you can’t do something like starting your own business or going for that one opportunity that may get you to that amazing breakthrough, negative people and habits that make you believe the worst about yourself or that your life won’t get any better. Your healing era is about your life becoming the royal throne made to match the royal person such as yourself.

Pile Three

“You have a natural allegiance to losers and it’s unlike you”. Your healing era has a lot to do with removing yourself from situations that put you out of character. You’re moving towards more peaceful times and understanding how valuable your own energy is with an elevated fondness for spending time with yourself. You’re going to experience the kind of solitude that isn’t a punishment, but a strange feeling that may take some time to adjust to but at the same time, it’s familiar. Your healing era is about returning to normal and unlearning from the experiences that have left swords in your back. Maybe you grew up around “love”, your family and upbringing didn’t have to be perfect, but there was this innocence that you had before being out in the real world, this can look like experiencing emotionally unavailable people with communication issues and situations that have desensitized you. You could be questioning yourself about the people that are currently making you feel out of place right now, wondering what’s keeping you in these spaces that make you feel deprived of something or this paradox of still feeling empty and alone in a room filled with people. You’re healing from these effects of experiencing deficits, you don’t have to put up with certain things just to prove yourself to others or to make space for someone who doesn’t deserve to be in your life. How people perceive you in your healing era is someone who is genuinely unbothered and no longer giving your all to a situation that is unrequited. They see you full of life again instead of depleted from always putting yourself below others. They also see you essentially as someone that they can no longer exploit. You could be more private now, so it leaves others curious as to what you’re up to. You’re truly moving in silence because you’re noticing how beneficial it is to protect your intimate and professional life, people can act like they’re concerned about you or like they’re supportive until they see that you are doing better than them or up to something big. You’re focused on yourself, and it shows how much you’re manifesting your goals and even though looks aren’t everything, people are finding you to be majestically beautiful, your peace looks good on you. Keep protecting it.

#divination #intuitive #psychic #pick a card #tarot #spirituality #tarotblr #pick a pile #pick a picture #pick a pile reading #healing #era

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28whitepeonies · 2 years

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#keep driving anon #I think that Harry is perceived as a nice boy/good guy/feminist to an extent that he is excused from all of this #I’m not saying he’s not a good person etc but more that him being good/nice/thoughtful doesn’t mean he can’t also be mysoginistic #I think he does a very good job of saying things and presenting in a way that supports women #but when you delve deeper into his team etc you realise that doesn’t carry through #but anyway what I’m saying is #that he says and does things that make women feel seen and safe #he’s very charming in a non threatening way #and his clothing and nail polish and this perception of him as not being afraid to be feminine #have given him this status as a safe guy #so when he has lyrics like this fans are willing to excuse it #and become very very defensive of him being a ‘good’ guy who would never hurt a woman #i don’t think he’d hurt a fly either #but that doesn’t excuse him from those lyrics imo #will also add that I don’t necessarily think he knows he’s aware of it all the time #but I do think some of it is a choice to feed the image he’s going for in some ways

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aethes-bookshelf · 6 months

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empty eyes, emptier words || astarion/tav/halsin

I've been stuck in BG3 hell since the game first came out. I'm still in there. I don't think I'll be coming out anytime soon, so have this piece of angst. If everything goes well, maybe I'll deliver on some devil fucking (ft. Haarlep & Raphael). But that's a big IF.

For now, take this. I wrote it in class. I was supposed to be paying attention, but I made this instead. Bon appétit.

Warnings: angst, hurt/no comfort, tav straight up fucking dies

Pairing: astarion/tav/halsin

Wordcount: 1.4k

Summary: Orin knew exactly who to take to hit those troublesome True Souls the hardest. Their leader was the obvious choice - a chicken can only run so far if you take its head. Tav would make a beautiful sacrifice for Bhaal.

And if anyone came to try and get them back? All the better. Blood will flow either way. And what a sight it'll be.

[I made some changes to Orin's dagger. Now, whoever gets killed with it can't be resurrected. Or can they?]

ao3 link || part 2

Orin turned around at the first sound of footsteps. She brandished her dagger, her Netherstone embedded in the cold metal of the weapon. She was standing on the sacrificial altar at the center of the temple. Beneath her laid Tav, arms and legs bound. They were unconscious, fresh and old wounds littering their body. The little clothing they wore stuck to their skin, wet with blood. The smell of it hit Astarion like a club to the head. He hated how his mouth instantly watered, hunger rearing its ugly head.

‘I don’t smell Gortash’s rot on you,’ Orin said, crouching by Tav’s body. She dragged her blade across their skin. Fresh blood bubbled to the surface. Tav didn’t even flinch. They were barely breathing.

‘Did it think it could trick me? Did it think it could save?’ Orin taunted, her dagger stopping right over Tav’s heart. Astarion could hear its faint beating.

The heat of Karlach’s anger burned the air around her. ‘I hope you’re not about to do what I think you are. For your sake.’ Her massive ax sliced through the pungent air, tail swishing behind her.

Halsin didn’t speak, but his eyes glowed bright gold. His hands were clenched at his sides, anger barely restrained.

Astarion unsheathed his own daggers, their weight a fleeting comfort. ‘You lay one more finger on them, I’ll rip your throat out,’ he said. A growl ripped itself out of his throat.

‘Your teeth aren’t sharp enough to pierce my throat,’ said Orin. The tip of her dagger sank into Tav’s chest. ‘Not enough to slice my flesh, taste my blood.’ She drew back her hand, dagger rising into the air. A speck of blood followed its tip.

Astarion clenched his jaw so hard his teeth hurt. His upper lip drew back; he bared his fangs on instinct.

‘Even if you kill them, all you’ll achieve is pissing us off,’ said Karlach. Her words were confident, but her voice betrayed her; she was afraid. ‘We’ll just bring them back so they can spit on your fucking corpse after I split you in half, you crazy bitch.’

None of them liked the way Orin laughed at those words. ‘“Bring them back”? Not here. Not with Bhall’s blessing.’ She grinned, showing all of her teeth. ‘They’ll be the first sacrifice of the night. Then I’ll spill your blood and guts on their flayed skin.’ A shiver ran through Orin as she brought her dagger down.

The blade sank into Tav’s chest with a sickening squelch. They gasped, body going rigid for just a second. Then they went limp.

Astarion’s scream rang through the still air as Karlach charged the altar.

* * *

Astarion knelt down by the bodies laying on the stairs and started rifling through their pockets.

‘What the hell are you doing, Fangs?’ asked Karlach. Tears were evaporating off of her face, her infernal engine still hot with her battle rage. The ashes of a used scroll of revivify were cooling at her feet. The spell's energy had already ran out and Tav was still limp, their body slowly going rigid.

‘I’m looting, can’t you tell?’ Astarion’s voice was snappy, but even. ‘Tav’s usually the one to take everything that’s not nailed down but they obviously can’t do it this time, can they?’

He leaned down over a pile of smoking bones and burned blood that used to be a man once. ‘They always find something for us in these piles of trash, I thought it’d be… nice to do the same for them for once.’ He managed to fish out a rusted dagger from underneath the pile.

‘Astarion,’ said Karlach, voice breaking.

‘Besides, their favorite tea ran out a few days ago, so we’re gonna need stuff to sell.’ He leaned over the pile of Orin’s gore next. ‘Tav spent most of our money on some new armor for you and Gale, and that tea’s expensive, you know?’ He took Orin’s dagger. His hands were shaking.

‘Astarion,’ Karlach tried again. The low hiss of evaporating tears got louder.

‘They deserve to drink something good when they come back, no?’ Astarion stood up straight. His grip on Orin’s dagger was so tight his chuckles went paper-white.

‘Astarion,’ Karlach’s voice was low and thick with tears, ‘I don’t think they’re coming ba—’

‘Don’t you dare finish that sentence.’ Astarion was quick to turn around and point the dagger at Karlach’s chest. ‘Don’t you dare finish that sentence.’ For the first time since they arrived at the temple, his voice broke. ‘Of course they’re coming back. Why do we keep that creepy skeleton around if not to bring us back in times like these?’

His eyes watered. ‘They’re coming back. They have to. They must. Even if that means I’ll have to drag them out of the Hells myself.’

Astarion’s eyes wandered to Tav’s broken corpse. They were still laying on the altar, the stone of it slick with their drying blood. He couldn’t see their face; Halsin’s shoulders were obstructing the view. Astarion could swear the druid was shaking too.

‘Halsin, they’re coming back, right? They’re coming back!’ If Astarion’s heart still beat, it’d be fluttering with rising panic.

Halsin’s voice was low and quiet. He kept stroking Tav’s matted hair as he spoke. ‘I’m not sure they will, my friend.’

Those words punched all air out of Astarion’s lungs. Fury replaced it.

‘Shut up!’ he screamed; his voice echoed in the empty temple. ‘We were supposed to have decades together. Decades! They can’t leave yet. They promised!’ His knees buckled. With every word he spoke, he sank lower and lower, until his knees hit the cold stone beneath him. ‘They promised we’d… We were supposed to find a way for me to be in the sun again,’ his voice faded into silence.

Astarion couldn’t speak anymore. His chest clenched and his eyes burned. He wanted to scream. He wanted to rage and kill, and tear. He wanted to bring Orin back just so he could send her to her blasted god all over again. He wanted to hear Tav laugh at one of his stupid jokes.

His throat was clenched so tight not even sobs could escape it. He was vaguely aware Halsin’s shoulders were openly shaking with his grief, but he couldn’t bring himself to comfort the druid. That would mean looking at Tav’s empty eyes. That would make this entire nightmare real. So very, terribly real.

Astarion’s grip on Orin’s dagger loosened; the weapon fell with a loud cling, its Netherstone slipping out of it. The stone shone dimly in the light of the torches.

All of it for these stones. All this death, pain and misery for these three pieces of one whole. Tav died for it.

Meaningless, meaningless, meaningless. All of it. All of it!

Astarion’s mind was reeling; jumping from pain to denial to anger to desperation. He didn’t know what to do. Tav would know, he thought, and a fresh wave of tears fell.

Karlach laid a hand on his shoulder. She’d cooled down enough for her touch to be only slightly painful on his corpse-cold skin. ‘We have to go, Fangs. Halsin.’ Her grip on Astarion tightened when he shook his head. ‘We have to go,’ she repeated, harsher this time. Barely restrained emotion shook her voice. ‘If they even can come back, we need to get them back to camp as soon as possible.’

Halsin took a deep breath and wiped his face with the back of his hand. ‘Karlach’s right,’ he said and stood up. Tav was limp as he cradled them close to his chest. To his heart. ‘If we stay here too long, we’ll certainly lose them for good.’ The druid squared his shoulders and turned to face the other two.

Astarion went rigid at the sight of Tav’s hand, limply hanging off the side of their body. He couldn’t bring himself to look up at their face.

‘Astarion,’ Halsin’s voice was soft, ‘I understand your pain. They are in my heart as they are in yours. But we mustn't waste time lest we lose them forever. If there is a chance to save them, we must act now.’

Astarion swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. The chill of death had never been more present in his bones. He nodded, silent, and picked up Orin’s dagger and Netherstone.

‘Let’s go,’ said Karlach, new-found determination on her face. ‘We still have to buy their favorite tea after this, right? How’d you put it, Fangs? “They deserve to drink something good after this”?’

Astarion nodded. He didn’t trust his voice not to break if he spoke. There was an empty, far-away look in his eyes.

As they left the temple of Bhaal, the sweet stench of blood followed them out.

#my writing #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #halsin x tav #halsin x reader #astarion x tav x halsin #angst #hurt/no comfort #major character death #x reader #gender neutral tav #ambiguous ending

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animanga-bonanza · 15 days

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The Magneto/Rogue/Gambit love triangle is not only great because of how #telenovela it is, but because it puts Rogue into a dilemma that forces her to make character-defining choices and grow as a person. It’s classic Want vs Need. Rogue wants physical intimacy, mistakenly believing that it is necessary for love, but needs to realize that real love is so much more than that. “Some things are deeper than skin.”

This is an example of how to do a romantic subplot that actually serves the narrative and character development. Plus, the chemistry that Rogue has with both Magneto and Gambit feels natural instead of forced (seriously idk how they managed to make Magneto x Rogue genuinely hot).

I know a lot of folks like to argue about the morality of the situation and make it all about Gambit and his hurt feelings, but I find that to be a boring way of looking at it. This subplot isn’t about a man getting his heart broken, it’s about a woman learning about love for the first time.

We gotta remember that Rogue is incredibly inexperienced when it comes to love, and the little experience she does have is colored by pain and regret. The first time she kissed her first boyfriend, her powers almost killed him. That’s obviously going to traumatize you. Then she met Magneto, the only person she could safely touch* and explore her sexuality with, but that relationship was never going to pan out for obvious reasons. After that, she was afraid of getting romantically involved with anyone.

Rogue and Gambit maintained a casual flirtation with undercurrents of real passion and yearning for a deeper relationship, but Rogue understandably kept him at a distance — she couldn’t forgive herself if she hurt him. Gambit understood this, and for his part, was afraid of getting into a serious relationship because he felt that he was unworthy.

Magneto is the catalyst who forces Gambit and Rogue to do some necessary introspection and be honest about their feelings, instead of playing this endless game of “will they or won’t they.” For Gambit and Rogue to build something real together, they need to step out of their performative roles as Scoundrel and Cher. Of course it’s messy, and dramatic, and confusing, and frustrating, and heartbreaking. But that’s love. “There is no love without sin.”

In fairness to all three of them, I think they handled the situation as maturely as they could, with honest communication about what they wanted. There’s no deception or manipulation here, just three people trying to navigate a messy and emotionally-charged entanglement.

As for Magneto, I think he genuinely cares for Rogue and loves her in his own way. But I feel like he’s using her to fill the void left in his heart by Charles. I don’t think he’s secretly “evil” or anything like that — but Gambit is right to be skeptical of his motives.

Overall, once Magneto and Gambit come back (AND THEY BETTER COME BACK OR ISTG MARVEL — ), they’ll get necessary closure, and Rogue and Gambit will offically become the power couple they were always meant to be.

*I’ve seen people wonder why Rogue doesn’t just wear one of those mutant suppression collars so she can safely touch Gambit. Idk how the comics deal with that issue and I don’t remember if the original 90s cartoon did, but the way I see it, it’s not just about the physical act of touching. It’s about intimacy. Being able to be your full, truest self with another person. Having to wear a collar that was made to oppress your people in order to experience a basic human pleasure would be degrading and take away from that intimacy.

#x men 97 #rogueneto #rogue x gambit #x men meta #magneto #x men gambit #x men rogue

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bitchy-craft · 5 months

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What Your Spirit Guides Want To Tell You | Pick A Pile

Hello and welcome to this Pick A Pile! In here you'll find out what your Spirit Guides want to tell you. I hope you guys enjoy and find this useful. Do make sure to leave comments down below on your experience! I do want to remind you all that this is a General Pick A Pile, which means this is for a lot of people; therefore keep what resonates and leave what doesn't!

Masterpot > Questions > Paid Readings

Pick A Pile!

Pile 1:

Don’t chase, don’t wait, do it. You want to do something, want to achieve something, do it. Your spirit guides support you and know that you are able to do it, to get through it. You’re creative, you know a ton of things and are able to enjoy yourself, let loose a bit, let those insecurities and / or stupid thoughts loose, you are successful, you will be successful, you simply need to see it, realise it, and act on it. Don’t be jealous, don’t be scared of whatever competition you may believe there is; you’re much better, much more defined.

The only thing you’re afraid off are the things you have made yourself believe are true. You carry a lot of might in you, a lot of ambition, you don’t need to have anything more, you’re able to do whatever you want to do.

You may have questions, you may not understand as much as you want to understand; but you don’t need to understand everything to succeed, nor do you have to fully trust yourself. One can succeed with doubt, as long as they want to succeed and believe there is a small chance of success.

Pile 2:

Stop protecting others, stop putting everyone else first, you are deserving of that position yourself, you are deserving of the energy you give to others. You need to balance what you do for yourself and what you do for others. You shouldn’t give energy to others if they don’t give time and energy to you. Of course, it’s going to be a realisation you want to avoid, you don’t want to figure who is bad for you and who is not, no matter how much you love them.

But you can only grow, learn, and evolve if you rid of the things that hardly give and only take. You need to make choices that are good for you, not for others. After all, this is your life, not theirs. If you don’t, things might still go in a down-wards spiral, or perhaps you are already in one and won’t be able to get out if you don’t make that decision yourself. Keep your energy for yourself, and save it for things that you need or want to do that actually gain you something.

Choose who is worthy of your energy and time, put yourself first for a change, it’ll get you far in life.

Pile 3:

You’re hurt and have a hard time with something, and that’s okay. You’re allowed to feel emotions and to be sad; but you shouldn’t hold it in, that’ll simply build up all your emotions until they all leave at the same time. Accept and be aware of your feelings, let them out and try to feel comfortable with doing so.

You need to stand up against whatever is holding you back, analyse why you are feeling a certain way and accept the troubles you have and the reasons for it, how hard it may be to accept.

Face your fears with confidence and understanding; be kind to yourself as you grow and work to get to your goal. Don’t punish yourself for your supposed ‘fail’, be proud of the small achievements you’re gaining to get to your goal. Like how you can get a bad grade but still be proud of the fact you finished the whole test, that you studied and did your best.

Don’t ignore your fears and insecurities, work with them to grow through them.

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ddarker-dreams · 11 months

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Do Puppets Dream of Electric Sheep?

Yan Scaramouche x F Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, mild not SFW implications. Word count: 2.1k.

“What am I to you?”

He stills. Your voice is as gentle as a mother crooning a lullaby to her newborn. Sweet, mild. Not intending to startle the sensitive creature who is unaccustomed to this world. It regurgitates memories of his progenitor. He can never clearly recall her countenance or the exact pitch of her voice, there are only formless blurs and warbled words that sounded far away.

It is a small mercy that he never made out the specifics of her face. For it allows him to envision her in whatever manner suits him best. She can be the scheming Niwa Hisahide who sought to manipulate him, the sickly child who left him behind, or the mendacious kitsune whose promises for aid went unkept. His mother is the locus of his rage that branches out and bears rotten fruit.

You cease your previous task of combing his hair from behind. Artificial heat burns his cheeks when your chest presses against his back, your arms coiling around his slender shoulders like tendrils. The hold is tight enough to almost hurt.

“Say, are you listening?” Your lips brush against his ear. He shivers. “Well, puppet?”

Furniture clatters in a cacophony of noise.

He stares at you, incredulous, his lips parting only to close again. He cycles through emotions and is unable to settle on one.

How do…? You shouldn’t know that!

You pay him no mind. You fix the victims of his outburst, setting the stool upright and straightening the vanity’s various implements. Then you sit where he sat, smoothing the wrinkles in your skirt as you do so. You face him instead of the mirror, which has cracked into three disjointed fragments.

The scene before him arouses confusion, then suspicion. His eyes eventually find their way to the mirror behind you. He barks a laugh at what he sees. The sound reverberates in the tiny room. Electro concentrates in his hands, crackling and ready to stain his surroundings crimson. He gives a malicious grin.

It reflects in the cracked mirror, whereas your form does not.

“A cheap parlor trick,” he muses. “I should’ve figured.”

You aren’t her, he thinks. And how grateful he is to realize it.

“I’m not?” You challenge, raising an eyebrow. What is this being capable of hearing his thoughts? The curve of your smile epitomizes everything you’ve never been: cruel and provocative. This ignis fatuus who dares to assume your form makes no attempt to flee from the attack writhing in his palms. “Well, I suppose there’s some truth to that. What you’re looking at now is what I am to become, not my present, corporeal self.”

He studies “you” carefully. The pigmentation of your eyes, your intonation, and your body language; it lines up uncannily well, but your word choice is peculiar. There’s a callousness begotten to those burdened by esoteric knowledge, an experience he’s intimately familiar with. This can’t be a poorly executed emulation devised by that medical charlatan excommunicated by his peers, or an experience that aligns with the continuity of Teyvat’s laws.

Is his conscious being tampered with by the gods?

“I’m afraid not. We both know that panopticon has no interest in you. No, discarded prototype, think back to your creation. When was it determined you’d be of no use to Beelzebul?”

He grits his teeth. That intrusive introspection is coming into play again. It’s as if his innermost sentiments have been printed out in large lettering for you to scrutinize.

“So you’ve finally realized, although you’re hesitant to think it. I can’t blame you, nothing good ever comes from your dreams. Since you don’t require sleep, you were able to avoid this for some time… in trying to play human with me in reality, you’ll be judged by me in the one state where you are utterly powerless.”

The energy gathering in his hand dissipates without him willing it. He tries in vain to summon it again, but the element no longer heeds his command. Clicking his tongue, he sits on the edge of the bed, then crosses his arms over his chest. He chastises himself for not noticing sooner. This room may appear to be an exact replica of the one you share, but the slightest details in its geometry betray the realm of possibility. Certain angles bend in inconceivable ways, the ceiling itself is drooping down like a viscous gel, the descent so slow, it’s near imperceptible.

Dreams, pesky as they may be, are always destined to end. He need only wait for this torment to run its course.

“If that’s the stance you’ve decided to take, why not answer my question?”

He feigns ignorance for a beat, despite knowing full well the inquiry you’re referring to. You allow him his temporary repose.

“What you are to me is a nuisance. A meaningless manifestation that I’ll forget about as soon as I wake,” he replies. How strange it is, taking this baleful tone toward an image of you. You are the sole individual he doesn’t regard with pure loathing, and as such, he treats you with a tenderness he thought himself previously incapable of. He can’t recall a time when contempt felt unnatural, like the first time he mimicked human breathing.

This veneer of nonchalance is forced and he knows it. The mirage taking on your comely likeness is seeping under his synthetic skin, spreading malaise and decay.

“Oh? That’s an awfully bold statement, but, nevertheless, let’s entertain it a while longer.”

You clap twice and the surroundings shift.

His limbs are dragged upward by an unrelenting force — red strings as formidable as piano wire. He struggles out of instinct. This futile act only serves to tighten the binds. Upon realizing this, he goes limp, noting that your presence is no longer visible.

He has an unobstructed view of the cracked mirror, its jagged edges displaying three different images.

To the left, he sees himself wearing the outfit he first awoke with, the golden feather dangling from his neck. The middlemost portion is accurate in its portrayal, unlike the others. It shows the glint of the mitsudomoe symbol upon his chest which he considers his birthright. The right fragment is nearly indiscernible, aside from hues of teal that swirl as if spurred on by the wind.

The mirror shatters.

Light footsteps circle around him. He wrenches his head in the direction of the ambient sounds, identifying no clear source.

“Even if you forget about me now, according to your designs, we’ll meet again. This “me” that’s been tainted and corrupted by your selfish intent. In trying to preserve me, you’ll be my ruin. You already know that though, don’t you? That your desperate clinging will drag us both down to unfathomable depths. It’s true, that by never letting me die, you’ll have an eternity with me…”

You materialize in front of him, standing with your hands behind your back. The casual stance is at odds with the venom you spew forth. Just as before, everything about your physical appearance is correct, save for a single, damning detail. Your eyes glow a luminescent violet — that of Inazuma’s reclusive deity, whose gnosis he intends to commandeer, even if he must tear it from her himself.

“But is that the eternity you truly wish for?”

It isn’t. Of course it isn’t.

What else was he to do?

Watch helplessly as your biological clock ticks on while the hands on his remain frozen in place? Witness your final until you breathe your last breath, then allow your husk to be buried in the cold, unfeeling ground? His is a life of apprehension. That by some cruel twist of fate, you’ll fall victim to the many pitfalls mortals are vulnerable to. Illness, injury, violence, the list goes on and on. His overactive imagination serves as a personal purgatory that churns out images of your downfall every moment he is not by your side.

Upon returning to your quaint little cottage on the outskirts of civilization, trepidation eats at him like maggots upon a corpse. If he can’t find you tending to your garden, baking in your kitchen, or lounging on the swing hanging from the old oak tree in your front yard, madness slithers at his heels, ready to pierce him with its fangs.

You may never forgive him, but he couldn’t forgive himself if he let the one thing he cherishes in this joke of a world leave him behind.

“I won't look at you the way I once did. The me who speaks your true name, spends days wondering when you’ll return from your traveling ‘job’, gladly welcomes you into her bed, granting you access to her most sacred body and soul; you will never see her again. She will exist in your memory alone.”

Your pointer finger hovers over his trembling lower lip, then descends, over his Adam’s apple and in between his collarbones.

“Having savored these pleasures once freely given, you’ll have no choice but to take them by force. You’ll defile me and insist it’s worship. Bitterness might whet your palate, but you’ll never have your fill. Can you call that love, poor puppet? Or will you rightfully refer to it as ownership?”

All verbal exchanges cease.

In this nightmare blurring the lines of what if, where he is but a spectator rather than an active participant, he laughs. It echoes in his hollow chest cavity where no fleshly heart beats. Your physiognomy goes blank in the face of such blatant malignity. He hangs here, a tossed-aside marionette, consumed by a paroxysm of emotion he once swore to wipe clean from his chest.

“If this is an attempt to appeal to my conscience, it won’t work,” his grin nearly splits his face in two. “Harass me every night, for all I care. I’ll accept it. I’ll accept anything. Every form of you… every possible iteration, no matter how unsightly, beautiful, indifferent, or anything in between, I want it. There isn’t a version of you that can deter me. The real you offered herself to me for a lifetime — who am I to turn down such an alluring offer?”

You pull away from him.

The absence of your touch is worse than any physical torture you could inflict. He’ll take your loving caresses, your hand ripping into his chest, so long as he can familiarize himself with your genuine warmth. Such is the resolve of a puppet who has endured the biting blizzard of loneliness. Destroy him and he’d rebuild. Ignore him and he’ll pry the words from your mouth. Attempt to leave him and he’ll ensnare you in a trap that neither of you can escape from.

This advocate for your future is washed away in a sea of ink, black as night, untouchable and ever-present as a shadow. The cascading wave swallows you whole.

You depart with a final threnody.

“Until we meet again, then.”

…

Something brushes over his cheek.

“... Kuni? Kunikuzushi? Ah, what do I do, you aren’t waking up…! Insults? Do I try insults? Uh, you’re of less than average height—”

“Quiet down, woman, you’re loud,” Scaramouche complains with a groan.

You’re hovering above him. It’s a heavenly sight — if he were a believer in such things — the upturning of your eyebrows, the flow of your hair tousled by interrupted sleep, and the temptation of your soft, parted lips. Warmth emanates from your body. He delights in it. Swears a silent oath to himself that he’ll never be without it.

“The insult worked,” you whisper, content with your quick thinking. Then, remembering the situation, you’re back to fussing over him. “Are you okay? You must’ve been having an awful nightmare.”

His lips form a thin line. “... Something like that.”

“What was it about?”

“You,” he forces an unperturbed tone. Although he’s still hazy from sleep, he’s used to bending the truth. Or in this case, covering the parts he doesn’t want you to see. “I have to deal with you in the realm of conscious and unconscious now. Terrifying, right?”

The sarcasm successfully draws your attention elsewhere.

“Absolutely. So terrifying, in fact, I better sleep elsewhere so as not to frighten my— oof!”

“Oh no you don’t,” he pulls you against his chest, preemptively ending your getaway, “You’re not going anywhere.”

You willingly collapse into his hold, laughing softly. Though you’re no longer trying to wriggle away, his grip is ironclad, his arms trembling. He interweaves himself into you with a tangle of limbs. Once he’s content, he presses his face against the thrumming pulse in your neck. This stream that maintains your life is temporary — a subpar placeholder until you’re imbued with immortality. Still, he cherishes it, this special rhythm that has sustained you long enough for your paths to interconnect.

He gives your pulse a chaste, reverent kiss.

Your paths are bound to never diverge, even if damnation is where they'll lead.

#scaramouche x reader #yandere scaramouhe x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere kunikuzushi x reader #my stuff

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seichira · 1 year

Text

to do it all again.

not manga spoiler free !

manjiro sano lost you in his past life. he has had to live with the agony of seeing you fall apart at his lies of betrayal and infidelity. now that he gets the opportunity to turn back time, there is nothing he wouldn’t do to make things right.

pairing : timeleaper!mikey x reader

content : angst with comfort. second chances. major manga spoilers. confessions of cheating (but it was a lie told by mikey to push reader away). cursing. mentions of death.

mikey stands on the ledge of a rooftop of the building, looking over the city lights illuminating the night, letting the wind brush through his long hair.

he could see the people from here, albeit tiny, he can still observe everyone who passes by. there are smiles on their faces, lovers holding their hands, happily walking on the streets of tokyo aimlessly.

a sharp pain shoots through his chest when he looks beside him, ready to hold the hand of the love of his life, only to be reminded that he is entirely all by himself. it hurts, and he knows he doesn’t have the right to complain when he was the one who pushed you and everyone else away.

he is alone by choice. he distanced himself and deliberately wanted everyone to hate him by choice. that should make it all alright, that the sole reason he has nothing is him. that is what he tells himself.

no matter how self-destructive he is, there is a voice in his head that loves him, and it questions everything that has gone wrong in mikey’s life.

is it really his choice if he doesn’t like it? is it really by choice if had things been different, he wouldn’t have to do it? if he wishes he had another choice?

how is any of this fair?

how could you let them do this to you, mikey?

who gets to decide who is dangerous and not? who gets to decide who would live happily with their loved ones and those who would die alone? if there is a god out there, how is it any fair just for him to be standing on top of the world... all cold and broken?

it doesn’t make any fucking sense.

it’s all so fucking unfair.

all his life, he has done nothing but envy people for being happy, and for not being afraid to be. because whenever he’s happy, he always had to brace himself for the consequence that would come next.

his happiness was always conditional. always with a price to pay. and now he thinks he has maxed out, having experienced pure bliss with you.

the love of his goddamn pitiful life.

maybe this is payment for being too happy. for thinking you’d both have a future together. it is his punishment for ever thinking it was possible for him to be with someone as good as you.

mikey will repent for it, but he misses you so.

he misses you so much he is close to hallucinating an image of you in all the places you’ve been to together. his throat itches at the urge to scream his lungs out at being full of too much longing.

he misses you, and his skin longs for your touch, his heart for your love, and his soul for your warmth. but he can’t do anything to change that.

he closes his eyes to get rid of the sight of people living their lives just right below him, and try to get a memory of you smiling at him.

instead, he is confronted by the memory of the night when he let you go. no—it’s not just letting you go. he deliberately hurt you so you could let him go.

manjiro sano remembers it all. he remembers your betrayal-stricken eyes. he remembers your quivering lips. he remembers your hiccups in between your sobs. he remembers how he broke your heart, the very thing he promised that he wouldn’t do.

he remembers it all too well.

it sucks to be the one who remembers.

“i don’t think i heard you right, manjiro.”

your boyfriend hasn’t been coming home lately. it worries you, where he is, where he stays when he’s not home. you worry if he eats well, if he is alright and not all beaten up somewhere.

despite his behavior, you brush it off as something that he has to do. maybe he needed some time to himself. perhaps something important came up in kantou manji hang. he’s an important man, after all.

you don’t have the heart to assume something else other than that. so, the revelation he makes to you tonight as soon as you gets in the door shocks you.

“you heard me right,” he says without emotion, despite the havoc wreaking inside his body it makes him want to hurl. “i cheated on you. kissed and slept with someone else. i can’t bear to keep it from you.”

his heart is acting like a ticking time bomb. the confusion in your eyes, not believing what he just said, hurts more than if you would just scream at him and throw curses around.

she doesn’t believe me.

the expression on your face is straight. you are waiting for the punchline. it is a cruel fucking joke but you’re willing to forgive him for it if he would just say that he’s tripping.

but he doesn’t say anything. he just stands at the doorway, almost one foot outside the door because he’s so ready to leave. he’s ready to leave you and you don’t understand why.

“you’re lying.”

he shakes his head, and it was the cue for your heart to start clawing out of your ribs in the realization that he might just be telling the truth.

but he’s manjiro sano. he is yours. he has always been yours like you have been his. there is no way he could do that to you. the person who kisses your forehead goodnight could not possibly cheat on you.

“i’m not lying.”

he is lying. he hasn’t been coming home because his impulses have been worst than ever. he’s afraid he’d black out and wake up to your cold body next to him. he’s terrified that his love would not be enough to keep you safe from the danger that is himself.

he is lying, because it is physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually impossible for the man to even look at somebody else that is not you.

you are the only one he wants. you are the only one he has ever loved. that is his greatest, naked truth. and right now, he has to convince you otherwise.

how could he fucking possibly make you believe that he doesn’t love you anymore, when his entire body knows for sure that it belongs to you. only you.

“i tried to stop it, but i’ve been so fuckin’ lonely lately with all those nights alone. needed someone to keep me warm, you know.” it feels like insects are crawling underneath his skin at the disgust he feels at his own words, despite coming from a place of untruth.

in denial, it is your turn to shake your head. you even manage to crack a smile in hopes that he would return it. “mikey, p-please? i don’t get it, love. this is not a good joke. please, stop it, yeah?”

your pleas don’t fall on deaf ears. he’s willing to stop saying it over and over now only if you would believe him and just push him away.

but you’re not doing that.

see, mikey? this is how much she loves you. she loves you too much for her own good. she loves you so much she believes you’re not capable of doing this. she loves you. love her enough to let her go before you become the death of her.

“i’m not kidding. i slept with someone else, and i liked it. i wanted it to happen.”

when the realization hits you, when the coldness behind his ivory eyes supported his claims of cheating on you, you break and manjiro sano breaks with you.

he cannot bare to look at the sobs that leave the lips that he worships, nor the tears that escape the eyes that he would be a slave for.

you are hurting because of him and he knows it would happen. he wanted this to happen. better break your heart than have you die on his arms. he can’t let that happen. not in this lifetime and not in the next.

for five minutes, the only sound bouncing off the walls of your studio apartment is your wails. cries of someone who feels like they have lost everything, including faith in all that they have ever believed in.

“why…” you whisper, but loud enough for him to hear. “why would you… how could… i don’t understand. i can’t wrap my head around it.”

he wants to look away, but he doesn’t. he looks at you, bearing your broken heart to him, serving it to him on a silver platter.

mikey etches it in his mind to make sure he remembers how hurt you were, so he can pay for it in hell. he is not sure how, but he will suffer for it. he promises he will burn just to fucking pay for this—this moment, right here.

“i’ll just grab my stuff and i’ll be out before you know it.”

your eyes widen and you hurry to block his way to the bedroom. “what? no! no! you’re not leaving, mikey! we’re going to talk about this, okay? y-you can’t leave like this. this is your home. don’t go. please.”

the look he gives you is incredulous. “are you sick in the head? i cheated on you, and you want me to stay?”

you flinch at the reminder. he can’t believe it left your mind for a moment. you can’t believe it either because even though everything has been said and done, you still can’t believe it.

“everything hurts! looking at you hurts too much right now, but i need to understand! i want to hate you but i’m willing to talk about it if you have an explanation! you can call me stupid but i’m not letting you go! make me understand! just… don’t leave.”

he looks away because he can only take so much. he wants to get away from here as fast as possible so he won’t have to hear or see the aftermath of the storm he just created.

pushing past through you, you stumble in your foot following him to the bedroom where he brought out a bag that he now fills with some of his clothes. without you noticing, he grabs a hoodie of yours and leaves you one of his, along with most of his things.

“you don’t have to leave! you can say sorry right now and i will forgive you, manjiro!” you continue to sob as you reach out a hand to stop his arms from moving more.

he shoots you a weary look. “why can’t you just let me fuckin’ leave?!”

“because i might never get to see you again! as much as i can’t bare to look at you knowing what you did, i can never live knowing i’d never see you again! you will disappear! i know you!”

he wants to take you in an embrace and ask for your forgiveness for lying, but he has to stand his ground. everyone he has ever loved will die, if he doesn’t leave.

you will be in peril if he doesn’t do this. and there is nothing he wouldn’t sacrifice to keep that from happening.

“if-if you don’t have feelings the person you slept with, we can figure this out. mikey, love, i’m willing to work this out with you. j-just don’t leave.”

you just thought him how to get out of this. he is going to say it, and he is not going to mean it.

“i love them.”

if the thought of him being physically involved with someone else brought excruciating pain, this—him falling in love with someone else—was death.

mikey dies with you.

i will pay for this, baby. i will burn in hell to pay for this. i will never forgive myself for this. i promise, that i shall never be happy again after this.

at the battle of the two tomans, he finds himself begging takemichi to stay alive.

“this is why i pushed you all away, see? this is exactly what i feared would happen!” he cries out because he is exhausted.

his dark impulses are gone, but takemichi is gone, and you are gone. everyone he loves is gone, in one way or another.

he has done everything in his power to keep this from happening. he survived lonely nights, ate bland meals, and lived in isolation the past years just to keep all of you safe.

he had to watch his friends reach milestones and celebrate with each other, face hurdles together, simply hanging out as the sun sets while he does nothing but wish he was included—all of that to stop this, but it’s happening. there was nothing else he could have done but life is working against him still.

right now, he’s soaking in the blood of one of his very best friends. shinichiro is gone, emma is gone, izana is gone, draken is gone, and he doesn’t doubt that there would be a next if he keeps himself close.

why? i don’t understand. he has followed everything even when it killed him, so why?

“c’mon, takemitchi! wake the hell up, damn it!”

the people whom he once called his friends are all weeping tears of grief at the sight of the new leader of tokyo manji gang bleeding out. they won’t ever say it, but mikey is sure they are blaming him for it. everyone probably thinks they would have been better off without him, without meeting him again like this.

they all have each other, they would have been fine. but what about mikey? what about him?

do they not know?

do they not know how much he wept and how he made his house a disaster right after he went home when he saw draken laying lifelessly on the ground with three bullet holes in his body?

do they not know how much he wishes he could just be selfish for once and come home to you? so you can wipe his tears and nurse his pain?

of course, they don’t know. he never showed that to anyone. no matter how much he wished someone saw it anyway.

he had to stand by his decision, no matter how lonely the road he chose was. he would choose it again and again, if it ensures this won’t happen. but it’s happening.

and he wants nothing else but make it right.

again, again, and again.

the next time mikey opens his eyes, he is back in his childhood home. he lays awake on his bed, confused as to why he could hear shinichiro’s screams for emma to get off the couch, and the latter’s cheeky giggles.

he thinks, what a dream. i miss them so much since the day they left me. the heavens know what i’d give to go back to this day.

mikey startles when the door to his bedroom opens, revealing shinichiro.

he almost wants to cry and throw himself at his brother to hug him, but the older sibling got to open his mouth first.

“and you! when will you get up?! when it’s christmas? move it or you’ll be late for school again! that won’t be a good impression to make for your y/n, your crush!”

this dream is a little too realistic. still, he follows his brother like a good boy, completely going with the flow of this dream.

but when he steps on the floor, his foot catches a lego scattered around, and he yelps in pain. in pain.

that’s not normal in a dream, is it?

slowly, the idea of the possibility of time-leaping introduced to him by takemichi hits him. he sprints outside his room and snaps his head to the calendar.

and the year suggests that he is eight years old. a child. and this year, everyone is alive.

“emma?” he calls for his sister that he carried lifeless on his back by himself. there are now real tears in his eyes, and his sister slowly approaches him.

“hmm? are you okay, mikey?” the blondie little girl asks curiously, confused as to why mikey has literal waterfalls for an eye right now.

“will you punch me on the face real hard?”

without a second thought, emma does so, like she has been waiting for her whole life to do that. mikey grunts, but tears only continue to flow at pure happiness of this second chance.

he embraces emma in his arms. “you’re here. oh, my god. you’re really here. nii-san will protect you this time, yeah? i promise ‘ya that.”

his next thought… is none other than you.

he doesn’t bother to put on his uniform. despite shinichiro calling him to get back, he only rides his bike and pedals as fast as he can to get to school. he looks for the 2nd graders’ classroom.

and there you were. sitting all too cute and pretty on the colorful chairs of the elementary school you both attended, with a spare seat next to you that you specifically reserved for him because he is always late.

time stops for him when you raise your head to look up at him, and meet his eyes.

you are both alive, and you are both young with your whole lives ahead of you. you don’t know it yet, but this little crush thing going on between you two right now will grow into something bigger.

you have no idea that you will end up kissing him first on your last day at middle school, and move in together at eighteen.

but he knows.

he knows what went right. he knows what went wrong. and he knows what to do this time so he won’t have to let you go anymore.

so he walks up to you, and says:

“hi. you look like my girlfriend.”

you laugh it off as a poorly executed pick-up line he heard from his brother, but then again, he knows something you don’t know.

you are his girlfriend. or at least, you will be.

“manjiro, you look like you need some sleep!” you say as your cheeks flush at his line anyway, pertaining to his puffy eyes that are results of his incessant crying.

manjiro sano smiles.

“i think so, too.”

#⏳ — lumi’s fics!#IN LIGHT OF THE TR ENDING #tokyo revengers imagines #tokyo revengers fics #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers angst #tokyo revengers fluff #mikey x reader #mikey fics #mikey angst #mikey fluff #manjiro sano #tokrev #mikey

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deanbrainrotwritings · 3 months

Text

— CLOSER THAN THIS

SUMMARY : part IV of gimme half. something quick. something hot. in between busy tasks. when everyone else has not arrived.

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), fluff, p in v, clothed sex, against the wall

WORD COUNT : 2.2k

A/N : jimin song title. this fills the quickie square of my @jacklesversebingo card. I don’t even know what I’m doing 😋 but these can be read as standalone fics 😌 XXX

Dean made cute faces all the time.

It was hard to resist smiling when she was around him. His jokes made her laugh, his faces made her laugh, even his laugh made her laugh, and the way he playfully sang along to the music from his playlist, the faces he pulled in concentration or as he tasted what he cooked made her smile.

He was the embodiment for endearment. Those adorable dimples of his only made him more charming. She swooned an embarrassing amount of times in all those moments.

She was delighted when he called her some time after noon and asked her to come over if she wasn’t busy to help him out with dinner. He spent most of the afternoon cooking and baking for his friends. It was one of the best times she’d spent with him, getting to know him like this, seeing in person as he serves others rather than peeking through the windows of her house to get to know him.

It sounds creepier than it actually was, at least she thought so. She was a nosy neighbour. Oh, God, that’s horrible. To be fair, she was only nosy when it came to Dean—they were enemies. Were.

That phase was over.

Sometimes she woke up in his bed, other times he woke up in hers. And then they’d make each other breakfast. And now they went on dates. And now they babysat his nephew when Sam and Eileen went out on dates—that brought up a lot of thoughts she didn’t have before. Kids.

Seeing Dean like that with his nephew… Using a cute voice and singing him to sleep, messy feeding and messier baths, bedtime stories and playing pretend, soothing him when he cried and teaching him new things.

She wondered if Dean felt the same, if the thoughts of fatherhood haunted him the way they haunted her when he fell asleep in her bed. Or when she woke up with the sun, to Dean’s sleeping face. Or when they were alone at home, cooking, watching movies, sharing stories, drinking… when they went on rides with no destination in mind, on picnics, or even just grocery shopping. Sometimes he’d keep her company as she worked on hobbies and she’d do the same for him, watching him fix anything broken, or tune up his car.

She was too afraid to bring up that conversation. They were retired hunters. It’s part of why she refused to admit that she did want children. It’s like the choice was robbed from her and it hurt for so long, but it got easier to accept when she focused on hunting or her job as a professor.

Besides, she had her cat. Close enough.

When she went over to his place, she focused on helping Dean with chopping up whatever vegetables he needed to use, she washed them for him before using them, she brought the spices and herbs he needed, or the condiments that could be used, and cleaned up the dirty dishes after he was done using them.

Now that they were finished, they sat at the table waiting for everything to finish simmering while talking about things to do after. Watching a movie was the obvious answer, which one to watch was the harder part.

She believed it was Jody, Donna, Claire, Kaia, Alex, and Patience that were coming over. She met them at Sam’s wedding, barely. The only one who could truly answer that question was Dean, but now he was pouty because he wasn’t sure what they’d want to watch, but maybe he could ask them when they came.

He picked up some of the excess shredded carrots for the carrot cake he made for those who didn’t want pie, and dropped them into his mouth. He chewed, the carrots barely touched his taste buds, and he grimaced, but swallowed it anyway.

“Tastes better in the cake,” he grunted, getting up for a beer. She giggled and shook her head at him. “Want one?” He asked from the fridge, getting his open, but she shook her head, so he sat back down with her.

“So… you’re just good at everything?” She asked, scooting closer when he put his hand on her thigh and squeezed. He chuckled, his cheeks reddening. He ahh-ed after taking a sip of the cool beer and thought for a while.

“I’m not good at… designing clothes?” He offered bashfully, pushing the beer far away from him. She stared at it subtly then glanced up at him curiously.

“No, not like that,” she smiled softly, “you fixed my electrical outlet…” she reminded him, leaning forward to tap his plump lip. His mouth dropped open slightly and he exhaled, rolling his eyes shyly. She dropped her hand onto the table and thoughtlessly traced patterns on the surface, watching him get embarrassed.

“It was… nothing,” he sniffled, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. He leaned back in the chair and took the bottle of beer from the table again, playing with it to avoid her gaze.

“You’re very… John Wick,” she sighed, stretching her arms upward. He hummed softly, leaning back forward with his arms on the table, staring at her with interest. “It’s hot,” she whispered quietly, her eyes holding affection and longing.

“Yeah?” He murmured, staring at her like she was all that was there. It made her turn pink self-consciously, but she continued to gaze into his eyes. She saw his hand move and then it was over hers, warm and comforting.

“Mmm, yes,” she replied quietly.

Being around Dean was like being surrounded by a gas leak, and one kiss, one touch, one right word, acted like the spark that ignited everything. The fire robbed her of breath and stripped her skin away so she was bare and vulnerable to him.

Dean leaned forward, practically lunging to meet her lips, but the timer he set earlier went off loudly at the centre of the table, and made them jump away. They both laughed awkwardly, she extended her hand to turn it off while Dean turned the stove off.

“Wanna taste?” He asked, hummed softly as he took a tiny sip from the metal mixing spoon, and waited for her when she nodded. She stood before him, waiting and watching him blow air against the hot lentil soup in the spoon to cool it down.

She bit her lip and smiled, then he cupped his hand two inches beneath the spoon so it wouldn’t drip onto the floor. She opened her mouth and took the delicious, warm soup into her mouth, savouring it with a pleased hum, her eyes full of surprise and satisfaction. Dean pulled back a little too early, causing some soup to dribble down from the corner of her lip due to the awkward position they were in.

“Oh, my god,” she moaned, too distracted by the flavour. She only looked at Dean while he set the spoon down on the counter, indifferent about the puddle it created beneath. He grabbed her chin and dipped down to kiss the small trail of soup away, his warm tongue gently swiping up and down. Her breath hitched and her face burned hotter with embarrassment.

The embarrassment didn’t last and was replaced by a flush of arousal across every inch of her skin. Dean seared her lips with a hard, demanding kiss that made her breathless and numbed her mind of any thoughts.

He gently manoeuvred her across the kitchen, breaking apart from the kiss to breathe before returning to each other’s lips. She made quick work of the white apron around his waist, gasping at the unexpected bump of her back against the wall.

Dean took the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth and trailed his hands slowly down her sides, his palms pressing against her curves firmly. He only removed his hands from the short baby-blue dress when she shoved the thick green flannel off his shoulders, watching him throw it over onto the nearest counter in the kitchen.

Dean grabbed her hips to guide her into the hallway, digging his fingers into the tight dress to create dips into her flesh. She smoothed her hands down his chest and hooked her fingers over his leather belt, tugging him to her so she was pressed into the wall once more.

Dean was short of breath, his cheeks and ears becoming scarlet red when she started to undo his belt, staring into his eyes daringly. He slid his hands down her thighs, and sneaked them up under the mini-dress. The soft cotton rode up with his hands, his fingers hooking against the sides of satin, beige panties, swiftly pulling down so they dropped down around her ankles.

“Fuck, it’s like your horny all the time,” she whispered with a breathy laugh, wasting no time in tugging his jeans and boxers down. Her hand instantly circled around the base of his erect cock to squeeze tantalisingly.

“It’s not me being horny all the time, it’s that you’re always so fucking sexy, I can’t resist,” Dean quipped, dropping down to kiss her pushed up breast over the square neck of her dress.

Dean bent his knees, and stretched his hands down to press his fingers against the back of her thighs, urging her silently to jump so he could lift her up. When she did, she freed his dick, and placed her arms over his shoulders, and her legs around his waist, kissing him once more. Dean ground his hips against her, his hard cock rubbing against her leaking pussy.

“Please,” she whined, squirming when his cock brushed over her clit repeatedly. “They’re gonna be here in less than thirty minutes, Dean,” she reminded him. He chuckled huskily, but unhurriedly guided his cock to her needy, wet cunt, and pushed in at a tormenting pace.

He could feel her gushing around him, hot and wet. Dean moaned, reaching behind her arched back for the zipper of her dress, lowering it down halfway. He bounced her on his cock once with a smirk on his face, and lowered the straps of her dress off her shoulders, slid his fingers across the neck of it to tug downwards until her breasts spilled out from the tight material.

Dean instantly began to fuck her into the wall, his thrusts harsh and desperate, wasting no time in building up her orgasm. His fingers scraped up her thighs to tighten around her hips, blunt nails digging into her delicate skin.

Had the flowery drywall been cheap or damaged, she thought he’d break it down with the force of his thrust. He pounded into her, groaning out with pleasure into her ear before kissing and biting her throat, lovingly licking the red marks he left behind.

Her clit throbbed with each slap of his pelvic bone against her, her cunt felt hot and full stuffed with his cock, and her muscles were somehow tense and mushy all at once. Lust overcome her will, drawing loud noises of pleasure from her lip, mewls and whimpers of his name that made him fuck her faster and harder.

“Say my name, baby… I love when you say it,” Dean panted against her lips, feeling her pussy clenched tightly around his throbbing cock. With a whine she brought him closer with both her legs and arms, the knot in her belly becoming tighter and tighter.

She could barely speak as every rough thrust stole the oxygen from her lungs. She managed a gasp of his name, brought her hands down between their connected bodies to ghost her fingers beneath his shirt. Her hands slipped upwards and curled around to his back, her manicured nails digging into muscular shoulders, causing him to moan.

Every thrust drove Dean’s cock into the deepest depths of her vagina, brushing against sweet spots she forgot she had residing against the velvety, ridged walls of her pussy. She clenched around his pulsing cock, her nails scratching down the skin of his back, the knot becoming impossibly tight before she finally let go. Pleasure ran through her like electricity through a circuit, blinding her to the point of seeing an entire galaxy behind tightly shut eyes.

She screamed his name, the way he swore he’d make her scream the first night they were together. He slowed the thrust of his hips as he climaxed almost immediately after she reached hers, his cum spilling into her. Then he started up again, fucking her through her orgasm, until he softened inside her, his cum dripping around them.

“I think that’s the fastest I’ve made you cum,” he laughed, his voice gravelly. She laughed with him, grateful for the slowness in the way he pulled himself from her, and lowered her weak legs to the wooden floors.

“I need to pee,” she whispered, leaning against the wall with a smile while he fixed her dress, kissing and licking her nipples until they were tight before covering her back up, and zipping up the dress.

“Okay, sweetheart. I’ll get your underwear and meet you there,” he smiled softly and kissed her forehead lovingly before she left, pulling his jeans and boxers back up as he observed her very sexy behind.

She turned around with a knowing grin on her flushed face, sending a wink in his direction before she made a turn towards where the bathroom was.

“I’m fucking you slower tonight!” He shouted after her.

“Still rough, yeah!?” She called out teasingly, her voice echoing louder now that she was in the bathroom.

➥ my you

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cobaltperun · 4 months

Text

Lost (3) - Stay

Tara Carpenter x female Reader

Summary: To anyone on the outside, and to Tara’s friends, you were Tara’s fierce protector, the MMA fighter who’d take anyone on for Tara. The Guard Dog, as Amber called you. You had no idea you’d have to protect her from people who claimed they loved her. It didn’t matter. As long as you and Tara had one another there was nothing you wouldn’t be able to survive.

Story warnings: Scream violence, family issues, trauma, angst, certain sensitive topics

Word count: 6k

Story Masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

-I've never been the best at letting go, I don't wanna spend the night alone-

Sam was… afraid, frightened even. She never wanted to go back to Woodsboro, to go back to the place that reminded her of all the things she ruined, of all the things that ruined her. And now those things threatened her baby sister, her Tara, the only good in her life she had left, no matter the distance between them. More than the ghosts and memories though, Sam was afraid of Tara’s reaction, she was afraid, yet accepting of rejection. If anyone had the right to hold her accountable, it was Tara. She was the only one who could be her judge, and Sam would accept it. She would accept it because it was the only right reaction, after all Sam wasn’t the first family member that abandoned Tara, and given how their mother was, well, that only made Sam’s choice worse. She didn’t just leave Tara behind, she left her with their mother.

Her reason didn’t matter, her regrets, pain, how much she missed Tara every single moment, none of it mattered. She left. She left Tara to protect her, but she left nonetheless, cutting contact and leaving Tara, almost certainly, with trauma and doubt.

How she wished she could reunite with Tara in a different place, in different circumstances, ones that didn’t involve Tara hurt. How she wished she could take those wounds and pain away from Tara and go through what Tara did instead. She lost count a long time ago, of all the dreams that had Tara and her reuniting, as unrealistic as they were. Tara, the same as she was when Sam left, when she was merely thirteen years old, with her shy smile and hiding her eyes behind her bangs.

“You’re worried about your sister,” Richie interrupted her thoughts and she was thankful for that, she was already worried as it was, and thinking about Tara’s reaction wasn’t helping her.

So, she nodded, sighing and looking out the window. It’s been a while since they saw a building of any kind, all they could see were trees, the forest surrounding the road. They were getting closer to Woodsboro. It wouldn’t be long now.

“Hey, isn’t that MMA fighter you like watching from Woodsboro as well?” he suddenly asked.

Sam smiled a bit, despite circumstances, as she did, indeed, watch the last couple of your matches. She saw an edit of your fight, of you weaving and dodging the attacks and countering your opponent with ease. And she immediately recognized you, even before she read your name in the description. So, ever since then, she silently followed your fights, happy that you were accomplishing your dream, and, though she never admitted it to anyone but herself, hoping to catch a glimpse of Tara in the crowd.

“Mhm, Y/N. She’s Tara’s childhood friend,” she replied without a hint of doubt.

“Is? I thought you said you didn’t talk to your sister in years. How do you know they’re still friends?” Richie’s question was valid, and Sam really didn’t know if you and Tara were still friends.

But…

“You don’t know them. Nothing could break the bond Tara and Y/N have,” you were Tara’s best friend, and Tara was the one that made you the happiest. Sure, years could have made the two of you grow distant, but she couldn’t imagine it, she found it inconceivable. Tara not having you by her side? Sam couldn’t even begin to imagine what went wrong for that to happen.

Amber may have given you the Guard Dog nickname, but Sam always preferred to think of you as Tara’s protector, as Tara’s unbreakable shield, even if she figured the guard dog was appropriate as well.

~X~

If you weren’t so focused on Tara you probably would have thought Amber was right for once. You really looked like a guard dog at the moment. Standing to Tara’s left, leaning against the wall with your arms folded over your chest and a scowl on your face as you listened to Tara speaking with her mother.

“No, nothing was taken,” you froze when you heard the defeated tone of Tara’s voice. Once, just this once you thought her damn mother wouldn’t be a contender for the worst parent you had ever met, but here you were. “That wasn’t what they were after,” the exhaustion in Tara’s voice, the way it cracked just a bit, not nearly enough for Christina fucking Carpenter to notice, it made you sit down next to Tara and put an arm around her shoulders. Tara leaned into your touch right away, she hid her face in the crook of your neck, not even complaining when you took her phone.

The sudden wetness on your neck, the realization that it was Tara’s tear, nearly made you lose composure. “Tara needs to rest, please call her later,” you spoke as calmly as you could, hoping that you could soothe Tara by holding her close.

“Huh? What?” Christina sounded drunk even now, knowing her, she was drunk. You didn’t want to wait for the woman to figure out what was going on, you just hung up. She wouldn’t call back anyway.

“You’ll get through this,” you ran your fingers through Tara’s hair, gently calming her down before her asthma could make her condition even worse.

Tara managed a weak nod, her right hand reaching up and gripping your shoulder as if you being there was the only thing keeping her grounded. All things considered, maybe you were. “He told me mom was proud of me,” Tara whispered, just barely loud enough for you to hear. “I really wished that was true, Y/N,” she cried, tears falling from her eyes as you just held her like that.

What could you even tell her when her mother wouldn’t even take the time to properly call and ask Tara how she was. How could she believe her mother was proud of her when that same mother didn’t care enough to drop everything and come back to her daughter that nearly got killed.

You remained in that position when Chad, Mindy, Wes and Amber came, with Amber, as the girlfriend, coming in first. The relief on the faces of the first three at the sight of Tara awake and as fine as she could be overpowered everything else, Mindy’s need to tease the two of you, Chad’s need to cheer for you and Tara, and Wes’ jealousy. It didn’t overpower Amber’s jealousy though. You weren't sure what to make of it, but the first thing Amber did was glare at you. Checking on Tara? Her girlfriend? Nope, glaring first, checking on her injured girlfriend who almost got killed later.

Chad, Mindy and Wes remained near the bottom of Tara’s bed, while Amber took her place on Tara’s right side, and while Tara turned to look at them, she kept her hand on your shoulder, preventing you from getting up. “I’m not going anywhere,” you muttered, and only then did she let go of your shoulder and allow you to help her move so that she was leaning back against you.

“Sorry, mom just called,” she apologized, her eyes focusing on Amber for a few moments, though the apology was meant for all four of her friends.

Mindy nodded. “We figured, T,” she admitted, her eyes filled with compassion for Tara.

Amber leaned down, kissing Tara on the lips before you could properly look aside. And each and every person in the room could feel how uncomfortable the room just got. Amber kissed Tara, while Tara was leaning back on you. And nothing about what she did was accidental, she saw an opportunity and took it, probably believing she was staking her claim on Tara.

You didn’t react though, just looked away, you refused to give Amber that satisfaction or to make things even more uncomfortable for Tara. That is, until you heard Tara’s muffled groan.

“Be gentler,” you snarled, pushing Amber back when you saw she put some pressure on Tara’s right thigh, hurting Tara in the process.

Amber glared for just a moment, before turning her attention back to Tara. "I'm so sorry Baby, I was so worried and-" Amber apologized and you felt the urge to keep her away from Tara. It had to be the jealousy you sometimes felt, right? Surely there was no other reason you would want to push Amber further away from Tara. Amber wouldn't hurt Tara. Right?

"It's okay, I'm okay. I'm just glad you're here with everyone," Tara assured her softly, though she did back away a bit, leaning more toward you, and even as subtle as it was no one missed it.

"Of course, I'm here. Where else would I be but here with you?" the nerve, the audacity, another glare she sent your way. "I'm actually surprised Y/N showed up. You managed to act like a friend for once.”

You felt Tara go stiff at that, the tension, the disapproval radiating from her, you feared she would argue back, and this wasn’t the time for that.

"Where would my life be without your approval, Amber?" self-control be damned, preventing the argument between the two of them was more important, release the snark, target Amber. Tara stifling the tiniest laugh made it even better.

"Okay, okay, let's calm down," Wes, as usual, tried to defuse the situation before it escalated.

"Nah, let them go at it, we just need some popcorn," Chad looked around as if he was actually looking for popcorn. "My money's on Y/N, for obvious reasons."

"Yeah, it's not like we came here for Tara," Mindy deadpanned, which thankfully lowered the tension in the room.

You glanced down at Tara, surprised to see she glanced up at you instead of anyone else. There was something in her gaze you couldn't quite decipher. You saw it from time to time; when you first told her you were no longer speaking with your parents, the first and only time she asked you to stay by her side and quit MMA after you came back victorious but beaten and bruised from your first fight, when she told you she was dating Amber, and now. Somehow the only common factor in all those moments, aside from the undecipherable gaze, was the fact that you, in one way or another, always left. Not today, you promised silently as her attention shifted to the rest of her friends.

A brief conversation with her friends and girlfriend later you could see Tara progressively getting tired. Before you could react to that the doors opened again, and you immediately recognized the woman that entered the room. Sam, even after five years you knew it was her, and for a moment you weren't sure what to expect, but the concern on Sam's face when she saw Tara made you lower your guard.

Sam immediately knelt down next to Tara, her hands shakily reaching out for her younger sister. "How are you feeling?" you didn't remember ever hearing Sam's voice that shaky and uncertain.

"You came?" Tara's question, as filled with disbelief as it was, broke something in you and you focused on the heart rate monitor beeping to ground yourself as Sam introduced her boyfriend, Richie, or something, and then went to hug Chad, Mindy, and Wes. She didn't hug Amber and you noticed Amber didn't seem to mind that one bit. After a brief exchange with Wes, Sam returned to the left side of Tara’s bed and raised an eyebrow at you. You shrugged, motioning with your head at Tara who was still leaning back on you, silently telling the older Carpenter sister you weren’t moving any time soon. From the corner of your eye you saw Tara blushing and looking to the side.

Sam just smiled and patted you on the shoulder. “Thanks, Y/N,” frankly, despite everything that happened, or perhaps because of everything that happened, having Sam around was much appreciated.

“Don’t mention it,” you smiled back.

Satisfied, Sam turned back to her boyfriend. "These are Chad and Mindy, the twins, and Wes. I used to babysit them all," she introduced the three of them.

"Which is always how I want to be introduced," Wes joked, lighting up the mood in the room.

"That's Y/N, I didn't babysit her," Sam continued the introduction.

"A very important detail, please remember," you motioned to the trio. "Needed a babysitter," then you pointed at yourself. "Didn't need a babysitter."

"You are like a year older than me, though," Tara teased you.

You did recently turn twenty, while Tara was around three months away from turning nineteen. "Meh, insignificant details," you jokingly rolled your eyes, but grinned when she nudged you lightly with her elbow.

"And Amber, hey," Sam finally greeted Amber, Amber greeted her back, Richie introduced himself properly and then Sam pointed out the elephant in the room. "Where's mom?" the shift in Tara's demeanor was instantaneous and you reached down under the covers to hold her right hand. She relaxed a bit, but you still felt the tension in her body.

"She's stuck at a conference in London. She called me earlier," Tara clarified and it technically was true. Her mother did call, if that could be considered a call. You were willing to bet all of your savings that the drunk woman wouldn't even remember half of the conversation she had with Tara.

"How considerate of her," let it never be said that you always disagreed with Amber, because for once you agreed with her anger wholeheartedly. "Look guys, Tara is really tired, we should let her rest," twice in a row, maybe you should get worried. Her words got the other three to move as well.

You didn't move though. You didn't come with them, you wouldn't leave with them. If you left it would be brief and you'd stay right outside the doors.

"You as well, Y/N," Amber was daring you to disobey her, and well, who were you to disappoint her of all people.

"No," you wondered if Sam was noticing the tension between you and Amber, because, if Mindy was to be believed, it took exactly ten seconds to figure out that Tara was the cause of that tension.

"Y/N is staying, you as well Sam," Tara ended the discussion.

Sam smiled slightly. "If it's okay with you, I could sleep here tonight?" it was a question as much as it was an offer.

"I'd really like that," Tara was smiling, happy to see Sam would stay by her side, at least for some time..

"You got everything you need? Do you have an extra inhaler?" Amber once again shifted Tara's attention back to her.

Tara nodded at that. "Yeah."

Amber leaned down and kissed her again. "Call me if you need anything."

If Sam had any reaction to the revelation that Tara and Amber were together, or the unusual situation Tara found herself in, with you and Amber, she didn't show or voice it in any way.

"Honey, I'll be outside," Richie, likely to give Tara and Sam some privacy, spoke to Sam and then turned toward you. "Uh, could you take me to the break room or something?"

You glanced at Tara, and seeing no issues with it nodded. You slowly separated from Tara, making sure she was comfortable, and stepped outside. Richie only needed a glass of water so it didn't seem like you'd be away from Tara for long. Besides, you wanted to give Tara some alone time with Sam.

"So, an MMA fighter?" Richie's question took you by surprise. "I, uh, recognized the name, I watched a few of your fights," somehow it sounded like he was making it up on the spot.

"Is that so?" maybe the guy was just timid, he was Sam's boyfriend, so you decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and figured he was just uncomfortable about the whole situation, about meeting Tara in these circumstances, but still choosing to come here to support Sam. "Well, then you know why I didn't need a babysitter."

~X~

You were sitting on the bed next to Tara’s for once, she was sleeping and Sam was next to her until about fifteen minutes ago, so you chose to give them some space. Keeping Tara safe was more important. Though, it spooked Sam’s boyfriend, as he went off to watch Netflix or something in another room.

Tara hummed, waking up from her slumber and turning to look at you. “Hey,” she whispered, reaching out for you.

Moving on instinct you moved to sit on her bed and took her hand. “Sam went to freshen up a bit, she’ll be back soon,” you told her.

Tara nodded, content at the moment.

And then the doors burst open and you jumped to your feet, ready to fight. Sam came in, her eyes filled with panic as she looked at Tara. And then, seeing as Tara was fine, she just slumped back against the wall.

“Sam? What happened?” despite pain Tara sat up, watching, concerned and afraid as Sam dropped to the wall. You both noticed her legs were shaking, unable to hold her up.

“Ghostface was in the hospital,” Sam’s voice was barely louder than a whisper, but it felt like a bomb exploding right next to you. The monster was here. The one responsible for Tara’s pain was here!

“Are you okay?!” Tara demanded, just about ready to get up and go to Sam, and seeing the look on Tara’s face Sam willed her body to move, to sit on the chair next to Tara’s bed and smile at her.

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” Sam assured her. “I think he was just trying to scare me.”

You gritted your teeth, anger clouding your judgment. All you could focus on was the door, Sam’s confused uttering of your name barely registered in your head. It was all anger, wrath, need to hurt the monster that tried to kill Tara. It didn’t matter that the Ghostface probably took the disguise off and that you had no way of recognizing the person underneath it as the attacker, you just wanted to go out and find it. It was someone Tara knew, right? Those were the stupid rules, right?

“Y/N!” while Sam calling your name fell on deaf ears, Tara was an entirely different case and the anger dissipated as you turned around and looked at her, trying to get out of the bed.

Anger vanished and you rushed back to her side. “Wait, Tara, don’t get up,” you said, gently getting her to sit back down. “I’m sorry, I got angry,” you whispered, looking away from her. You allowed your anger to cloud your judgment, the desire for revenge to make you forget for a brief moment of weakness what was more important.

Tara reached up, putting her right arm around your neck and tugging you down, and you gave in, dropping your head onto her shoulder and wrapping an arm around her. Tara took a deep breath, her hand shaking slightly. “I know, but I need you here,” she whispered, tightening her grip on you and getting you to nod. You’d focus on keeping Tara safe, and if that somehow gave you the chance to fight Ghostface, you’d take it, but you wouldn’t go after it while Tara was this vulnerable.

A bit later Judy came by with Amber because not only was Sam attacked, some guy got killed, likely by a Ghostface, meaning either there were two people involved, or the one person involved was moving really quickly.

"The call came from Amber's number," Judy said, prompting Amber to defend herself only for Richie to accuse her of being the killer. You didn’t pay much attention to their words, instead you tried to find the signs that they were lying, in their posture, in the tone of their voice.

But it didn’t really help you, Amber was as assertive as usual, aggressively stating her mind and Richie, well, you didn’t even know him.

"And where were you when this was happening?" Judy asked him and he suddenly got really uncomfortable.

"I was, uh watching Netflix, in another room. I didn't want to wake Tara up," he tried to defend himself, and then he awkwardly pointed at you. “She also kinda scares me,” he admitted sheepishly.

“And where were you, Y/N?” Amber demanded.

“With Tara, right here,” you replied while looking Amber in the eyes, daring her to question you further.

“It’s not Y/N,” Tara declared before anyone else could say anything.

Amber narrowed her eyes, this time directing her anger at Tara. “Really? You defend her, but not me? Unbelievable,” she huffed, throwing her hands up. “You know what, call me when you feel like acting like my girlfriend,” she stormed out, anger evident in her voice.

“Amber, wait!” Tara reached out toward her and bit her lower lip.

You placed your hand on Tara’s shoulder. “I’ll go and talk to her,” you sighed, it was about time you had a nice long chat with Amber.

Tara looked at you incredulously and you just chuckled and gave her a thumbs up.

This wasn’t going to be fun though. “Keep her safe,” you told Sam as you walked past her and went after Amber. You looked around and noticed her, near vending machine in the corridor, still fuming. “Amber! We need to talk!”

She squeezed the bottle of water she got so hard you thought it would burst and then she turned to glare at you as you approached and eventually leaned against the wall near her. You’d wait for her to come to you, and she did.

"You're behind this, aren't you?!" she demanded rather forcefully as she closed the distance, the water bottle tossed aside. She stopped right in front of you, arms folded over her chest and furious glare present in her eyes. She was so angry you wouldn’t be surprised if smoke began coming out of her.

You could feel your blood pressure rising as you pinched the bridge of your nose. "Look, you already decided that it's me, so there's really no point in that conversation. Tara nearly got killed, set your jealousy aside until she recovers."

But Amber just snorted, as if she couldn’t believe what you were saying. "Stay away from my girlfriend, you hear me? My girlfriend, not yours. Go home, Y/N," did she actually think this would work? That she could demand something and you'd comply?

"That's what this is about? Really? You think I'm behind all of this yet your reason for wanting me to leave is because you're jealous?" flabbergasted didn't even begin to explain how you felt. You really, really, didn't feel like entertaining Amber's jealous outbursts, but you had to try and get her to cool her head so that Tara could rest peacefully.

Amber threw her hands up in the air and stepped back to point her finger at you. "Jealous? Of course, I'm jealous!" okay, you had to admit that one took you by surprise. "Do you have any idea how it felt to watch Tara on the verge of an asthma attack every time you had a fight and Chad didn't call her quickly enough? How many times have I had to be there for her because you won't stop fighting and it frightens her? Do you even know that she constantly worries that something will go wrong and that you won't come back?"

You were genuinely stunned as you took in what Amber was saying, you hated to admit it, but you would probably feel just as frustrated as she was.

"She likes me, she is my girlfriend. Y/N, Tara is mine, but," she approached you, looked you straight in the eyes, and whispered, "She loves you, and no matter how hard I try I can't cut you out of her life or her heart."

She took a few steps back and with a nearly maniacal grin on her face she asked. "So, tell me. If you aren't the killer, what will you do if whoever it is comes to kill her?"

At least that was simple. "Fight. It'll have to kill me before it gets to her. Our issues aside, I think we can agree Tara's safety is what's most important."

The maniacal grin widened. "With pleasure," it was a strange choice of words, but you figured she agreed.

~X~

Tara could barely breathe, too focused on everything Sam just told her. She finally knew why her dad left, she finally knew why Sam was distant and why Sam left her behind. Once upon a time, she thought that knowing why she was abandoned and left with an alcoholic mother that was never there for her would bring her closure, that it would bring her some semblance of peace. It didn't. It changed nothing.

And then you came in and her uncontrollable emotions found a new target.

"Amber should calm down a bit, I think, oh and they'll be ready to move you in an hour or so," you didn't do anything wrong, you were the one person that kept her calm, grounded and feeling safe and protected, it was the future that she was worried about.

"When will you abandon me, Y/N? Before or after I recover?" the question that plagued her mind just slipped out and the confused look on your face stung more than her wounds. At least the pain from her wounds was dulled by the painkillers.

"I'm not going to abandon you," you didn't get angry. You never got angry with her no matter what was going on. It would usually calm her down enough to rationalize whatever she was angry about. Amber would argue back and eventually guilt her into backing down. Wes would get defensive, and Chad would try to back down while Mindy would usually go for sarcasm. You just, in your own words, took it easy, because it was easier to solve whatever issue the two of you had when you weren't fighting. It didn't calm her down this time.

"Don't lie to me! You abandoned your parents just like how Sam abandoned me," and Amber kept telling her you'd abandon her, telling her that it was a matter of time. It wasn't just Amber, almost anyone who knew you would say the same story. While you slept with your arm around her one of the nurses came by.

'That girl wouldn't come to the hospital when her father got sick, and now she won't leave,' that's what the nurse said and it only made Tara believe you abandoned your parents even more. She remembered it clearly, turning sixteen and shortly afterward realizing she was in love with you. For months she struggled with that feeling, afraid of what it could do to your friendship, secretly hoping that you'd be the one to initiate something. When you didn't do anything, she decided she'd confess on your eighteenth birthday, only to be met with a new address and a casual confession that you cut contact with your parents. Instantly she was thirteen years old, and she had just been abandoned by Sam and the fear of you doing the same kept her mouth shut.

And then you chose MMA, despite how beaten up you were after your first fight, despite the fact that she all but begged you not to and it sealed the deal for her.

You sighed and sat down on her bed. "I didn't. It was a mutual agreement, I wanted to leave, and they wanted me gone. No one was abandoned," the world stopped. "I'd never abandon you, Tara."

"Why didn't you tell me before?" she choked out. Why would you keep it from her? That your own parents didn't want you to stay with them? Why wouldn’t they?

You sighed as you reached down and began gently rubbing circles into her right palm. "How about this? I'll tell you why and then we'll leave the rest of the conversation for after you recover, or at least for after this whole thing ends?"

Tara nodded. She waited over two years, she could wait for a few more days.

"It just wasn't fresh in my mind, I guess. By the time I turned eighteen that deal had long since been made, so when it happened it felt more like going to an appointment rather than something significant. I never thought it would cause you to question how I feel about you, or to doubt that I'd stay with you," her breath hitched at that, and you were immediately reaching for her bag to get her inhaler. It wasn't asthma that caused her reaction. It was the way your voice switched from neutral, almost frighteningly cold while talking about your family to warmth and gentleness you reserved only for her the moment she became the focal point of your words.

"Y/N, I'm fine, I don't need it," those words were enough for you to stop and look at her. "Hold me?" you were awkward the first time she asked you to hold her, shortly after Sam abandoned her, but that awkwardness vanished as time went on. This time was different though. She could see uncertainty in your eyes, the worry caused by her injuries. "I can move that much," she assured you. She needed you as close to her as possible, she needed you to hold her to feel safe, the moment you let go of her to go with Richie she felt vulnerable. She felt even more vulnerable, when, after Ghostface attacked Sam, you went after Amber.

That need was what made her less considerate of Amber’s feeling on the matter. Besides, this, you holding her, it was part of how the two of you were even before she fell in love with you. Even if it wasn’t enough of an excuse, it didn’t change the fact that she needed you.

"You'll tell me the moment you get uncomfortable or if anything at all starts hurting," yeah, there was no arguing with you and honestly, she was fine with that in this case.

"I promise I will; now get down here," you complied with her request. It wasn't much different from how you slept before, only this time she was slightly on her side, with both of your arms around her body. In addition to that she was resting her head on your chest, with your heart just below her ear. That brought a smile to her face. The steady beating of your heart and the heart rate monitor beeping created a rhythm only she had the pleasure to hear.

The way you held her, and the care you put into making sure she was completely comfortable stood in juxtaposition to the way Amber kissed her when she came to see her. Amber didn't intend to hurt her, but she didn't take extra care not to hurt her either.

Why did you have to make things so difficult for her? She was doubting her decisions, especially the ones concerning her relationship with you and, due to those thoughts, her relationship with Amber. The promise of the conversation and the conviction behind your words took away almost all of her reasons for keeping her feelings for you under lock and key. And the other reason, you fighting? A part of her hoped you’d give it up now, a selfish part of her hoped that nearly losing her would make you reconsider it. Another, louder part of her, told her she could compromise on that much, that she could do her best to accept and deal with it.

The guilt in her heart suddenly took over. It was several months too late now. At least until she found it in her to break up with Amber. To very likely do to Amber what she feared you'd do to her, what Sam and her dad did to her. To abandon Amber because she doubted Amber could settle for being just friends again. It wasn't your fault, but she was still going to complain to you about it. "You're the worst, you know," she pouted and settled for snuggling as close to you as her injuries would allow.

"Mhm, I know," you easily agreed, knowing better than anyone when her complaints were fake.

"Jerk."

"You know me."

"Let me sleep," she closed her eyes.

"I'm sorry, am I supposed to sing you a lullaby?" you really didn't have to tease her right now.

"Please, don't sing," Tara did not need to be tortured like that. Hearing you chuckle, on the other hand, yeah, she could handle hearing that.

When they brought the two of you to her new room an hour later you effortlessly and carefully picked her up and placed her on the bed. You stood by her side as the nurses handled the rest, hooking her up to machines and whatnot. And then she got to melt into your touch once again as you lay down next to her, and with that same gentleness from before pulled her into your embrace.

As she once again fell asleep in your arms a voice in the back of her head berated her for ever allowing Amber to make her doubt you.

~X~

The sight in front of her really should have angered her. It would be a reasonable reaction, to find her girlfriend sleeping with someone else, and to remain calm would be bizarre. That is, if she actually cared. No, Amber didn't care about how close Tara and you were. Once upon a time, she did feel genuine envy toward you, she envied the way you made Tara laugh, she envied how peaceful Tara would look while sleeping in your arms. Despite what she did to Tara you, somehow, managed to make Tara feel safe.

So, as far as Amber was concerned Tara should have used this opportunity to fuck you, since, well, you'd be dead within the next couple of minutes. Then Tara would never again feel safe. By the time she wakes up she'll be covered in your blood, Amber would make sure of that.

It was fun, honestly, playing with Tara's doubts, downplaying her emotions for you, while simultaneously making her doubt your dedication to her. It wasn't Amber's fault Tara had abandonment issues that were easy to exploit. Granted, it wasn't her or Richie's intention to torment Tara like that, they just wanted you gone. Tara's torment was more of a bonus for Amber. It would make molding Tara into her perfect pet much easier if she was broken by this experience, because, as far as Amber was concerned, her and Richie would execute their plan flawlessly, and Amber would get to keep Tara all to herself.

Regardless, you were a threat, a trained fighter that might be able to stop them. Tara needed to survive the first attack so that Samantha would come back. Tara surviving also meant you'd act like a fucking guard dog. Predictable. She didn't think this would happen, though.

To think that you'd leave yourself this open and vulnerable. To think that all it took was a jealous girlfriend act to get you to talk to Tara and drop your guard. She didn't tell you a single lie, she didn't even exaggerate and Tara being this clingy only proved her words to be correct. You made a mistake, you fell asleep with your arms wrapped around the wounded girl. Even if you woke up right now you wouldn't have time to react, you likely wouldn't even realize what was going on.

If she could tell you one thing she'd would tell you that she was about to carve you up with the same knife she used on your beloved Tara. Poetic, isn't it?

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter #scream #jenna ortega x reader

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cheynovak · 4 months

Text

Tale as old as time

Reader x Soldier Boy

Warnings: Well, it’s soldier boy. Where to start... Smut, Fluff, Drugs, Cursing, Voilence, ...

Side note: English isn’t my first language.

Words: 6003 😮

POV: Y/N is Soldier Boys first girlfriend who turned into a supe not long after Soldier boy with compound V. Vought made her out to be his enemy, so he had no choice but killing her. But years later the boys discover she is still alive and maybe the only supe on this planet to take down Soldier boy and homelander.

Side note: Cursive text are memories

Have fun!

-----------------------

Pennsylvania: 1939

“Y/N? Y/N! Where are you going? Wait up!” Ben yelled at her trying to follow her but the crowd in at the fair made it difficult. Y/N ran towards the Ferris wheel, she looked back but didn’t see Ben following. “Got you!” He said while lifting her up turning around. ”BEN!” she screeched laughing. When he got her steady on the ground, she lifted her hands towards his neck kissing him on his cheek. “I need to go.” Ben said. “Can’t we at least have one last ride in the wheel?” She asked with big deer eyes. Defeated by her charm he nodded.

“Do you really have to go?” She asked with a soft voice. “It’s the only way to make my old man proud, sweetheart.” he said pulling her in his arms. “I don’t think this is the answer Ben, you could get hurt, or worse!” She really is worried about him he thought. “What? Afraid I find a new best girl?” He joked trying to lift the mood. She poked his ribs “Not funny! I serious Benjamin!” The wheel stopped and the two young love bird got out. As a true gentleman Ben brought Y/N home. They shared a kiss, the last one for a long time Ben thought. “Ben?” She looked up is his green eyes asking to follow her so she took his hand and leaded him behind the house towards the shed where her parents couldn’t see them. “You know I'm yours, right?” He nodded. “Will you make yours tonight?” She asked clearly looking shy. Ben’s eyes grew big. “Are, are you sure?” He asked. She kissed him passionately in response. “Just, just take it slow, ok?”

Y/N woke up startled, looking over at Patrick, her fiancé. Who was still deep asleep. So, she quietly got out of bed and got to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. Why the hell did that memory sneaked up in her dreams. Probably the nerves for the wedding she thought. No one has seen Ben in ages, he is probably gone or much like herself had found love and settled down. But she couldn’t help herself got to the spare bedroom and pull up the old shoe box with pictures and other memories. There was one picture of Ben, fully dressed in his “Soldier boy” costume. God, she hated that helmet, made it impossible to see those cute freckles. After looking at his eyes for who knows how long she got herself back in bed. Lifting Patrick’s arm and hugging him. He mumbled something unrecognisable and pulled her closer.

The next morning Y/N was extremely tired, she didn’t get any sleep anymore last night. “Good morning beautiful.” Patrick kissed her on her cheek as he did every morning. They had breakfast, he kissed her before he got to work. Patrick was a lawyer he made enough money to take care for the two of them. So, when they officially began dating, he asked Y/N to be a housewife. He meant well, he knew her backstory and thought she deserved some peace. She agreed, but after last night she had this hinge that maybe she wasn’t born to be a housewife.

But the dream couldn’t stop the daily tasks. Y/N grabbed her purse and drove to the grocery store. When she came back, she noticed someone was inside her house. She quickly grabbed the gun from the glove box and went inside the house via the back door. Her house was a mess, cabinets open, shelfs empty... One of the skinnier men came down. “Oh god! Oh god. Please don’t shoot! BUTCHER, she is home!” He yelled before Y/N knock him out with the gun. The other two man came running down both holding a gun. “Listen I don’t know what you two idiots think you’re doing, but you picked the wrong house buddy!” Y/N said. “Now drop the gun!”

“Oi, were not looking for any trouble princess.” He said lowering his gun.” Or should I say Ms. Y/N Frances Wilson.” He smirked saying your name, your true birth name, you haven’t heard in years. “How do you...know?” she looked shocked. Butcher and MM started to explain they were looking for something to kill Homelander and possibly Soldier Boy. And that Annie found secret records at Vought that stated that you were the only person who ever won a fight against Soldier boy.

“Wait, wait you’re telling me Ben is still alive?” You looked at Hughie since he was the only person in the room you seemed to trust a little. “Oh, we’re on first name basis?” The annoying British fella said. Y/N gave him a dead stare side eye. “Listen buddy, if you have my records, you know that “Soldier boy” and I go way back. Y/n said pissed.

“Oh my god! What happened here! Y/N are you ok?” Patrick walked through the door. “Who are you?!” he looked over at the men. “Honey, it’s ok these are... who are you again?”

Hughie explained everything to Patrick who looked at him with fear in his eyes. “Baby, If these supes really are that dangerous, we need to help them.” “Pat, I promised you I would never, ever enter that life again.” She looked at MM “I will tell you all I know on Soldier boy. But that’s it. I’m no supe anymore” - “Well, that’s just utter bull shit isn’t. The 1st badge of fucking Russian compound V is running through your veins.” Butcher said. “No, no, no, you are coming with us princess. If we know where to find you so will Homelander.” “Let him come, I doubt that, that clown in a cape is much worth.”

“Against you, maybe.” MM said. “But what with Patrick?” With a heavy heart you agreed to go with the boys. In the car her thoughts drifted away.

WW2 ended, Ben was coming home, the town made sure he would get a parade. Y/N was nervous it had been a few years. Sure, he did send her letters every now and then, but as time moved on, she received less and less until the communication stopped completely. In one of the first letters, he had sent a picture of him fitting his costume. He looked proud, with a great smile. It had her fall in love all over again. Y/N stood at the back of the sidewalk, watched as Ben drove by waving at the people. He saw her, she knew, he grinned but made sure the other people there wouldn’t notice. Y/N went home after the parade, while she was painting her nails her mom called her. “Sweetheart, get dressed, Benjamin called, he is picking you up for dinner with his folks.” Your heart pounded, he didn’t forget you. You mother thought you were a madwoman not to date nice decent men while he was gone. She wanted her daughter to get married and start a family, like any other parent wanted in those times. And not to wait on a “superhero” who once liked her daughter, who now probably could have any woman.

Y/N chose a beautiful green dress that matched her curves, it was fitting but not tacky, her nails were boudoir red as were her lips and heels. Perfect contrast with her dress. The doorbell rang. Her father answered the door before she could came down the stairs. Ben was still wearing his costume, probably to impress your folks but thank God, he didn’t wear the helmet. He watched you come down the stairs. “Wow.” he said “breathtaking.” clearly impressed. He held your hand and helped you with the last steps. He kissed you soft on the lips. You were a little stunned by that move, because this was something he would have never done before he got to the army. Your parents were old school he knew that.

You got into the car, surprisingly he had a driver now. “My lady.” he said holding the door. At first the ride was silent. You stared at him. “Like what you’re seeing, sweetheart?” he grinned looking you up and down, it made you blush. “It’s just, you have changed so much and yet you haven’t.” “So have you.” The dinner wasn’t really a cosy gathering, Ben told his parents and you every detail. His dad wasn’t impressed with what his son had achieved.” You took a short cut. There were normal man fighting, those are hero’s not some pumped up boy who hasn’t achieved anything in this life.”

You could see Ben’s lip twitch. “Ben? I think it’s time for me to go home.” Y/N said to help him get out of the house. Once outside “Unbelievable, I did everything I could for that man and I’m still not good enough.” He kept rambling. “Ben, STOP!” He looked at you. “Stop with caring what your father thinks of you.” you said while taking his hand. “He doesn’t know you, not the way I do.”

“Hi, soldier boy.” Two girls giggled from a crossed the street waving at him. Ben answered their flirtations with an over-the-top grin and nod while he checked them out just a little to long for your liking. He turned back to you and saw your expression. “He kissed your cheek, don’t worry sweetheart you’re the one for me.” The car ride was silent once again you almost reach your parents house. “Can you pull over, right here? And give us a minute?” You asked the driver.

Ben looked at you, the second the driver got out of the car did Ben pull you closer to him and kissed you. Not a soft kiss, no, a passioned kiss his tongue aggressively asking for permission. His hands travelling from your neck over your breast kneading them. “Ben, is this really the best place?” Y/N asked while pulling back. Ben didn’t move back but moved his lips from your mouth to your neck. “You have a better idea sweetheart, was the shed a better place?” He asked out of breath, clearly aroused. You didn’t feel comfortable with his roughness. “Ben stop, please.” - “Oh, come on baby, don’t tell me you’ve didn’t dream of me. That you didn’t think of that night while you touch yourself.”

That was the line he crossed. “BENJAMIN STOP IT! Get off me! You yelled while slapping his face. Y/N got out of the car Ben shorty following her. “Y/N... Y/N! Stop I’m sorry.” he grabbed her arm. “Look at me sweetheart.” You turned around with tears in your eyes. “Oh baby, I'm sorry, it just, I just, it’s been a while.” You look at him shocked by his words. “You’ve changed Ben. You’re a brute. Maybe if you, I don’t know at least had a normal conversation with me before you started groping me.” - “What I, can’t touch my own girl?” - “Of course, you can, it’s the way you do it Ben, any other man...” But he didn’t let you finish. “Other man? Is there another man Y/N? Did you get the tasted of it after I left. Did you turn to someone else for pleasure.”

“I can’t believe you! I wanted to say: any other man would at least consider HER feelings.” He dropped his head understanding what she meant. “Goodnight Ben.” She said leaving him in the street. The next day he had to leave for another parade in a different city but not before he went to see Y/N.

Y/N’s dad answers the door “She doesn’t want to see you kid.” You hear him say. “Please Sir, I need to speak to her.” Ben sounded devastated. “Y/N! I know you’re here. Y/N I’m sorry! Please come talk to me.” - “Boy you are testing my patients, go away, I don’t know what happened last night, but she doesn't want to see you. - “Bullshit!” You heard Ben’s voice turn into anger. He pushed your old man aside an ran up the stairs. Y/N met him halfway standing taller than him. “Baby, please.” He said while hugging you, his head against your stomach. “I want you to go Ben.” Y/N said between her tears. “I don’t know what they did to you, but you are not the same man anymore. I want you to leave.”

‘Y/N no, you don’t mean it. Y/N please!

Y/N .... Y/N....’

Y/N!!!! Butchers voice leaps you out of the memory. “We’re here” Hughie smiled softy seemingly scared. Y/N didn’t know what it was but this kid, she liked him. He had something pure in his eyes. Once inside Y/N and Patrick meet the other members. They all seemed on edge.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” That voice... you slowly turned around. Ben was standing there in baseball shirt and sweatpants “Oh, god!” But before you could say more, he stormed towards you lifting you up by your neck. “I’ll ask again, what, is she, doing here?” Y/N wanted to answer but couldn’t without air. Ben looked for a second at Patrick, clearly not impressed by him. Y/N kicked Ben to his knee he let her go. But not without trying to hitting her. She luckily could avoid it and pushed him away. “I had no idea you would be here!” She said lifting her hands in the air. “You are the fucking commie that made me a lab rat!” - “Ben that’s not true! I tried to fucking save you from your so-called girlfriend!” - “Bullshit you helped them!”

“She is telling the truth, according to Voughts records did Noir and Countess quit the number on her. They left her a massive scar on her back. Before they shipped her back of to Russia, where you were held, a cargo she escaped.” Hughie said.

“It’s true Ben, when I heard what they did to you in '84, I tried to find you, I swear!” He got closer, grabbing her neck looking intensely at her. But Y/N pulled back looking over at Patrick. Ben followed her eyes. “Who is he?” - “My fiancé. Patrick”

“Your Fian...” He couldn’t finish that sentence. ”Why? Did he got you pregnant?” He laughs looking at you. Even though he meant is a joke he glanced at your tummy. “No Ben, we love each other. Besides you know supes don’t have the best track record on getting pregnant.” You said walking over to Patrick. “No, but we sure loved to try.” He winked at you making Patrick uncomfortable.

Butcher, MM and Annie were going through your files. Annie glanced over at Y/N and asked “Hey, it stated here you weren’t a supe until after 1949? But they never clarified what happened.

Y/N was walking to her job, when a van pulled over. Two men who didn’t spoke English pulled her in. A week later she woke up in some sort of a hospital. Couple of needles in her arms. The man said in broken English that this might hurt, but that she would become the most powerful humans on the planet, the perfect weapon. And who else can hurt Soldier boy better than his first love.

Y/N tolt the team what tests they did after they pumped her full of compound V. “Or at least the Russian version of it.” She said. “After that...” She fell silent.

“After that they erased her memories. Trained her to be a fucking assassin. And sent her after me.” Ben said quietly from a crossed the room not even looking up from the tv.

“He is right. I trailed him all crossed the country to kill him. And I remember every second of it. I just couldn’t stop myself.”

Ben woke up in a fancy hotel room, he looked over his bed, smirking when he realised there were still 3 women in his bed from last night. He got up, put on a rope, snored a line and drank the rest of the whiskey he had last night. He heard a noise coming from the hallway. Before he could take a look, the door broke down. An assassin dressed in black attack him. The women screamed when Ben was holding the intruder against the wall. “Run you fucking stupid sluts!” He yelled at them before they ran away behind Ben. “Now who are you?” Ben took of the intruder's mask. He couldn’t believe his eyes. “Y/N???” That moment of hesitation was enough for her to escape his hands.

After more than an hour going back and forward, Ben hit her she felt out of the window 5 floors down. He looked but she didn’t move. Every now and then their pads crossed. They fight no one wins, one of them got hurt and they would meet again. It became an obsession with finding each other. Vought even named her a super villain. Until one day Y/N had found him again on vacation in Rome. Ben got tired of the constant fighting he wanted answers. He had her tied down and tried to find answers. But no matter what she didn’t talk. He got so frustrated he hit her in de head with his shield. She went unconscious but when she woke up. Ben was still sitting in front of her. “Ben? Oh god Ben!” she started to cry.

Ben had hit her so hard so many times that for some reason the trauma had brought her back. At first he didn’t trust her. But after a while he released her. She told him everything that happened to her. “You should go. Celebrate new year” he said. “N-New year?” she looked shocked. “Sweetheart it’s 31 December.” - “What year?” - “1959”

“Ten years...” she mumbled under her breath. “You have a place to go?” - “No, not really.” He nodded. Ben thought for a second then invited you to his party.

Ben knuckled when thinking back at that night.

It was an over-the-top party with world leaders, porn stars and drugs. Old Y/N would have been traumatized, supe you well, let’s say that this was a new beginning. Ben sat on the sofa with 2 girls almost fighting to get on his lap and he clearly enjoyed the attention, until he sees Y/N flirting with a guest. He was clearly trying to get into her pants. And she didn’t seem to mind. This got Ben furious, he got up without saying anything to the girls and walked towards them. You both looked at him. “Out” He said. “Out... EVERYBODY GET THE FUCK OUT!” Y/N tried to walk away with the crowd.

Ben grabbed Y/N's arm. “Oh, not you sweetheart.” Y/N looked at his hand around her arm and got closer. “What’s the problem Ben? Are you the only one who is allowed fuck on this evening?”

“Baby... where did you learn to talk like that!” He grinned “But no, no you are allowed to get fucked as well sweetheart. If I’m the one doing it.”

For some reason that made Y/N’s panties soaking wet. She pushed Ben against the wall ripping his shirt in the process. His hand found their way to the back of her knees lifting her up throwing her on the bed. Y/N took off her dress, showing the red lingerie, slowly moving her hands all over her body before moving one hand down her panties, while sitting on her knees. Ben walked towards her pumping his hard cock,

“Fuck that’s hot sweetheart. Show me how wet you are.” She lifted her fingers in the air. Ben grabbed her wrist slowly licking her fingers clean. “Hm, so sweet.” He pushed he on her back taking of her panties. “I’ve missed this pussy, I’ve been wanting to fuck it, worship it ever since I came back from the war.” Y/N got inpatient. “Jesus fucking Christ, Ben are you going to talk me to sleep or are you going to fuck me?

Ben licked a long stripe against Y/N heated sex. ‘Oh yesss!” She moaned letting her head fall back. Ben ate her like a man starved, then he entered a finger into her cunt, he could feel her enjoying it by the way she squeezed around it. “Fuck sweetheart, how long has it been since someone took care of you?” - Y/N had trouble finding words she could already feel the heat in her boiling. “Huh? Tell me, did you find a man back home? Someone to fuck you when your needy? Or did you take care of yourself?” Ben added another finger while licking your clit. You came so hard on his fingers that the wet sound of him going in and out of you would have normally made you embarrassed. After she screamed his name like a prayer she admitted. “Ben, there was no one. No one but you!” She said a little ashamed knowing he probably fucked half of USA by now. “You really are my girl...” Ben said while kissing her. Letting her take a breath before round 2, 3, 4 and 5 of that night.

“Great fucking night.” He said looking at Y/N and Starlight grinning.

“Why did he say that you were the reason for... you know.” Hughie asked. “Well, in 1970 was payback created. Up until then Ben and I lived together." “Wait, you never told me this.” Patrick said. “I knew he was your first boyfriend and that you fought in the 50s. Why didn’t you tell me? “ Y/N opened her mouth, but Ben was first. “Probably because she didn’t like to tell that after a decade of fighting came a decade of making up... sex.” Patrick closed his eyes, clearly disgusted by soldier boy.

“As I was saying, 70s, payback, crimson countess.” You say irritated looking at Ben. “Those days, they made it hard on us. Vought didn’t like the idea of the number one hero being in a relationship with the person they called the number one villain. So, we had to keep our relationship a secret. Vought though it would be a great idea to promote Countess and Soldier boy as the it couple. Ben agreed, saying it was all just publicity. “ Ben, looked away. Y/N felt silent. “So, he cheated? “ Hughie asked.

“NEVER! Ben got up this time, I never ever cheated, not on her!” He almost stood toe to toe with him. “Ben... Benjamin!” Y/N yelled standing up trying to defend Hughie who almost shit his pants. Ben looked at Y/N “I swear.” - “I know, but Crimson and Vought did find a way to separate us. They made false evidence that I would be recruited again by Russian spies to bring down Vought. "

I had no idea so when I asked Ben to let go of the suit.” - “He thought you wanted him to be on your side as a communist.” Annie finished your story. “Yes” Y/N said looking at Ben. “All I wanted was a normal life, no more fighting, no more Vought. The life I dreamed of since 1939” - “Well, seems like you finally get what you want sweetheart.” Ben said looking defeated.

“Well, that’s enough bedtime stories, we need to go and get some supply's before hunting down your boysband.” Butcher said grinning at Ben. “Y/N you mind watching Ben for me? Since you are the only one who probably would actually stop him is he wanted to leave.” - “What about the rest of you?” Y/N asked meaning what about Patrick. “I need everyone, some things I can’t buy in a normal store because I'm wanted. Patrick is a nobody, perfect for the job.”

In the car MM gave Patrick a phone. “I don’t know if you want it. But Frenchie and I placed a shitload of cameras in that place.

Everyone left to do their job. Ben was sitting again, in front of the tv. But when Y/n got up to get something out of the kitchen he followed her. “Does he make you happy?” - “What?” - “Patrick, does he make you happy.” He asked again only this time standing so close to you, you could feel his breath against your neck. Y/N closed her eyes. “Yes, I guess so. I have the life I wanted.” She turned to face him locking eyes “I said yes, I'm getting married soon.” Ben breathed heavy while looking at her. He lifted a hand on her neck again, sliding his fingers through her hair toughing his forehead with hers.

“God, Y/N please don’t.” Patrick said waiting in the car, looking at the camera footage.

“Ben, please... don’t.” She closed her eyes afraid to look in his. “I learned my lesson sweetheart. “I won’t touch you unless you want me to.” He sighted but didn’t move back. “Does he satisfy you?”

“BEN! That, that is none of your business!” She angry opened her eyes looking in his. She placed a hand on his chest to push him away, but couldn’t, instead she slowly moved her hand up to his cheek. Ben leaned into it. “I’ve missed those soft hands.”

Y/N smiled slightly. “This beard, it suits you.” - “You like it?” he was surprised. “Very mature. Maybe even a little sexy.” Those worlds made Ben crazy. He lifted you up and placed you on the counter making him stand between your legs, kissing you like a madman, his hands all over Y/N, touching Y/N’s breast making her pull back out of the kiss and moan his name.

Patrick didn’t want to watch anymore but couldn’t close it. He kept hoping Y/N would fight back. Tell Soldier boy that she loved him, that he had to let her go. Instead, he watched the two of them heading for the bedroom. “No no no no noooo.” Patrick switched camera. Thank got that MM placed one in Soldier boy’s room. “You can still say no baby.” Patrick said under his breath.

“Fuck, say it again.” Ben said. “I want you, Ben” Y/N moaned while he was sucking her neck and ear. Ben lifted her up and took her to his room closing the door with his foot. He dropped Y/N onto the bed. “Clothes off!” He commanded “I would love to spend the next 48 hours just making love to you, reclaiming your body.” He said. “Ben we don’t have time for that.” Y/N said while pulling his sweatpants and boxers down. She placed herself on the bed. Pulling of her panties while Ben was still looking at her. Y/N opened her legs. “Are you going to stand there watching me pleasuring myself, or are you going to make me scream your name?” Y/N didn’t have to say that twice.

Ben took his cock in his hands and started to push himself inside her. “Fuck! Your still so tight.” He said while being balls deep in her. He started to trust slow but deep and hard. Y/N lifted her legs over his shoulders so he could go even deeper. “Oh Ben! I forgot how big you were!” Y/N could feel that Ben with every trust hit the G spot inside her. “You were made for me sweetheart, your pussy was made for me to fuck.” Ben felt that he wouldn’t last long if he kept going like this. “Turn around baby. All four.” He said while pulling out of her. He harshly trusted back in her making her moan almost screaming his name. “That’s it baby, say my name.” He said while rubbing her clit. “Oh Ben, ... Don’t stop!” She moaned. Y/N could feel her orgasm building and so could Ben by the way she squeezed him.

“Does he fuck you like this? Does he know how to make you scream his name? By the tightness of you pussy I would say you didn’t get fucked properly in a while.” Y/N loved the way Ben talked dirty. “Maybe we should invite him, let him see how a real man fucks his lady.” Y/N’s pussy tightened. “Oh, you like that huh. You want him to see how I fuck you, how I know every little inch of your body.” Y/N couldn’t hold it anymore and started to shake into her orgasm screaming Ben’s name. It didn’t take long before Ben’s trusts started to get sloppy. Y/N turned around and took his cock in her mouth bobbing her head, touching the tip of his cock with her tongue just the way he liked it. Ben leaned back holding her hair while releasing in her mouth.

Patrick couldn’t believe what he had seen. He tried to find a way to make things better. It was pure sexual, yes that’s it. She doesn’t love him, she, they fucked it wasn’t making love. He tried to convince himself.

Y/N laid back down on the bed. Ben did the same thing “Fuck that felt good.” He said looking at her on his side with his head in his hand. “Come here.” Ben said while pulling her in his arms Y/N’s head was locket under his chin and against his chest. Ben started to stroke his fingertips over her arms, up her back coming back to the front over her breast, holding one in his warm hand. “So fucking beautiful.” He whispered.

It was quiet for a moment, now that Y/N was back to her senses she could only think of Patrick, what did she do to him. Patrick was a nice respectable man, he didn’t deserve this. But being here in Ben’s arms felt so right, so safe like coming home.

“Leave him.” Ben said after a while to break the silence. “What?” Y/N got up looking shocked at him. “Leave him, run away with me.” He said with a straight face. “Ben you, no, I can’t. I’m getting married soon.” Y/N said but not with confidence. Ben got up and sat against the headboard of the bed. “Why? Because he gives you a home? A house with a white picket fence?” He asked while pulling Y/N into his lap, her knees on each side of his thighs. His lip started to slowly kiss the top of her breast before laying his head against her. His hands steady on her back.

Ben could now feel her scars for the first time his fingers moved over them. “I should have never left you.” He whispered. “Well, I'm sure countess would have found a way.” Y/N said while her lips and cheek were touching his hair. “No, back in 1939, I should have married you, I should have been the man you wanted, deserved. Instead of joining the army.”

He moved his head to look up at her. “I should have married you, made love to you every night until you were pregnant. Watch our kids grow up. Dance with you in the kitchen. Hell I would even take you to fucking Elvis Presley concerts if that is what you wanted.” That made Y/N laugh but tear up at the same time. “Ben...” Y/N sighted. He kissed her lips again only now he took his time. This kiss was one to make sure she felt loved. Ben pulled her closer, Y/N’s hands on the back of Ben’s head.

Y/N felt Ben's cock getting half hard again. Both of them started to move their bodies in sync without even knowing. Ben pulled sightly back. “Y/N, I’ll give up the suit, I’ll won’t kill payback, I’ll even stop the booze and drugs. I’ll do anything for you as long as you promise you're mine again.” Y/N looked at his face, looked in his green eyes. “I’ve always been yours Ben.”

MM got back in the car “Man, are you ok?” He looked at Patrick holding the phone. He rewind the last part and showed MM before the rest of the crew came back. “Y/N, I’ll give up the suit, I’ll won’t kill payback, I’ll even stop the booze and drugs. I’ll do anything for you as long as you promise you're mine again.” - “I’ve always been yours Ben.”

“Shit, I'm sorry man.” MM said Patrick didn’t react. Butcher and the rest came back and drove back to the house.

Y/N took a quick shower, Ben was walking around in the room putting on his sweatpants while all of the sudden he saw a little black dot on the top corner of the dresser. “Son of a...” He pulled it out. “A fucking camera.” Without saying anything to Y/N he walked around the house and found 3 more cameras. Ben stood in the kitchen when Butcher, MM, Hughie and Patrick walked in. “YOU ENGLISH FUCKER!” Ben yelled. This made Y/N suspicious, so she quickly got out of the shower and then heard a rumble. When she got dressed, she ran towards the sound. The kitchen table was upside down on the other end of the room. Ben held MM against the wall. “What the hell is going on?” Y/N asked.

“These fuckers thought it would be a great idea to record me, and everything I do in this house.” Ben said pissed not looking at her. “Ben let go of him.” He didn’t respond. Y/N touched Ben’s shoulder. “Ben, please let go of him.”

Butcher and Hughie looked at each other not knowing what was going on. “Oi, can someone explain what the fuck is going on. A bloody hour ago you” he pointed at Ben “Wanted to fucking kill her. And know she is taming you? And you two ” He pointed at MM and Frenchie “thought it would be good idea to spy on the oldest fucking supe out there, you‘re really that horny and pathetic you want to see him fuck grannies...” While Butcher said that Hughie got the bigger picture. “He didn’t sleep with grannies...” - “Y/N” Patrick finished Hughie's sentence, tearing up. “But then again, you were always his, weren’t you?”

Y/N started to cry “Patrick, I-I'm sorry.” - “It’s ok, I get it, you wanted a house, a husband, a family but not with me, not really. So, I’m going home, I'm going to box up everything you own. And when you are ready, you can come pick it up.” Y/N stood there watching him walking through the door.

“So on with the plan ay. How to kill Homelander.” Butcher broke the awkward silence. “No” Ben said walking up to Y/N holding her. “I’m done.” - “No, you’re not.” Y/N said “I still want payback on payback. But Homelander is your problem, Butcher.”

1 year later.

Y/N stood at the kitchen counter making breakfast. *Can’t help falling in love* playing in the background. Ben wrapped his arms around her waist. His head on her shoulder swaying left to right. Y/N turned around kissing him. And when she looked in his eyes, she could see the sparkle she hasn’t seen since that day at the fair. Ben, he smiled softly at her. And for the first time in God knows how long, she finally saw a glimpse of the young man she fell in love with. Knowing even though they are both fucked up, they belong together. “Look, we’re dancing. To fucking Presley, Sinatra I would get, but Elvis, why?” He said with a disgusted look on his face. Y/N laughed “Amazing voice, great hips!” She said biting her lip, knowing he wouldn’t like that answer. “Oh, I'll show you great hips.” Ben said lifting her up on the kitchen table. Y/N giggled like a teenager. “I love you.” Ben said looking in her eyes.

“I love you too.”

If you liked this, please check out my masterlist for other stories.

#the boys #billy butcher #soldier boy #the boys hughie #homelander #the boys spoilers #the boys amazon #soldier boy x reader #smut #fluff #fem reader #x reader #female reader

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fiapartridge · 3 months

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🥥 adam fantilli again bc tay and adam are my 2 fav things!!!!!!

STOP ADAM AND TAY R SUCH A POWERFUL COMBO AND HE IS SOOOOO YOU BELONG WITH ME CODED LIKE IK ITS SO BASIC but it's the cutest song ever and he's the cutest

and this was actually so fucking cute to write UGH I LOVEDDD THIS

His head rested on your lap, your hands raking through his hair as he vented to you about the events that took place earlier that night. “And then she said I didn't care about her. I- I mean, I didn’t mean to make her feel that way. I just–”

“Wait, so just let me get this straight. She told you to buy her a $2,000 dress, and you said no because you couldn’t afford it—understandably—and she got mad at you? I mean, Adam—”

“You’re making her seem like she’s a bad person,” he said, sitting up and taking the spot across from you on your tiny twin sized bed. You two sat in your dorm room, doing your daily talk about what Katerina, Adam’s girlfriend, did this time. And it hurt knowing that the guy you have been in love with your entire life is in love with someone else, but he was your best friend, you had no choice but to stand back and support him.

You met Adam when you were 14 when he joined his brother at Kimball Union Academy in New Hampshire. You were initially friends with Luca having met him in the library at school. He was struggling with math and every time you heard him get an equation wrong on those flimsy little flashcards, you cringed a little. So, taking it upon yourself (you were quite the confident 14-year-old), you sat down next to him, outstretched your hand, introduced yourself as his new tutor, and shooed away the poor kid who desperately thanked you for getting him out of that.

After a year of tutoring Luca, you two became inseparable, and when you heard that his younger brother was coming to play hockey for the school, you knew you had to meet him. And, most of the time, you were glad that you did, except for nights like these.

You laughed incredulously. “Adam, she got mad at you for not being able to afford an expensive dress. She’s not really the best person.”

“She might not be the best all the time—”

You scoffed, grabbing his hands and holding them in yours as you stared at him intently. “You deserve someone who is the best all the time; someone who genuinely makes you happy; who doesn’t leave you like this every single night.” You deserve me, you wanted to say, but you clamped your lips shut before your true feelings could ever manage to escape.

Huffing and dismissing your words, he pushed you to the side, laying down on the small space beside you. His hands resting behind his head, he stared at the ceiling as you kept your arms secured to your sides. Sometimes you were scared to get too close to him, afraid of what you might do in a fit of spontaneity, scared that you could ruin your entire friendship in one heated moment.

“This whole girlfriend thing is so complicated,” he murmured absentmindedly before turning to the side, facing you. “Still up for the marriage at 30 rule?”

You shook your head, breathing out a laugh. “You wanna say that when you have a girlfriend right now?”

Adam shrugged. “Just taking extra precautions.”

Rolling your eyes, you spun onto your side, looking at him dead-on. “What if I end up in a relationship and you don’t?”

“Then I’ll ruin his fucking life,” he replied, a small smile dancing on his lips. You knew he was joking, but sometimes you wished he wasn’t. You wished he saw a life where you could be the one he marries, a life where he could be happy with you, not just as an extra precaution, but because he really wanted to.

“Will Kat be at the game tomorrow?” you asked randomly, as if the question just morphed itself out of thin air. She was never there. She was always busy with something: shopping with the girls, working out with a classmate, practicing cheer drills. You were so convinced that she has never even seen Adam in his hockey gear.

You were there every game, cheering him on from the student section, pretending not to catch the disappointed expression on his face every time he realized she wasn’t there—again.

And just like time and time before, Adam with his ever present hopeful spirit, sighed and said, “Hope so.”

—

They were up 4-1.

The children of Yost screamed so loud, you were sure that the top of the building could fly off at any minute. And just as Rutger Mcgroarty scored the last and final game-winning goal, making the score 5-1, the crowd burst into another set of chants as you watched the boys jump each other on the ice. Everyone looked so happy, and for the first time, that happiness included Adam.

You waited in the lobby, ready to congratulate him and the rest of the team on the win, like you do every game. Truth be told, you loved seeing a freshly showered Adam, high off a well-deserved win. And expecting to have to find his tall figure in the crowd of students, you jumped back as he found you immediately.

The lobby was crowded, excited conversations filing into the room, leaving Adam to shout in your direction. “I saw you out there!”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “You see me every time!”

He smiled, his brows furrowing simultaneously as if realizing something. In mere seconds, he grabbed your hand, pulling you towards the exit. You wanted to protest, to tell him that you had to congratulate the rest of the boys, especially Luca, but Adam was holding your hand and it felt so perfect. It felt like this was your life. Adam holding your hand, pulling you to secluded spaces, spaces meant just for the two of you. It felt like it was meant to be, like you were made for this; for him.

You guys rounded the side of the building, your arms hugging your body as the snow slowly rained down on you two. The lights outside flickered dimly, but you saw his smile, and you didn’t care about anything but him. In your mind, it was just Adam, Adam, Adam.

“It’s so easy with you,” is the first thing he said. You pulled your brows together, confused as to what he meant by that. Noticing your expression, he went on. “I mean, tell me the last time you missed one of my games.”

You scoffed. “You are a conceited little shit, aren’t you?”

He shook his head, huffing out a laugh. “C’mon, just tell me.”

You racked your brain, trying to think back to the last time you missed one. And then, as if a lightbulb lit in your brain, you finally remembered. You think he remembered too. “We were 16, you were playing for the Chicago Steel, and I was dying from swine flu because your ass decided to make me a grilled cheese with expired butter.”

“Okay, okay!” He held his hands up in defense. “I did rush to your aid after the game, though.”

“Yeah, and you agreed to get me a wet towel if I watched an hour of your game highlights,” you retorted, the conversation replacing the chills in your body with warm, happy memories.

He stuffed his cold hands in his pockets, shrugging. “Well, my point is!” he said, sending you into a fit of laughter.

“You are so stupid!”

“And that was so uncalled for!” he chuckled, tilting his head down at you. You looked like some sort of snow princess with the white flakes delicately landing on your hair. Your cute nose was red and he watched you shiver as he slipped his arms around your torso, pulling you to his chest as your arms instinctively wrapped around him. It was foreign for the two of you to be hugging, but this one felt different.

“My point is,” he restarted. “you have been to almost all of my games.”

You nodded in response, wondering where this was going. And you were even more curious when he said, “What’s my favorite color?”

With no hesitation, you responded with, “Blue.”

“Where was I born?”

“Are you really making me do an Adam Fantilli quiz? I mean, I knew your ego was high, but—”

“C’mon,” he laughed, resting his chin on your head.

You smiled. “Nobleton.”

“My real name?”

“Adamo,” you answered before taking a step back from his grasp. “She didn’t know that?”

He shrugged. “She didn’t know anything about me—not like you do.”

You sighed. You didn’t want to do this while he was with Kat. While you didn’t like her, it felt wrong to think about him like this when you felt that, maybe just maybe, he might be thinking about you in the same way. “Adam—”

“I broke up with her last night when I left your dorm.”

Your head raised, meeting his gentle gaze. You were shocked. He liked her so much, I mean, he was defending her the entire night. What happened?

Holding your hands, just as you hand done to him the night before, he took a step closer as you felt the heat radiate off of him and onto you. “You told me I deserve someone who makes me happy. I deserve someone who won’t miss a single game unless I food poisoned her, who knows me—not just surface level me—who doesn’t make me feel bad about anything. I’m convinced I have never felt bad when I’m with you. You belong with me, Y/N, and... I have only ever belonged to you."

#> fias 600 celly! ★#adam fantilli blurb #adam fantilli x reader #adam fantilli fluff #columbus blue jackets #adam fantilli #taylor swift #hockey imagines #university of michigan #umich hockey

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